“BRITANNIA WAIVES THE RULE,” scoffed the headline of the mid-March 1947 advertisement in the liberal New York daily evening paper PM. “British Jail American Seamen in Palestine. Who is Breaking What Law?” The advertisement explained that the “American crew of the ship Ben Hecht … are jailed in Palestine…. These very men, of all faiths, fought alongside the British in World War II. Still fighting for freedom, they ran the Ben Hecht through the Royal Navy’s illegal Palestine blockade.” They were arrested for “‘Aiding and abetting illegal immigration’—the British say.” The advertisement asked, “Did the Ben Hecht crew violate [an] international pact” or “slam the gates of Palestine, violating the world’s mandate?” The answer was that “[t]he only ‘law’ in Palestine is British might,” against which the Ben Hecht crew “volunteered in the American tradition.” Today they are in jail—prisoners of war in the post-war world.”

            My grandfather Henry (“Hank”) Mandel (1920–2015) was one of those Ben Hecht crew members imprisoned in the British Empire’s undeclared war against the Jewish people before the establishment of the State of Israel. His story and that of the Ben Hecht are told in my recently published book Without Permission: Conversations, Letters, and Memoirs of Henry Mandel (Cherry Orchard Books 2021). Mandel went from being a yeshiva boy to becoming an American Merchant Mariner during World War II, a crewman aboard the Jewish “illegal” immigrant ship Abril / Ben Hecht, a detainee in Acre Fortress, a technician in a covert Haganah armament plant in lower Manhattan, and a volunteer for the Israeli Army during the 1948 Israeli War of Independence. He provides a unique illuminating perspective on the creation of a Jewish state. He and his comrades struggled for a refuge for the survivors of the Holocaust where they could rebuild their lives in personal and national freedom.

            Growing up in the 1990s, I knew my Grandpa Hy had done something special, but it was hard for me to explain exactly why. His story did not fit into the paradigms I had learned about the heroes of his generation from television or school programs about the Holocaust. Moral courage in a world gone by is hard to understand and harder to emulate. He was not a survivor, in contrast to the grandparents of many of my contemporaries. He had not been a soldier in World War II, and his service in boiler rooms under the water lines of Merchant Marine vessels toward the end of the war and in the immediate post-war period, despite the dangers or lurking German submarines and floating mines, did not qualify him for benefits under the GI bill or points in civil service exams during his career as a Department of Defense and New York City Department of Health civil servant specializing in procurements. He had not become a rabbi, served as an Army chaplain, or led congregations, unlike some of his classmates who in high school had been no more learned than he. He served as a foreign volunteer in the young Israeli Army during the Israeli War of Independence, but he had not seen combat, and he had returned to America rather than settling in Israel.

Spurred by my grandfather’s death in 2015, Without Permission: Conversations, Letters, and Memoirs of Henry Mandel is the product of my efforts to better understand my grandfather’s story and to discover its lessons for today. The book melds personal narratives of the Ben Hecht crew, historical background, and analysis that complements Mandel’s recollections preserved in the book.

My grandfather habitually told the stories he found most meaningful about his life in bits and pieces as asides, during Shabbat walks, car rides, or on the stoop when his grandchildren were released early from school on Fridays. His mother, whose maiden name was Chana Reisner, was born in Bratislava (Pressburg), then part of the Austro-Hungarian Empire, and spoke German and Hungarian. Her father had sold cattle to kosher butchers but had died in 1917 during the influenza pandemic. The family moved to Vienna and lived in the heavily Jewish Herminengasse neighborhood. One day a young man with a handsome beard and peyot (sidelocks) knocked on the door looking for the daughter of the “Widow Rosner.” It was Abraham Mandel, who had been raised in Ulanov in Galicia, had studied in the Galante yeshiva in Hungary, and had received ordination to be a ritual slaughterer. Chana’s mother quickly deduced that the young stranger had received directions to the wrong address in a meeting set up by a marriage broker, and not having enough money to hire a marriage broker for Chana or being privy to any knowledge about Abraham, introduced him to Chana. They hit it off and soon married. Leo, Henry (called Hymie by his family then), and Dora were born in Vienna; Rebecca Esther was born in Gouverneur in upstate New York, where Abraham slaughtered cattle until a serious sledding accident, and then Goldie, Morris, and Malka Tziporah followed once the family settled in The Bronx.    

            The Ben Hecht was not my grandfather’s first clandestine adventure. As a young boy, my grandfather and his older brother Leo used to take off their yarmulkes and attach themselves to groups of Catholic parochial school classes being admitted into baseball games at the Polo Grounds, home of the Giants. Giants’ owner Charles Stoneham's son Horace Stoneham, who would inherit the team and eventually move it to San Francisco, was at the time working in the ticketing office. One day Horace stopped the brothers and denied them entry, remarking that "Your tzitzit are showing." In 1936, when my grandfather graduated from Talmudical Academy high school, he was offered a half scholarship to continue on at Yeshiva College. He declined, not wanting to financially burden his family at a time his father could not even afford to buy a daily Yiddish paper. After leaving yeshiva at age 15, his first job was ditch digging for a Works Progress Administration project. The former yeshiva student was at a loss until a kindly older Italian man showed him how to wield a shovel. Looking back, Mandel was sure that his father would have somehow come up with the tuition. But, characteristically reflecting on the past optimistically, he felt the hard labor of his youth had built up his strength, and because he shifted to office work as he grew older his body had not been worn down.

            On his first day working in a Brooklyn Navy Yard machine shop, the foreman discovered there were now two workers with the first name Henry. The foreman declared there could be only one Henry in his shop. When the first Henry in the shop declared “My name is Henry,” my grandfather said he would be called Hank in his easy-going way, a name that stuck at sea and at work for the rest of his life. His beliefs gave him the security to not stand on ceremony. Mandel would explain to his daughters he had never legally changed his name from Heinreich, noting serving in the Israeli army was not so legal either, and as a Vienna-born naturalized citizen, he had taken his chances by serving Israel in violation of American statutes in an era when many citizenships were forfeited, and security clearances revoked, due to suspected disloyalty. He went by his Hebrew name Chaim in the Israeli Army, which perhaps was the name to which he most closely identified.

            Serving aboard Merchant Marine vessels broadened Mandel’s horizons, both in understanding the world and the diversity within the Jewish people, while remaining steadfast to his own identity. When working on a Merchant Marine ship in New York, a member of the crew, Henry Chan, introduced himself as the new messman. Chan, who had lost his rent money gambling, asked to borrow $10 so he could retrieve his luggage from his landlady. Mandel, who had been bringing a sandwich for lunch and eating supper at home while the ship was in port to eat kosher as much as he could, thought a messman was always a nice friend to have, and lent Chan the cash. The evening the ship went to sea, with his last sandwich already consumed, Mandel went into the ship’s mess for the first time with his cap on so he could recite a blessing before eating. An Able Bodied Seaman said “Hey, take your hat off. I told you to take your hat off when you are eating. Where I come from, we take our hats off when we eat.” Mandel looked at him and said “Where I come from we put our hats on when we eat.” At that moment Henry Chan came into the mess hall and the Seaman said “Henry, don’t feed that man until he takes off his cap.” Chan replied, “You know, this is my mess hall, and I feed whomever I want to feed. Now, if that man wants to wear his cap, he can wear his cap. If you don’t like it, you can leave the mess hall.” Chan, despite his last name, wasn’t Chinese. He had a dark complexion. As the ship shuttled in the Mediterranean, Mandel noticed that he spoke Italian in Italy, and on the next stop in Greece, he would speak Greek. As Passover approached Mandel told Chan “Henry, I am not going to be coming into the mess hall for the next eight days, but what I would like you to do is in the morning I will come by and give me six raw eggs.” Mandel intended to boil them in the engine room and eat them along with some matzos he had picked up in Greece for all of his meals during the holiday. Chan said, “Well, can’t you have anything else, how about coffee?” Mandel said “No.” “I will give you a brand-new can,” countered Chan. “No, I don’t want the coffee,” Mandel replied. Annoyed, Chan remarked, “You know, my parents were the most Orthodox people in Turkey. We used to drink coffee on Passover.” Mandel had no idea that Chan was even Jewish. Later on in life, when he and my Grandma Libby visited on holidays, he often prayed at the nearby beautiful Syrian Sephardic Beth Torah Congregation, explaining that the essential prayers of the Sephardic and Ashkenazic rites were the same.

            In early 1946, Mandel was serving aboard a United States Merchant Marine ship where he and a crewmate, radio operator David Kaplan, with the shared experience of traditional Jewish educations, read about how Holocaust survivors were trying to enter the land of Israel via boat in defiance of Great Britain’s edict declaring such immigration into the country illegal. They agreed that whoever would learn first of a Jewish immigrant ship they could join would tell the other. Mandel, upon returning to his parents’ apartment in The Bronx, was approached by a Mr. Green, who had grown up in the shtetl of Plonsk with his cousin David Gruen (who later changed his name to David Ben-Gurion) and whose daughters were friendly with Mandel’s sisters. He told Mandel there was such a ship looking for sailors. Mr. Green directed Mandel to the offices of the American League for a Free Palestine, which was led by Peter Bergson in Washington, D.C. Mandel sent a telegram to Kaplan, who had been at sea in an oil tanker off of the coast of Venezuela, and Kaplan returned to join him.

            Bergson, whose real name was Hillel Kook, had led a group of Irgun Zvai Leumi activists, loosely known as the Bergson Boys, who had during the war sought to stir the American public, Congress, and President Roosevelt to help refugees and to save Jews during the Holocaust. The Bergson Boys, which operated under different names, was now trying to raise funds and to influence the American public to support an independent Jewish state. The noted playwright and screenwriter Ben Hecht had lent his biting pen on behalf of the Bergson’s Boys’ efforts during World War II in advertisements paid for by the Bergson Group’s small donors, including one that ironically declared, when the American government blocked the payment of bribes to allies of the Nazis who might spare Jews in exchange for currency and materials, there was “For Sale to Humanity 70,000 Jews, Guaranteed Human Beings at $50 a Piece.” In 1944, with the Irgun engaged in an underground armed revolt in Palestine, the Bergson Boys had formed the League, to influence the American public, especially members of Congress, and to collect funds for the Irgun. In 1946, Hecht wrote the Broadway play A Flag Is Born to raise funds for the League, which featured a Holocaust survivor character played by a young Marlon Brando who travels to Palestine to fight for Jewish independence. The Brando character rhetorically asked where American Jews had been during the Holocaust.

            The Bergson Boys devoted the funds raised by the play, which amounted to almost the totality of their financial resources, to purchase and retrofit a ship to transport Jewish displaced persons to Palestine. The Bergson Boys set up the Tyre Shipping Company as a shell company to hold “nominal title” for a ship. The Abril was a worn down, rusty 753-ton former yacht. It was built by the Krupp company in Keil, Germany in 1930. It was initially named Agrosy and was renamed, Vita, Abril, and then served as the USS Cythera (PY 31) as a coastal patrol vessel during World War II. Tyre purchased it from the United States government for $36,400 (the next bid was $36,000, indicating that the bidders were trying to keep the price low for the Bergson Boys). The ship’s retrofit in the Gowanus Canal cost over $100,000.

            The M.S. (Merchant Ship) Abril, which was to become famous under its underground name M.S. Ben Hecht, was the only Jewish illegal immigrant ship not sponsored by the Mossad Aliyah Bet associated with the Haganah, the establishment Jewish Agency’s pre-state underground army, to transport illegal immigrants to Palestine after the close of World War II until the establishment of the State of Israel. Menachem Begin, the commander of the Irgun in Palestine, complained that Bergson felt that the cost of purchasing and sailing an illegal immigration ship was not justified because the Haganah, with much greater resources, had undertaken a large-scale illegal immigrant ship program as its primary method of challenging British rule. Begin argued that the League should devote its funds to buy arms for the Irgun, and not divert any funds towards operations intended to garner publicity. Bergson placed much greater importance to securing the support of the American public for a Jewish state. Moreover, he felt that the Haganah’s Mossad LeAliyah Bet, which was organizing and sailing illegal immigration ships clandestinely, could be pressed to expand its operations on a much greater scale if it were spurred by the publicity garnered by a competitor. The plan was for the ship to closely approach the Palestine coast where small boats would ferry the passengers to shore, allowing the ship to return with other passengers on another journey. It was hoped that the ship would avoid detection due to diversionary attacks by the Irgun on British installations.

            After Mandel learned that the League was looking for a crew, he was told to meet with Abraham (Abrasha) Stavsky. Stavsky had been convicted of the assassination of labor Zionist Chaim Arlosoroff on a Tel Aviv beach in 1933, but the conviction and sentence of death by hanging had been reversed due to lack of collaboration after Chief Rabbi Abraham Isaac Kook had publicly declared “I can attest, on the basis of my inner conscience, that Abraham Stavsky is innocent of the murder charge.” In the late 1930s and early 1940s, Stavsky had shepherded thousands of Jews fleeing the Nazis in small boats to refuge in Palestine as part of operations organized by the Revisionist movement and the Irgun. Mandel later recalled that Stavsky “said he was looking for an American crew to man their ship the M.S. Abril (which was later changed to M.S. Ben Hecht). Up until that time the crew of Aliyah Bet ships, when captured, would mingle with the passengers and the British would not arrest any crewman.” However, if captured, the crew of the Ben Hecht would not conceal themselves. “The intention with the M.S. Ben Hecht,” Stavsky explained to Mandel, “was that if the ship was captured the American crew would remain to be arrested by the British. Because of the publicity they could not intern Americans in Cyprus or Eritrea. There would have to be a public trial where the Americans would be charged with ‘Aiding and Abetting Illegal Immigration.’” The crew would insist on a trial in which the British policy of forbidding Jewish immigration would be assailed as a breach of the League of Nations mandate to create a Jewish home in Palestine. Stavsky told Mandel that “the defense would be that the immigration was legal and that the British were given the Mandate to make Palestine a homeland for the Jewish people. This would show the English in a very unfavorable light before the entire world and would hasten the exit of the British from Palestine.”

            The ship was to be manned by a volunteer crew of American citizens (including some sailors whose families received a stipend, and two Norwegian engineers paid for their services but who shared in the crew’s travails). Mandel wrote later that he volunteered because “I was a Zionist, and I also felt that it was my duty to help my fellow Jews.” Mandel reflected 50 years after his Ben Hecht voyage that “[i]f I were Irish I would be proud to be Irish. If I were Italian, I would be proud to be Italian. But I am not, I am Jewish” he said with a smile. “And I am proud to be a Jew.” Hyman Robert (“Bob”) Levitan, who would navigate the Ben Hecht across the Atlantic to the shores of Palestine, had felt helpless as the Nazis rose to power as “an impotent little Jewish kid in Brooklyn,” and jumped at the opportunity to volunteer to help “the Jews that came out of the concentration camps…. They had no place to go, they had no place to live.” Crew members were not necessarily associated with any particular ideology but who were animated by a desire to help Holocaust survivors flee the land where their families were murdered. Several of the crew members were not Jews. Walter Cushenberry, a professional maritime chef, had been convinced by the League that Palestine was the only place to build homes for the displaced Jews of Europe. Cushenberry was influenced by the message of his union, the National Maritime Union (NMU) “that regardless of race or creed there should be no discrimination on ships….So frankly, I do think it’s my business.” Subsequent to his imprisonment in Acre Prison, he would recount that “after talking to those guys in prison and learning the truth” that “[t]he only way it’s gonna be stopped is for us to try and go and give them their freedom.” Cushenberry, an African American, explained in a soft whisper “I happen to know just what freedom means, you know.”

            Mandel served as second engineer and oiler in the engine room and an electrician and plumber aboard the undermanned Ben Hecht. After enduring severe storms and rough seas in the mid-winter crossing of the Atlantic, on January 10, 1947, the Ben Hecht arrived six days behind schedule in Port de Bouc, a small port near Marseille, France. Despite the misgivings of the Irgun leadership in Palestine, Irgun operatives in France aided in the practical work of preparing the illegal immigrant ship. Yehoshua HaCohen-Brandeis recalled that when the Ben Hecht arrived in France, he and Elyahu Lankin (who had escaped from a British prison camp in Eritrea and had had been appointed head of Irgun operations in Europe), Eri Jabotinsky (the son of Revisionist Zionist movement founder Ze'ev Jabotinsky), and Abraham Stavsky, who was the group’s expert on illegal immigration ship construction, organized the preparation of the vessel for the immigrants: HaCohen-Brandeis later recalled that Stavsky

decided this ship had room for 600 people. There were three bedrooms, one or two restrooms, and an engine room. But there was a big deck. And he began to design. He designed to install planks extending out over the sea …to expand the deck. At the end of these planks, he set up a small shack without a roof and without a bottom, like a telephone booth. He built like eight booths like these. These were the outhouses…. According to the design, all the men needed to stay on the deck—“which ever way,” by standing, by sitting, by lying down. In the rooms below, it was necessary that only sick women or sick men would descend; that would be the infirmary. And thus about 600 people were able to travel in that ship—if you call her a ship.

When he at first had heard that Stavsky planned to transport 600 on the Ben Hecht, HaCohen-Brandeis thought that Stavsky “was not serious. I did not know whether to call him an expert or something worse. But he was correct. He knew his trade.” Stavsky had previously fit equivalent numbers of illegal immigrant passengers into smaller ship spaces. The international nature of the expected passengers is captured by the multi-lingual signage on the twin outhouses for men and women constructed extending from the deck, though one suspects that the translation into Norwegian reflected the whimsy of the crew rather than necessity:

WOMEN                     MEN

FRAUEN                     MENNER

DAMES                       ERDJEL

ASZONYOK              EMBEREK

MUJERES                   HOMBRES

ENSA                          HERRER

DAMER

Irgun operative HaCohen-Brandeis chose eight young Betar youth group members and trained them in using guns and hand grenades and in a deserted wooded area near Marseilles. But Bergson Boys leader Yitzhak Ben-Ami instructed the crew and passengers to resist only passively the British if the Royal Navy seized the Ben Hecht so casualties would be avoided. Betar leader Gideon Abramowitz instructed the trainees to throw their weapons into the sea upon contact with the British to avoid bloodshed. Eliyahu Lankin and the Bergson Boy leadership were concerned that the Ben Hecht passengers would be in particular danger if there was any resistance due to the ship’s connection to the Irgun. British intelligence had monitored the Ben Hecht since its retrofitting in New York and believed that the vessel would fiercely resist capture even more violently than recent Haganah ships, which had sought to defend themselves with heavy objects and clubs.

            The great majority of the Ben Hecht’s passengers began their journey from Displaced Persons (DP) camps in the American-occupied zone in Germany. Note the strange nomenclature: they were no longer considered refugees deserving of sanctuary by the victorious Allied powers because World War II was over. They were merely displaced people unwilling to go back to their countries of origin. On February 28, 1947, the immigrants arrived in Marseille. Mandel noted the day that refugees boarded the ship “was a very touching moment…. They came out of Europe which to them was a slaughter house, and these people had lived to see many of the members of their family slaughtered, some of them actually saw them, others it was they just disappeared. And here they were being on a ship to go to the Land of Israel.” On Saturday, March 1, 1947, the Ben Hecht left Port-de-Bouc with 600 immigrant passengers and 27 crew members. The Ben Hecht’s captain had been dismissed after the crew complained of his drunkenness, and Levitan served as the senior officer on board for the ship’s trip from France to Palestine. Moshe Schwartz and Simcha Berlin were in charge of the passengers as Betar escorts. Most of the passengers were connected to the Revisionist movement, but there were also Orthodox passengers associated with Agudath Yisroel. Some of the passengers “were in a very pitiful state,” Mandel recalled, and “had not recovered from the concentration camps and the work camps which they had been in during the war.” A few Russian Jews “were big, strong, compared to the others” because they had been adequately fed in the Red Army. A group of Tunisian Jews who were members of Betar planned to form a Kibbutz once they arrived in the Land of Israel. There were five pregnant women on board. A couple were married during the trip because the couple feared they would be separated if the British captured the boat. The Rabbi who presided over the ceremony explained that the cup donated by Messman Jeno Berkovits would be shattered “in order to perpetuate the memory of the destruction of Solomon's Temple and remind the Jews that they live in dispersion.” A 17-year-old French citizen, Henrietta Goldenberg was traveling to reunite and marry her fiancé Bart Stroe of Tel-Aviv, whom she had met while he served as a Jewish volunteer in the British Army.

            An hour after sunrise the morning after the ship left Port-de-Bouc, the piston oil-pump rod of the ship’s port engine forward pierced a hole in a crankcase. The Ben Hecht was in a narrow channel between an uncleared minefield. The starboard engine had malfunctioned during the earlier trip to France, and if it failed again the ship would drift into the minefield. Upon being radioed the news that the port engine was wrecked, Jabotinsky consulted with his Bergson Boys colleagues and ordered the ship to return. Levitan, however, reasoned it was just as dangerous to return as to go forward and asked the engineers if the engine could be repaired at sea. Chief Engineer Haakom Lilliby, First Assistant Engineer Erling Sorensen, and First Assistant Engineer Louis Brettschneider, assisted by Mandel, worked for 24 hours straight to hammer repurposed deck plates to patch the engine. (Brettschneider had been recruited by Mandel.) These emergency repairs rendered the engine only operable at a reduced speed, which delayed the arrival of the ship near Palestinian waters by a day longer than the seven planned. The Irgun originally planned attacks on British installations to divert attention from the anticipated arrival of the Ben Hecht on a Friday night. However, the ship now could not meet that timetable. To their frustration, radio operators Kaplan and Edward “Eddie” Styrak (a Polish American who later volunteered for the Israeli Air Transport Command), the Irgun on shore was not aware that the Ben Hecht was behind schedule, and the Ben Hecht’s crew was not aware of updated information about the Irgun’s plans, which changed the time table of the attacks to Saturday night. Somewhat mysteriously, the Betar escorts did know of the Irgun’s change in plans, but apparently did not share that information with the American crew.

            The Ben Hecht was spotted by two British Lancaster patrol bomber airplanes at 10:40 am on Saturday, March 8, 1947. The Royal Navy destroyer HMS Chieftain came in sight of the Ben Hecht at 12:15 pm. The HMS Chevron arrived at 2:15 pm on the starboard side of the Ben Hecht. The Ben Hecht requested food and water supplies, and the Royal Navy destroyers warned her not to enter Palestinian waters. A British destroyer signaled “What ship? Where bound?” and received the reply that the name of the ship was the Abril and that the destination was Arica, Chile on the Pacific coast of South America. That answer belied Ben Hecht’s current course, which at that point was towards the direction of the Strait of Gibraltar, away from the Suez Canal, to confuse the British.

            The path of the Ben Hecht was blocked by the British destroyers at 4:30 pm, as twilight approached, over 10 nautical miles from the coast line of Palestine, well within international waters as defined by Great Britain’s interpretation of international maritime law. The Betar members trained by the Irgun ultimately followed the instructions of the Betar escorts and threw their weapons into the sea before they boarded. With only one day’s food supply remaining for the passengers, Levitan felt he had no choice but to turn 90 degrees and head toward the coast. Once again, a British destroyer signaled asking for the ship’s name and destination, and the response was that it was the merchant vessel Abril heading to Chile in South America, even though the ship was heading straight to Palestine rather than either to Gibraltar or the Suez Canal. Surrounded by the British naval vessels, the Betar escorts hoisted the Zionist flag aboard the Ben Hecht and led the passengers in singing the Zionist anthem, Hatikvah, and the Zionist Revisionist Party’s hymn. The Royal Navy destroyer Chieftain then went beside the Ben Hecht and landed a boarding party of thirty two officers and men and rammed the Ben Hecht. Thirty boarders then jumped onto the Ben Hecht’s deck from the HMS Chevron, and another 20 boarded from the HMS Chivalrous. In addition to these three destroyers, HMS St Bride’s Bay was also in the British force following the Ben Hecht. The hundred British armed marines, laden with tear gas grenades, batons, and javelins then jumped on the deck, some using water hoses, and soon gained control over the Ben Hecht.

            The passengers were imprisoned below deck and all the crew were kept under guard in a corner of the bridge. After approximately an hour, the ship was secured. “Many of our passengers were in tears and worse, some threatening to jump overboard,” Kaplan recalled. Jacques Méry, a French journalist aboard since the ship’s departure from Port-de-Bouc and who wrote a book about his experiences, Laissez passer mon people (Paris: Éditions du Seuil, 1947), left the deck among the passengers because he could not “stand the tears that run on the bony faces of men.” The boarding party was prepared for combat, but once they took control and there was no fighting, the British sailors and marines relaxed to a degree and treated the crew and passengers in a relatively friendly manner.

            The Royal Navy’s official history of its campaign to blockade and intercept Jewish immigration to Palestine claimed that the British boarding parties encountered no opposition, and that the boarding parties were offered fudge and tomato soup by the American crew from a modern galley. Mandel, however, insisted that

[w]hile we did not resist (another story in itself) we did not cooperate with the English. We disconnected the auxiliary motor to the rudder, and when the British took over the wheel it took two men to steer (“Those Jewboys must be bloody strong” was one comment by a wheelman.) We didn’t have a “modern cookhouse” and we did not serve the British anything. They commandeered what they wanted, but they could not have had tomato soup, as there wasn’t any aboard and our passengers and our own crew were never served tomato soup.

            The same New York Times article that reported in passing the arrival without “advance notice” of the Abril / Ben Hecht and its capture “without a struggle,” gave pride of place to eight attacks in Tel Aviv and along the coast of Palestine on that Saturday night, March 8, 1947, which could have served as diversionary attacks to distract attention from the Ben Hecht’s approach to the coast. The ship’s crew was not informed of the change in plan, and the ship had approached the coast and been intercepted before the 8:15 pm start time of those attacks. In those attacks, which included one on Citrus House, the British operational headquarters in Tel Aviv and the cutting off of Tel Aviv’s electricity, five Jews, an Arab woman, and one British soldier were killed, and approximately 50 Jews, British soldiers, and Arabs were wounded. The Jews and an Arab woman killed were passers-by, uninvolved in the attacks, shot in indiscriminate firing by British troops.

            In the wee hours of the morning of March 9, 1947, the Ben Hecht was towed into Haifa Harbor, and the British 88^th Red Devils Paratrooper Division, known as the Kalonniyot (Poppies) among the Jews in Palestine after their red berets, treated the Jewish immigrants roughly and beat them when forcing them into deportation ships Empire Shelter, Empire Rival, and the Empire Rest for transit to prison camps in Cyprus. Journalist I. F. Stone witnessed the deportation of the Ben Hecht passengers, and described the “weary, the dirty, the sleepy-eyed, the long suffering, some shambling through, some walking with defiant erectness and slow gait, others anxious to avoid trouble; men, women and some small children. They moved along one by one, driven human cattle to who, these shouts, shoves and quick squirts with powder [DDT disinfectant] were but one more in a familiar series to be endured, though this time at the very brink of Eretz Israel.”

            “We were taken off,” crew member David Kaplan later remembered, “and we were put into—not gently—into Haifa lockup.” Twenty crew members of the Abril/Ben Hecht appeared before Haifa Criminal Court Chief Magistrate Effendi Shadi Kahlil in Haifa lockup, who remanded the Ben Hecht sailors into prison on the charge of aiding and abetting 600 immigrants to enter in an illegal manner into the territorial waters of Palestine.

            The indicted crew members were sent to Acre Prison. As remanded prisoners, they were housed outside the main prison separate from the convicted prisoners. They were allowed contact with permanent prisoners who were members of the Irgun Zvai Leumi and the more radical Lehi (Stern Group) underground movements. When the Ben Hecht crew arrived in Acre, the Irgun was frantically planning a breakout from the prison to save Dov Gruner and three other condemned men from execution. Gruner had refused to appeal his sentence because to do so would have implicitly recognized the right of his British captor to impose their rule. Levitan had a small camera, and Kaplan had film, hidden in luggage, and not detected or confiscated by the British. The personal belongings of the Ben Hecht crew had not been thrown overboard by the British sailors, as was typically done, probably because they had not physically resisted arrest. Eitan Livni, the senior Irgun prisoner, asked Levitan to photograph prisoners, who unbeknownst to Levitan, had been selected to break out. Levitan was allowed into the main prison complex under the pretense of a visit for a shower, carrying the camera and film under a towel. He photographed multiple Irgun and Lechi prisoners in each shot to save film. Matiyahu Shmulevitz, a Lechi member whose death sentence had been commuted, asked for the film after Levitan took the pictures, without explanation. The photos were then smuggled out of the prison and used to prepare fake identification papers, which were necessary if the escapees were to evade capture after the breakout.

            The Ben Hecht crew were also, as Mandel later wrote,

permitted to enter the regular prison for Shabbat services when a Rabbi would come in. One of the Irgun prisoners asked me if I had any electric batteries. Among my other duties aboard ship I served as Electrician and I had a box with about a dozen batteries with me. We were searched by the English before we were permitted to join the prisoners. I put three batteries in the bottom of each shoe and hobbled in. The British searched me but did not have me remove my shoes and I brought in the batteries. I did this twice and brought in a dozen batteries.

            While the Ben Hecht crew awaited trial in Acre Prison, a publicity campaign was waged to bring attention to the injustice. Mandel’s youngest sister, Malka Tziporah, remembers her parents as being intensely distressed. Esther Kaplan, the mother of Ben Hecht radioman David Kaplan lobbied congressmen. Congressman John D. Dingell of Michigan, on March 20, 1947, in a speech on the floor of the House Representatives, said that:

The civilized nations of the world clearly set forth in the League of Nations Mandate their intent that Palestine become a Hebrew homeland. Britain concurred in that intent and eagerly accepted the Mandate. She has, in fact, been extremely loath to relinquish the powers the Mandate gave her and is unbecomingly assiduous in extending those powers…. The freedom of the seas has a long history in American interest from the shores of Tripoli to Leyte Gulf. I should not like to see that freedom abandoned under circumstances in which every precept of law, honor, and humanity asserts its dignity.

To avoid further negative publicity, the British decided that the Ben Hecht sailors would be expelled from Palestine. Mandel later explained that “the English realized that bringing us to trial would further reveal their perfidy to the entire world and to our great disappointment, released us without trial and expelled us from Palestine. However, there was much publicity about the arrest of Americans opposing the British, and the incident served its purpose.” The exiled Ben Hecht crew were warned that if they returned on another illegal immigrant ship, they could be sentenced to an eight-year prison term under British law.

            (Ignoring that warning, Walter “Heavy” Greaves, the ship’s third mate and bosun, a Gentile who had survived the sinking of three ships during the war and a man who was looked to for guidance in a crisis, again tried to run the British blockade on the Aliyah Bet ship Paducah, later renamed Geula [Redemption] by the Haganah. Demonstrating the non-ideological character of the crew, his Ben Hecht shipmates David Gutmann, Lou Brettschneider, and Louis Binder joined him on the Paducah. Upon the capture of the Paducah, Greaves would eventually be detected and imprisoned in Cyprus with captured Jewish refugees for close to two years. The other Paducah disguised themselves as refugees, and the Haganah arranged for their escape. Binder eventually became a member of Congregation Shearith Israel. Rabbi Marc D. Angel oversaw the conversion of his wife, Franja, a daughter of University of Chicago President Robert Maynard Hutchins, who Rabbi Angel remembers as an amazing human being. Sadly, both died at a young age; Franja first and then Lou shortly thereafter. Both are buried in the cemetery of Shearith Israel. Their daughter was adopted by a couple who knew the Binders from American Veterans of Israel organization.)

            The Ben Hecht sailors were expelled from Palestine on March 30, 1947, and were brought in irons unto the Marine Carp, which had a regular route between Palestine and New York. Mandel joined the crew of the Marine Carp when the ship became short-handed in Alexandria. To his surprise, Mandel’s former messman Henry Chan was also a member of the Marine Carp’s crew. On April 16, 1947, while the Marine Carp was still at sea on route to New York, Dov Gruner and three other members of the Jewish resistance, who the Irgun were desperately attempting to free when the Ben Hecht crew were in Acre, were executed by the British in Acre Prison. Over 50 years later, Mandel would write that “on May 4, 1947 the Irgun, in one of its finest moments, blew out the side of Acre prison and many prisoners escaped. I feel proud that I have even the smallest part in this action.” The League promised an “Armada of Mercy Ships” to follow up on the Ben Hecht. Instead, the Irgun insisted that the next ship organized by the Begson Group, the Altalena, carry arms. Stavsky tried to recruit Mandel for that trip too, but he already was engaged in setting up a secret Haganah bazooka shell plant in lower Manhattan that was reassembled in Israel with his assistance as a foreign volunteer in the new Israeli Defense Forces. Instead, Mandel suggested a friend, who was killed in a terrible fratricidal tragedy along with Stavsky by troops loyal to the new Israeli government, which feared a possible coup when the Altalena tried to land in Tel Aviv.

In an age in which the legitimacy of Israel as a Jewish is constantly questioned, I hope my grandfather’s story and the tale of the Ben Hecht can help remind us, that despite imperfections, Israel is a moral and humanitarian enterprise. Even in the immediate aftermath of the Holocaust, the survivors were left to rot without a home. It took the bravery of the survivors who challenged that fate, and the sacrifices of so many, to build a country where refugees could rebuild their lives in freedom and allow their dynamism to contribute so much to the well-being of the world.

Suggestions for Further Reading

Judith Tydor Baumel, The“Bergson Boys” and the Origins of Contemporary Zionist Militancy, Translated from the Hebrew by Dena Ordan with a Foreword by Moshe Arens (Syracuse: Syracuse University Press, 2005).

Rafael Medoff, Militant Zionism in America: The Rise and Impact of the Jabotinsky Movement in the United States, 1926–1948 (Tuscaloosa and London: The University of Alabama Press 2002).

Rafael Medoff, “Sailor’s role in the birth of Israel”, The Jewish Star, May 1, 2009 / 7 Iyar 5769, available at https://www.thejewishstar.com/stories/sailors-role-in-the-birth-of-israel,758?

Rafael Medoff, “The Bergson Group, Voyage of the Ben Hecht”, Part 8 of the “Bergson Group, A History of Photographs”, available at http://new.wymaninstitute.org/2017/01/the-bergson-group-voyage-of-the-ben-hecht/.

Rafael Medoff, “The S.S. Ben Hecht: a Jewish refugee ship that changed history,” Midstream Nov. 1, 2008).

Rafael Medoff, “Zionists helped defeat segregation in Baltimore – opinion” (The Jerusalem Post, January, 12, 2022), available at https://www.jpost.com/opinion/article-692340.

Democracy promises a precious kind of freedom to its citizens. Democracies guarantee us rights: Ordinary citizens must have the right to publish our opinions, to assemble freely, to petition government officers, to object to the decisions of officers, to compete for public office ourselves, and, periodically, to vote in elections to throw the current officers out of office in a peaceful transfer of power.

No actual democracy protects all those rights flawlessly. Healthy democratic cultures at least strive to come close to respecting those rights.

The Torah does not insist on democratic rights; the Torah antedates modern democracy. Torah-observing Jews have survived under many other sorts of political entities. The Torah clearly wants us to create a virtuous society, in which the powerful protect the weakest and most vulnerable, who represent the “image of God” as well as powerful people do. As such, the Torah imposes duties on leaders, recognizing, in common with other ethical systems, that “With great power comes great responsibility.”[1] I believe that democracy can function as a system to encourage leaders to bear that responsibility. In a democracy, if the leaders disappoint the citizenry, the citizens can throw the rascals out, and elect others who seem more fitted to lead.

What qualities would those more fitted leaders have?

Perhaps they should act as statesmen or stateswomen, rather than as politicians, a distinction recently presented by Rabbi Marc D. Angel.[2] Politicians assess the desires of the public, and then advocate whatever the public wants. Statesmen and stateswomen lead the public to want wise and virtuous policies. Abraham Lincoln described those wise and virtuous policies as the promptings of “the better angels of our nature.”[3] I read these categories as archetypes. No leader fits exactly into the category of statesman/woman or politician. The best of real leaders sometimes function more like statesmen/women, and sometimes more like politicians. Other function more like politicians nearly all the time.

And let me propose, leaders can function in a couple of other ways: as demagogues or as exploiters. Demagogues lead the public to follow the promptings, not of the better angels, but of the other side of our natures—promptings to feel aggrieved, to seek revenge, rapine, and bloodshed. Exploiters[4] seek their own advantage and take what they can for themselves, with little interest in how their actions affect the general public.

But to encourage a virtuous leadership, the ordinary citizens of a democracy must actually have the power to influence their leaders, and even to throw them out. I feel frustrated by how little power ordinary citizens have to influence the behavior of our leaders in the democratic United States of America.

Part of that frustration centers on how far our leaders can stray from the ideals of good leadership. In fairness, we should recognize the theme throughout Tanakh that we do not have a solution to the problem of political leadership. All leaders have flaws. No model works for long. The book of Judges ends in disaster (see the concubine in Gibeah, Judges 19–21); the kings of Israel and Judah often get summarized as “doing evil in the eyes of God” (2 Kings 23:37, for example).

The Torah actually presents a list of the desirable qualities of leaders, when Yitro recommends that Moses appoint those who are “able, God-fearing, truthful, hating dishonest gain” (Exodus 18:21). Implementing this advice, Moses appoints leaders who are merely “able” (18:25). Rabbi Avraham ibn Ezra reads “able” as a short statement meant to include the other virtues; or perhaps Yitro’s standards were too exacting, and Moses had to settle for what he could get.[5]

Yitro wants leaders who “hate dishonest gain.” The Torah formulates that as a prohibition: “Do not tilt justice; do not recognize a person, and do not take a bribe, for a bribe blinds the eyes of the wise and soils the words of the righteous” (Deut. 16:19; see also Exodus 23:8). At first glance, this prohibition applies to judges. On further reflection, everyone else in the judicial system, witnesses, bailiffs, police officers, cannot have permission to take bribes. On even further reflection, bribes have the power to corrupt political leaders, military leaders, bureaucrats, admissions officers, school administrators, teachers, and pretty much anyone with any authority.

Later in the story, Moses defends his own leadership with the claim, “I have not taken one donkey from them, neither have I hurt one of them.” (Num. 16:15). Samuel makes a similar point with the question, “Whose ox have I taken, or whose donkey?” (I Sam. 12:3). Perhaps the “taken a donkey” means, not “extorted ownership of the donkey” but even only “taken a ride on someone’s donkey without paying.”[6]

The Torah teaches that a bribe “blinds the eyes of the wise and soils the words of the righteous.” How can we call someone who accepts a bribe “righteous”? Perhaps the verse simply means a person who was righteous until the moment when the judge succumbed to the temptation to accept a bribe.[7] Reading literally, the Talmud understands this to mean even if the judge determines to accept gifts only from the party who deserves to win the case (Ketubot 105a). Further, even if an extremely wise person takes a bribe, “he will not leave the world until he has suffered blindness of heart” (Ketubot 105a). Psychologist Robert Cialdini identifies the mechanism behind this phenomenon as “the power of reciprocity.”[8] People say yes to those who have given them a gift. Even if one determines to ignore the gift, one will unconsciously tilt toward the giver.

And not just the person who receives the bribe; the corruption applies to those who exist in a system that tolerates bribes. Yoel Finkelman observes that “an environment of bribery destroys the moral integrity of everyone in the system.”[9]

The United States at this time still has statutes against bribery. In 2008, a state Governor was convicted of bribery. Given the opportunity to appoint a Senator for an interim term, the Governor explicitly told political leaders that the office was for sale. The Governor had served nearly eight years in prison when his sentence was commuted by presidential order.[10]

A few years later, in 2014, another Governor was convicted of taking improper gifts and loans from a constituent named Jonnie Williams. The constituent had asked the Governor and his wife for help with state regulation of a business deal, and received answers like this one, from the wife:

According to Williams, she explained that the “Governor says it’s okay for me to help you and—but I need you to help me. I need you to help me with this financial situation.” Mrs. McDonnell then asked Williams for a $50,000 loan, in addition to a $15,000 gift to help pay for her daughter’s wedding, and Williams agreed.

The Supreme Court unanimously overturned the conviction on appeal, in 2016, on the grounds that the statute was too broad, that repeated introductions to officers in state government who could help with a business deal do not constitute an “official action.”[11] As Justice Roberts noted in that decision, elected officials often do favors for members of the public by arranging meetings with other government officials, so the benefit Williams got for her gifts were not extraordinary.

Elected officials often do favors for members of the public; Justice Roberts does not consider how much money members of the public should have to give to their elected officials to get these favors. The elected official can legitimately ask for gifts, and the constituent can give gifts. The Supreme Court did not consider the effect of these mandatory gifts on the sense that we live in a country with democratic freedoms. These gifts may instead inspire the perception that we have a government of the wealthy, by the wealthy for the wealthy.

Furthermore, in order to become an elected official, one needs to win a campaign. Campaigns cost boatloads of money. Some of the people who donate this money might expect consideration in return for their generosity. For this reason, we have laws prohibiting accepting campaign contributions from foreign nationals and from foreign governments. Since, however, the Supreme Court has ruled that corporations may sponsor political advertisements, and may also conceal the identities of their donors,[12] interested parties can easily circumvent these laws. Current law seems uninterested in the question of when campaign contributions cross the line from political action to outright bribery.

Voters get to elect judges in many states. Judicial campaigns, like other campaigns, take large sums of money, much of which can come from opaque sources. Journalists may not succeed in finding who donated the money to the committee to elect the judge; the donors probably have some way of letting the judge know. It seems likely that a case involving one of these secret admirers might come before the judge. Perhaps that possibility inspired the donation in the first place.[13]

The Torah prohibits profiting from commercial transactions in which one benefits from another person’s ignorance. The prohibition of “onaah” forbids buying or selling when you have concealed special information about the value of the merchandise (see Lev. 25:14, Talmud Bava Metsiah 55a, and the subsequent codes). Insider trading appears as a prime example of “onaah.”

            Insider trading also runs afoul of the Torah prohibition against putting a stumbling block before the blind (Lev. 19:14), which the ancient rabbis understand as applying to misleading people to their disadvantage (Sifra de Rav, Lev 2:14). Misleading others for financial advantage obviously falls short of the positive commandment to “Love your neighbor as yourself” (Lev. 19:18).

When health officials informed legislators of the danger of a terrible epidemic, weeks before the news became public, legislators had time to plan our nation’s responses to this crisis. The legislators also had time to adjust their stock portfolios to make the greatest profit from the coming cataclysm. One Senator responded to the health information alertly, selling more than $18 million dollars of shares in health care corporations that stood to lose value when knowledge of the epidemic went public.[14]

The purchasers of these shares presumably did not have inside information. That identifies this Senator as an exploiter. Other elected legislators of both parties displayed similar ethical sensitivities, at perhaps smaller amounts.

The Department of Justice investigated these suspicious-looking stock transactions, and found nothing illegal. The Senate Ethics Committee also investigated, judging not merely the legality, but also the ethical standards, of the senator’s behavior. “Deborah Sue Mayer, the chief counsel and staff director of the Senate Ethics Committee, dropped the investigation, ruling that, ‘Based on all the information before it, the Committee did not find evidence that your actions violated federal law, Senate Rules or standards of conduct,’ Mayer said. ‘Accordingly, consistent with its precedent, the Committee has dismissed the matter.’”[15]

Apparently 18 million dollars of insider trading does not offend the ethical standards of the Senate. Feel free to speculate about what it would take to offend those ethical standards.

We need to demand more of our political leaders. In a democracy, we are responsible for the leaders we elect. Perhaps we get the government we deserve. However, given the electoral structure of the United States, it seems difficult to see how ordinary citizens can use elections to replace unsatisfactory leaders.

No actual political system can achieve flawless democracy. The election cannot perfectly reflect the views of a majority of the voters, because some unfairness has to creep into any method of aggregating the votes. An economist, Kenneth Arrow, demonstrated that no election can meet all of the three most simple tests for fairness.[16] However, relatively fair elections can enable citizens to choose their preferred candidates fairly well.

Because donations to political candidates and officeholders can come from corporations directly or through dark channels, people with money can influence legislation more or less blatantly, and the public has not been able to overcome this influence in gun control, taxation policy, public health, pollution, climate change, and a host of other areas.

Besides the influence of money, structural imbalances make it unlikely that voters can have much influence.

The Torah, as I have observed earlier in this article, antedates political democracy. However, the Torah, as interpreted by the ancient rabbis, does have a commandment that could serve as the central commandment of political democracy. The rabbis rule that one must follow the majority.

They find their source in the biblical verse, “You shall not follow the many to do evil; nor shall you testify in a dispute so as to turn aside after many to pervert justice do not do evil by inclining to the many.” (Exodus 23:2). The ancient rabbis extracted from this verse that one must, in general, follow a majority, quoting the final three Hebrew words “inclining to the many”[17] In biblical word rabbim, “many,” means “majority” in rabbinic Hebrew. As Rabbi Avraham ibn Ezra explains, the warning not to follow the many to do evil implies that one should generally follow the majority to do good.

A central precept of democracy demands that when we conduct an election, the majority of the voters should determine the outcome. The United States segments the electorate, so that in each significant election, portions of the electorate get counted separately. A paradoxical result of this segmentation follows, that the winners of the segments win the election, even if they do not form the majority of the electorate. In the Senate, each state elects its own two senators. Small states get no fewer than two senators, and large states no more than two. As a result, the nationwide vote can favor one party by a substantial number of votes, and the other party can win the senate. In fact, this happens in about half of elections for Senate.

In elections for the House of Representatives, after the census each decade, states get divided in to districts, each of which elects its own representative. If partisan officials divide up the districts according the interests of their party, they can perform gerrymandering. They divide the state into two kinds of districts: as many districts as possible provide a small but comfortable majority for the favored party; as few districts as possible provide an overwhelming majority for the disfavored party. Gerrymanders often result in disproportionate power to the politicians who draw the boundaries. It can often happen that the nationwide vote can favor one party by a substantial number of votes, and the other party can win control of the House. In fact, this happens in about half of the elections for the House.

Gerrymanders also generally waste the individual voter’s choices. Gerrymanders make every district predictable; they try to eliminate contested districts. In gerrymandered states, voters can vote in the general election, but their votes are extremely unlikely to change the outcome.

The electorate gets segmented for the Presidential election as well. Most states have a strong majority for one party or the other. The election is contested in a half dozen or so swing states, where the outcome could go either way. The parties know this, and invest their campaigning time and money in those swing states. It hardly pays to campaign in about 85 percent of the country, where one party or the other has a big advantage. The millions who vote there have, predictably, almost no chance of effecting the outcome. The candidate who wins the predicted share of those states typically builds a lead of several million votes over the other candidate, without affecting the outcome of the race at all. By definition, a small number of voters determine which party wins a swing state. Vote margins in the tens of thousands in the swing states determine who gets elected President. As a result, no one feels much surprise when the candidate who comes in a relatively distant second in popular vote in the two-person race wins the election.

Gerrymandering, practiced with varying degrees of enthusiasm by both major parties, constitutes a current and ongoing offense against voters for the benefit of the politicians in power. The voters who turn out for primaries—a miniscule number—might have an influence in who gets elected. The large number of voters in general elections just ratify foregone conclusions. No wonder many people do not bother to vote at all.

The other structural imbalances that cause failure to follow the majority do not represent active corruption. They rather represent passive acceptance of traditional offenses against the basic commandment of democracy. No one has to do anything to continue the flawed structure of the Senate or the Electoral College. People who want their votes to matter would have to actively challenge current practices that benefit their elected officials.

In 2014, Professors Martin Gilens of Princeton University and Benjamin Page at Northwestern published their analyses of more than 20 years of the influence of the public on elected officials in the United States of America, “Testing Theories of American Politics: Elites, Interest Groups, and Average Citizens.”[18] How often do the policy preferences of American citizens determine the outcome in legislation? The two professors found that the policy preferences of average citizens make no difference in government outcomes. Whether members of the general public strongly oppose a policy, or strongly favor it, does not change the probability that the policy will be enacted. Economic elites generally can squash initiatives that they dislike, and propel initiatives that they like. However, according to Gilens and Page, economic elites must “share their policy interests with organized interest groups.” Organized interest groups also have a limit on their power. They “must share influence with economically-elite individuals.”[19]

In the years since 2014, the power of economic elites and interest groups has probably grown. Economic inequality has grown. Gerrymandering has become a more precise science. Malevolent interest groups have become more powerful. I try not to be naïve. I accept that a majority of voters might make unwise decisions. I accept that, however we structure democracy, wealthy people will have disproportionate political power. The promise of wealth will attract demagogues and exploiters to political office, and will corrupt some of the mere politicians who have gained office. In spite of all this, we will probably still elect some statesmen and stateswomen. However, I deeply believe that the promise of democracy demands better than what we have now.

Notes

Angel for Shabbat, Parashat Toledot

by Rabbi Marc D. Angel

“Now all the wells which his father’s servants had dug in the days of Abraham his father, the Philistines had stopped them and filled them with earth. And Abimelech said unto Isaac: Go from us; for you are much mightier than we.” (Bereishith 26:15-16)

In an arid land, Abraham had his servants dig wells to provide water for people, animals and fields. Rabbinic tradition refers to this as work on behalf of human settlement, yishuvo shel olam. Everyone in the area benefitted from the wells, not just Abraham and his entourage.

Yet, the Philistines’ hatred of Abraham and family was so great, they filled the wells with earth so that no one—not even themselves—would benefit from the water. Why would they do such a malicious and self-destructive thing? What are the sources for such visceral hatred?

The Torah informs us that Abimelech, head of the Philistines, told Isaac to go away from his territory ki atsamta mimenu me’od. This phrase is generally translated: “for you are mightier than we.” Yet, the Philistines were well in the majority and Isaac posed no physical threat to them. On the contrary, Isaac followed his father’s example of being a constructive member of society.

Hatred is not necessarily based on objective reality. To the Philistines, Isaac’s very existence was perceived as a threat. They had their own “conspiracy theory” that Isaac was really more powerful than they, and that he would seek to control and rule them. They were jealous of Isaac’s success and fearful that he would continue to succeed.

Nechama Leibowitz cites various commentators who provide another dimension to this episode. They translate ki atsamta mimenu me’od: for you have become very strong through us. You have plundered us, you have taken away from us in order to enrich yourself.  In this interpretation, the hatred of the Philistines was based not merely on fear or jealousy: it was based on a vicious claim that Isaac was successful because he was exploiting the Philistines. They couldn’t imagine that he was an honest man doing honest work; rather, they imagined him to be a parasite who robbed them of their property.

How was Isaac to deal with such irrational hatred? The Torah tells us that Isaac left Abimelech’s territory, but he also re-dug the wells that Abraham’s servants had dug and that the Philistines had plugged up. As he continued to move away, Isaac’s men dug new wells but were challenged by the other shepherds in the vicinity. He finally found an area where he was left alone.

But no sooner had he re-established himself, Abimelech came after him with the captain of his army. Isaac said: “Why have you come to me seeing that you hate me and have sent me away from you?” Abimelech replies: “We saw plainly that the Lord was with you…Let us make a covenant with you, that you will do us no hurt, as we have not touched you and as we have done unto you nothing but good and have sent you away in peace; you are now the blessed of the Lord.”

Abimelech’s words are remarkable. On the plus side, he realized that Isaac was blessed by the Lord, that Isaac had not deprived the Philistines of anything. He somehow was able to dismiss the “conspiracy theories” that had turned him and his people so cruelly against Isaac.

On the minus side, Abimelech presented himself in a false light. Instead of the hateful leader who drove Isaac away, Abimelech describes himself as one who never did any harm to Isaac but actually only acted nicely to him. He rewrote events to make himself look good and to exonerate himself for his misdeeds.

Isaac did not reject Abimelech’s request for a mutual covenant. They ate a festive meal together, after which Isaac sent off Abimelech on peaceful terms.

This episode points to the roots of hatred and conspiracy theories. It indicates that it is possible for haters to overcome their animosity and actually to see the virtues of those they once feared and despised. And it shows the importance of forgiving those who want covenants of peace, even if their presentation of facts falsely presents them in a positive light.

The story of Isaac and Abimelech repeats itself in various forms throughout history. It is a reminder of human conflict and reconciliation, enmity and peaceful relations. It is a story that speaks to us today.

Angel for Shabbat, Parashat Vayera

by Rabbi Marc D. Angel

One who says: “what’s mine is mine and what’s yours is yours” is an average person. Some say this is the characteristic of Sodom. (Pirkei Avot 5:14)

We could understand why such a person is “average,” simply expecting people to be responsible for themselves. But why would such a person be accused of emulating the ways of the wicked city of Sodom?

In Biblical and rabbinic literature, Sodom is identified with egregious evil. Its people are corrupt, selfish, and hedonistic. Sodom is so wicked, the Almighty feels compelled to destroy the city with fire and brimstone.

What were the sins ascribed to the people of Sodom?

Greed: they looked out for their own prosperity but were cruel and inhospitable to others.

Sexual license: they sought their own pleasures without regard for the feelings of others. In the Torah’s account, a mob of Sodomites sought to molest a male visitor who had entered Lot’s home. Lot, the most “righteous” of the residents of the city, offered the mob his two daughters rather than give over his guest.

Uniformity: rabbinic tradition teaches that the people of Sodom had a bed and expected everyone to fit into it. Those who were too short were stretched. Those who were too tall were cut down to size.

At the root of these sins was the philosophy of me first, me mainly, me at anyone else’s expense. The notion of social responsibility was conspicuously absent. The Sodomites wanted everyone to conform to their society’s system…to fit in and not to raise questions or criticisms. What’s mine is mine and I owe you nothing. You are responsible for yourself; if you need help, don’t come to me. I don’t share, I don’t care. Sodom is not a society where the social fabric is based on mutual respect and responsibility; it’s where each person takes as much as possible, and gives away nothing. Anyone who disagrees with this system is an enemy who must be cut to size.

Throughout history, and in our own time, some societies reflect the values of Sodom. People strive to amass as much wealth as possible without consideration for the needs of others. Social pressure leads some to cheat, lie, avoid paying taxes…whatever it takes for them to gain more.

In such societies, people place their own immediate pleasure above issues of morality. Sexual promiscuity becomes normal and widely accepted.

And like Sodom of old, such societies demand conformity to their system of materialism, hedonism, and hatred of outsiders. People mistrust and detest those who aren’t part of their in-group.

Biblical Sodom was destroyed by the Almighty. But later Sodom-like societies tend to destroy themselves. Their corrupt values lead to a societal implosion. Greed creates simmering hostilities between the haves and have nots. Sexual license undermines the stability of family life. The demand for uniformity of thought and behavior leads to a cultural sterilization; it saps creativity, originality, constructive criticism.

But there’s one more thing. The people of Sodom seem to have been entirely disconnected from their past, from any social or moral tradition. They were a “me-generation” whose goals seem to have centered only on themselves. Sodom, like other me-generation societies, sowed the seeds of its own destruction.

Carl Sandburg once observed: "We know that when a nation goes down and never comes back, when a society or civilization perishes, one condition may always be found. They forgot where they came from. They lost sight of what brought them along. The hard beginnings were forgotten and the struggles farther along." ("Remembrance Rock," 1948, pp.18-19)

Sandburg was pointing to a significant feature of a living civilization: it remembers its beginnings, it sees itself as an organic part of the past.  The ancestors have an ongoing vote, albeit not veto power. When this connection with the past is lost, the civilization unravels and declines.

“What’s mine is mine, what’s yours is yours.” Some say this is the philosophy of Sodom. They may well be right.

Angel for Shabbat, Parashat Hayyei Sarah

by Rabbi Marc D. Angel

“And Abraham breathed his last, dying at a good ripe age, old and contented; and he was gathered to his kin. His sons Isaac and Ishmael buried him in the cave of Machpelah, in the field of Ephron son of Zohar the Hittite…”

Abraham was 175 years old when he died. He had eight sons: Ishmael, born to Hagar; Isaac, born to Sarah; and six sons born to Keturah. Ishmael was sent away when he and Isaac were still young children. The sons of Keturah were given gifts and sent away to the east. Isaac was Abraham’s sole chosen successor.

When Abraham died, the Torah informs us that “Isaac and Ishmael buried him in the cave of Machpelah.” How did Ishmael learn about Abraham’s death? He had been banished many years earlier. Who invited him to the funeral?

A midrash speculates that Keturah was actually another name for Hagar. Thus, Hagar would have informed her son Ishmael about Abraham’s passing.

Rashi comments that Ishmael repented from his past ways. If so, he may have maintained ongoing communication with Abraham and family.

But perhaps there is another way of understanding the presence of Ishmael at Abraham’s funeral. His half-brother Isaac must have notified him and let him know he was welcome to attend. Isaac initiated a reconciliation with Ishmael! After years of separation and hard feelings, Isaac decided to heal the rift between brothers. They should come together for the burial of their father; they should realize that they were both Abraham’s sons, both beloved by him, both connected to each other by Abraham’s genes. Isaac and Ishmael had different destinies, but they need not be in unending conflict with each other.

According to this interpretation, Isaac displayed amazing strength of character. He knew he was Abraham’s sole spiritual and material heir; he didn’t have to reach out to Ishmael…but he did!

Isaac was a sensitive and thoughtful person. Abraham and Jacob are depicted more elaborately in the Torah, and Isaac’s quiet greatness might easily be overlooked. Isaac is mainly remembered as the potential victim in the Akeidah story. Perhaps his near brush with death imbued him with an extra appreciation of the value of life and its transience. A few of the Torah’s references to Isaac underscore his uniqueness.

The Torah describes Isaac as he went “lasuah basadeh”—to meditate/pray in the fields. He was a spiritual soul seeking communion with God. Neither Abraham nor Jacob is depicted in silent, lonely and peaceful meditation.

The Torah describes Isaac as praying for the benefit of his barren wife. Neither Abraham nor Jacob is seen praying for their barren wives. Jacob actually rebuked Rachel when she complained of her inability to have a child.

And now, at the time of Abraham’s death, Isaac once again demonstrates inner strength, sensitivity, and composure. He reached out to his step-brother Ishmael in an unexpected gesture of goodwill and inclusiveness.

Rabbi Joseph B. Soloveitchik wrote about different kinds of greatness. Some people are like the Shabbat or Yom Tov—their holiness shines brightly and is obvious to all. Others are like Rosh Hodesh—their holiness is muted and easily missed.

By this model, Isaac was an Ish Rosh Hodesh whose greatness was quiet, thoughtful, and sensitive. In his own way, he earned his place as one of the forefathers of our People.

Angel for Shabbat, Parashat Vayishlah

by Rabbi Marc D. Angel

“And Deborah, Rebecca’s nurse, died and she was buried below Beth-El under the oak; and the name of it was called Allon-bakhuth (the oak of weeping).” (Bereishith 35:8)

The Torah goes out of its way to report the death of Deborah, whose only claim to fame was having been the life-long nurse of Rebecca. The Torah not only tells us where she was buried, but also that her death evoked weeping.

It seems ironic that the Torah would highlight the death and burial of Rebecca’s nurse…but never records the time of death and burial of Rebecca herself. The Torah does report on Jacob’s words shortly before he died, when he requested to be buried in the cave that Abraham had purchased from Efron: “There they buried Abraham and Sarah his wife; there they buried Isaac and Rebecca his wife, and there I buried Leah.” (Bereishith 49:31)

The Torah reports on another woman besides Deborah who died and was buried while in the midst of travels: Rachel, Jacob’s wife. While Rachel was buried and mourned, her sister Leah’s time of death and burial are not mentioned in the Torah. Two women—Deborah and Rachel-- die, are buried and mourned; while the two women closest to them—Rebecca and Leah-- fade from the Torah without mention of burial or weeping.

The Torah teaches by its words…and also by its silence. If Rebecca and Leah are not suitably mourned in the text, a message is being conveyed.

A funeral and burial represent “closure.” Mourners confront the death of loved ones, eulogize them, weep for them…and themselves. When the Torah describes the deaths and burials of Abraham, Sarah, Isaac, Rachel and Jacob, it marks generational transitions. When it describes the death and burial of Deborah, it notes the passing of a long-time family attendant, the end of an era for the family.

But what about Rebecca and Leah? Why did the Torah omit description of their deaths and burials? Perhaps this was a way of indicating that their deaths did not entail “closure” for the mourners.

Leah was the less loved/unloved wife of Jacob whose clear favorite was Rachel. Leah’s first born, Reuven, was passed over by Jacob who gave double portion to Rachel’s son, Joseph. Leah always seemed unfulfilled, treated as second best. She died sad and unappreciated.

Rebecca, like Leah, suffered much. After years of being barren, she had a very difficult pregnancy that resulted in twin boys. But family life was not ideal. Her husband Isaac favored Esau, while Rebecca favored Jacob. In seeking to have Isaac’s blessing bestowed on Jacob, she arranged for Jacob to trick the blind Isaac by pretending to be Esau. The result was that Jacob had to flee Esau’s wrath, so that Rebecca’s favorite lived far away. Esau must have resented Rebecca for her plot against him. And Isaac was a blind old man who probably wasn’t much of a soul mate for her. Her only companion was her nurse, Deborah.

When Leah and Rebecca died, their families hardly needed “closure.” They just buried the women without fanfare. The Torah doesn’t mention their funerals because their funerals were pro-forma.

Leah and Rebecca were like so many human beings who pass through life without feeling fulfillment. No one seems to understand them or care about them or tend to their emotional needs. Such people grow old and simply fade away without the recognition and love they had craved throughout their lives.

Perhaps the Torah is teaching us to be attentive to the Leahs and Rebeccas among us. We should be sensitive to their emotional needs, care for them, value them. And perhaps the Torah is teaching the Leahs and Rebeccas among us to be more assertive of their own needs. No one should have to die feeling that their lives had been unfulfilled, second best, unimportant to those among whom they lived.

If the Torah highlights the funeral of Deborah, the nurse of Rebecca, perhaps it is pointing to her virtues, her loyalty to Rebecca, her serving as a model to us. Deborah was a genuine friend to Rebecca, maybe the only real friend that Rebecca had. Deborah seems to have understood what no one else did: Rebecca was a human being craving love, respect, companionship.

Leah and Rebecca: the Torah’s silence about your deaths and burials provides a loud message. Through that silence, we learn to empathize with you…and with others like you whose needs and feelings are often overlooked.

Before questioning the usefulness of the word “Orthodox,” let’s first acknowledge the need that this term serves. Congregations, like individuals, find benefit in affiliating with congregations of similar direction. Such affiliation provides the weight of numbers when larger issues, such as intermarriage and conversion, separation of church and state, recognition of homosexuals as congregants, and political positions on national and international issues, need to be addressed. Umbrella organizations also facilitate the establishment of religious standards for prayer, the ordination of rabbis, and the certification of teachers. They streamline fundraising. So, inevitably, groups such as the Union of Orthodox Jewish Congregations, the United Synagogue of Conservative Judaism, and the Union for Reform Judaism have come into being. The assumption that all individuals whose congregations are served by one of these umbrella organizations subscribe to the general standards of that organization is false.

That said, when used to categorize individuals, the word “Orthodox” (and its cognate, “religious”), its flavor of piety notwithstanding, is often a troublemaker: In the misconceptions it generates, in the provocation and divisiveness it engenders. In English or in its Hebrew equivalent, dati, it often conveys unintended meanings.

The term Orthodox is misleading because it hints at a uniform standard of religious conduct that, in reality, does not exist. When used to enforce exclusivity—the holier-than-thou phenomenon—it can become haughty, condescending, downright mean: ‘I am more Jewish than you.’

My brother, who is not at all ignorant when it comes to things Jewish, but who grew up in a Conservative home, with somewhat limited contact with Orthodox Jews, asks frequently if A or B is Orthodox, citing some degree of observance or dress. I, who belong to an Orthodox synagogue and have more extensive contact with Orthodox Jews—both in the United States and in Israel—am hard pressed to provide a sharp answer.

Outer appearance parameters vary too greatly to be instructive: head covered or not (yarmulke in all its forms or black hat for men; kerchief, hat, or wig for women); beard or clean shaven; tsitsith (prayer fringes) for men (worn inside one’s pants, outside, or not at all); slacks or floor-sweeping dress; how much of a woman’s arms are covered.

Is a man with an untrimmed, straggly beard more Orthodox than one who keeps his beard well groomed? What about a woman who doesn’t cover her head, who wears pants, who exposes her shoulders? Can she still be considered “Orthodox”?

Over the past winter, I spent a few days at Kibbutz S’de Eliyahu, an established Orthodox kibbutz in Israel’s Jordan Valley. Confused by the menagerie of women’s attire at the kibbutz, I put this question to Beni Gavrieli, a transplanted American, with Conservative roots, who has lived at the kibbutz for two decades and has adapted to the Orthodox way of life. He proved sensitive to the question.

Beni told me that at S’de Eliyahu you find four types of women: those who cover their heads and wear long skirts, those who don’t cover their heads and wear long skirts, those who cover their heads and wear pants, and those who don’t cover their heads and wear pants. What is the conclusion? That women who don’t cover their heads and wear pants are not Orthodox? That S’de Eliyahu is not a religious kibbutz? That, when it comes to dress, Orthodoxy has no definable criteria? Nadia Matar, the noted Israeli activist and founder of Women in Green, an observant Jew by all standards, keeps her head uncovered at home, and, perhaps in deference to others, dons a baseball cap when she leaves the house.

An Israeli cousin with an Orthodox pedigree (graduate of Netiv Meir Yeshiva High School in Jerusalem and the hesder religious study-army service program), told me that the kerchief that Orthodox women wear on their heads “looks like a rag.” A year later, he got married. And what does his wife wear on her head? Right.

The unattractive (some call “dumpy”) dress of religious women, as much as anything, molds the negative image that the non-Orthodox (Jew and Gentile) carry of Orthodox Jews. Before meeting my cousin’s wife, from her picture alone, I had this same gut feeling of unworldliness. It turns out that she has two university degrees and is well traveled. I wonder whether her dress is out of choice or out of a need to meet standards of family and friends.

Whether or not one wears a yarmulke at all times is one of the most reliable outer dress indicators of whether a man is Orthodox. And if you are a perceptive observer, you can draw useful conclusions about the religious inclinations of the wearer by what sits on his head (broadcloth yarmulke, knitted yarmulke with bobby pins or clips, large knitted yarmulke, black yarmulke without pins, hats—black and otherwise).

But all who tend toward an observant lifestyle do not wear yarmulkes full time. Many take their skull caps off when not praying. Orthodox lawyers sometimes go bareheaded in court so that their religious preference does not influence the proceedings. Other times, people are just inconsistent. Some eat with their heads covered on the Sabbath, but not on weekdays or when eating out. A Reconstructionist rabbi I know puts on a yarmulke whenever he goes into a kosher restaurant, but not when he goes into a non-kosher restaurant. If at my Orthodox synagogue all who removed their yarmulkes after prayers (and by common perception are not Orthodox) were disqualified, there would be no minyan (quorum) at many weekday services.

Nowadays, particularly among rabbinical students, there are Conservative Jews who walk around with knitted yarmulkes on their heads all the time. They would bridle at being described as Orthodox. Yet, in behavior, if not in philosophy, they differ little if at all from Orthodox Jews.

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The degree of Sabbath observance is usually very predictive of whether or not one is Orthodox. Those who call themselves Orthodox Jews do not use electricity on the Sabbath; they don’t answer the phone, watch television, or listen to the radio; they don’t write or use computers. But you don’t know what they do in their own homes when no one is watching. The wife of a cousin in Israel once told me that occasionally her husband, who prayed daily, and was very careful with what he ate when traveling overseas for his work, would flip on the light by his bed on Friday night to read. Is he alone among those who call themselves Orthodox?

And there are practical considerations. My late uncle, an Orthodox Jew, who at the most inopportune moments could be seen drifting into a corner to pray and kept his head covered at all times, routinely returned home after dark on Friday afternoon in the winter. He ran a small business and could find no alternative. Many religious Jews fit into that category.

♦ ♦ ♦

With Sabbath observance, eating kosher food is certainly the most instructive parameter of being a religious Jew. But what does keeping kosher mean?

Even if you were given free access to poke around in someone’s kitchen and cupboards, you might come away with the wrong conclusion.

Orthodox kitchens customarily have two sinks, to maximally separate meat and dairy. But some families who live in small spaces suffice with one sink and separate sink boards. Others use one sink and two drainboards. Some don’t worry about sinks and drainboards.

It is usually permissible for drinking glasses to be used interchangeably for meat and dairy. But what about glass plates, which are no more absorbent?

Some of the food in the pantry or refrigerator you are exploring might lack kosher certification, but be perfectly kosher. The manufacturer might not be willing to be blackmailed by the certification agency. Or the foods—tea, coffee, spices, pasta, oils, sugar, salt, frozen vegetables—might be intrinsically kosher and the household unwilling to submit to nonsensical certification, which stretches to aluminum foil, wax paper, and plastic bags. And there is the concept of glatt kosher, which has no halakhic or logical basis.  You cannot be more kosher than kosher.

Where and what Orthodox Jews eat outside of their homes often tells little about their Orthodoxy. There are those who will not eat in a kosher certified restaurant that is not Sabbath-observant, oblivious to the fact that it is the food that is being certified, not the restaurant or its workers. Some religious Jews will eat cold food in a restaurant serving non-kosher food; some will only eat salads; others will eat fish. Some will have a cup of coffee and no more. An Orthodox lawyer friend of mine, the former president of a prominent Orthodox congregation, will not eat in Fine & Schapiro, a noted kosher restaurant in Manhattan with a letter of certification in the window, because the restaurant is open on Saturday. But he will order a tuna fish sandwich in a non-kosher restaurant. The patterns of compromise and inconsistency are endless.

♦ ♦ ♦

Understanding the wide variation of Orthodox practice is crucial because the larger American Jewish population, not to speak of non-Jews, cannot differentiate between shades of Orthodoxy. The image that they carry of Orthodox Jews is of the narrow, judgmental, uncompromising, holier-than-thou segment that sees itself as the savior of the Jewish people.

No one knows what percentage of Orthodox Jews falls into this “holier-than-thou” category. But they are sufficient to blur the image of observant Jews. Such holier-than-thous will take pains to straighten the tefillin on the head of a visiting parishioner, claiming that it does not meet the hairline criteria; remove the light bulb from the refrigerator of a home that they are visiting before the onset of the Sabbath; scrutinize the mezuzot on doorposts and comment if they do not contain real parchment; turn an upward pointing etrog (citron) downward just as someone is reciting the lulav benediction on Sukkot. They are boorish, intolerant, unable to look you in the eye as equal Jews. Their way is the only way.

In our family, my father, whose name is known to many of all religious stripes for his best-selling, non-judgmental books on Judaism, was uninvited from taking part in the wedding ceremony of his niece at the last moment because, as a Conservative rabbi, he was deemed insufficiently Jewish.

Surprisingly, in my experience, the holier-than-thou attitude is more common among a segment of the American Orthodox population than among those who call themselves religious in Israel (and know on average a great deal more about Jewish religious practice than their American cousins). Perhaps it is the siege mentality of being a remnant minority in a sea of non-Jews.

♦ ♦ ♦

You can’t delve very far into a discussion of religious practice without confronting the question of consistency. Few Orthodox Jews fulfill all of the religious duties they think they should all the time. Inconsistency is what makes Orthodoxy such an elusive concept.

If a practicing Jew expects others to be tolerant of his religious customs, which are not adhered to by most Jews, he cannot refuse to eat in a friend’s home because it is not kosher while routinely eating a dairy sandwich in a non-kosher coffee shop. He cannot be absent from work on religious grounds one Sabbath and show up for work on the next. Onlookers get confused. Jews are as susceptible to this confusion as non-Jews.

My frequent trips to China and Japan over many years frequently put me face-to-face with this dilemma. My travel purpose is to mix with the people and see how they live. No daily activity is more important to Chinese than eating. Whether at home or in a restaurant, you can’t interact with Chinese very long without eating. I have explained hundreds of times what “kosher” means, without using the word. Often, that leads to differentiating between kosher and Moslem halal practices. Asians have a hard time understanding all these distinctions, but go a long way toward accommodating them. When the chief chef at a Chinese sports camp heard that potatoes were okay, potatoes baked in their jackets appeared every night at the table. A Tibetan woman made me a special cornmeal cake that she had milled herself.

From time to time, I meet up with some of these Chinese friends in larger Chinese cities such as Beijing and Shanghai, which have safer eating alternatives: vegetarian restaurants, which are close to 100 percent kosher without the certification. Why I eat vegetables and noodles at a sports camp in Kunming but would prefer a vegetarian restaurant in Beijing often confuses them. My uncle, who has read my writings, asks with more than a little annoyance why, if I eat vegetables at a non-kosher restaurant in China or Japan, I insist on kosher or vegetarian restaurants back home. My answer is that here I have a choice.

There are two active Jewish concepts embedded in inconsistency that merit attention: mar’it ayin, how things appear to an outside observer; and b’farhesia, in the public domain.

Invoking mar’it ayin, Rabbi Moshe Feinstein ruled that a Harvard student could not participate in his graduation exercises on Shavuot because, although walking to the ceremony incurred no desecration of the holiday, it might appear to others that he drove to the ceremony. Rabbi Joseph Caro, the compiler of the Shulhan Arukh, ruled that “milk” made from almonds could not be served at a meat meal, because it might be misconstrued as mixing dairy with meat. Walking in the street in work clothes on the Sabbath, though no work is being done, would fall into this category. The implication is that behavior which with certainty will go unobserved is less objectionable according to Jewish law than public actions.

B’farhesia refers to actions performed in the public domain. Though the opposite may be expected, transgressions, Sabbath or otherwise, that are committed in one’s own domain, out of public view, and thus shame-proof, are no less contrary to Jewish law than the same prohibitions performed in public. Nevertheless, many religious Jews continue to make the distinction between private and public domain.

♦ ♦ ♦

The argument here is that if the word Orthodox were to be purged from the lexicon, and every person stood tall beside his own persona, we would have a more cohesive Judaism. That is why, when asked if I am Orthodox, I respond that I am observant, which allows for more differences, without a need to specify them. When they prospect over-intrusively for details, I paraphrase in Hebrew from the words of the havdalah prayer that ends the Sabbath: “Ani mavdil bayn kodesh leHol, I differentiate between the sacred Sabbath and the secular workweek.” That usually quiets them.

Our community is deeply committed to the transmission of Torah from one generation to the next. We devote tremendous resources to ensure that our children and grandchildren become steeped in Torah knowledge and grow into Torah observant Jews. A critical concern must be how we and our schools transmit the words of Hazal to our students. Obviously, the teachings of our sages are of central importance; it is unfortunate, then, when the words Hazal are taught inappropriately. Religious education becomes mis-education.

In his introduction to Perek Helek, Rambam criticized a literalist, fundamentalist approach to the words of Hazal. Since the sages were wise and reasonable, their words obviously were filled with wisdom and rationality. When their statements seem to veer from reason, we must understand them as being symbolic, homiletical or hyperbolic—not literally true. It would be absurd to call for an acceptance of the literal truth of aggadic and midrashic statements which violate reason or which have later been shown to be factually incorrect.

According to Rambam, those who insist on the literal truth of all the statements of Hazal are not only doing a disservice to our sages, but are corrupting our religion. “This group of impoverished understanding—one must pity their foolishness. According to their understanding, they are honoring and elevating our sages; in fact they are lowering them to the end of lowliness. They do not even understand this. By Heaven! This group is dissipating the glory of the Torah and clouding its lights, placing the Torah of God opposite of its intention.” Rambam believed that demanding acceptance of Hazal’s words even when they were patently unreasonable or incorrect, was not a demonstration of loyalty to the rabbis; rather it was a serious demeaning of their intellectual credibility. Reasonable people would come to dismiss the rabbis as serious thinkers, and would lose confidence in their religious authority.

Rabbi Abraham, son of Rambam, noted that one must not accept the truth of a statement simply on the authority of the person who stated it. Rather, we must use our reason to determine its validity. Moreover, it is intellectually unsound to accept blindly the teachings of our sages in matters of medicine and natural science, since these were not their areas of expertise. “We and every intelligent and wise person, are obligated to evaluate each idea and each statement, to find the way in which to understand it; to prove the truth and establish that which is worthy of being established, and to annul that which is worthy of being annulled….We see that our sages themselves said: if it is a halakhah [universally accepted legal tradition] we will accept it; but if it is a ruling [based on individual opinion], there is room for discussion.[1]

Rambam and his son argued that one need not and must not suppress reason to be a religious person. We should not be expected to surrender reason when we evaluate rabbinical statements. Nor should we teach Torah to our children and students in a manner that demands blind obedience and suspension of reason. Otherwise, they will grow up one day and realize that we have taught them irrational or incorrect things; this will cause them to mistrust everything we have taught them.

These thoughts have come to mind recently due to a number of specific cases.

1.A ten year old boy’s day school class was told by their Torah teacher that dinosaurs never existed. Since rabbinic tradition teaches that the world is less than 6000 years old, it is not possible that scientists can be correct when they state that dinosaurs lived on earth millions of years ago. The boy told his teacher that he recently visited the Museum of Natural History in New York City and saw dinosaur bones with his own eyes! How could the teacher deny that dinosaurs existed? The teacher responded: “you did not see dinosaur bones. What you saw were dog bones that became swollen during Noah’s flood.”

2. A science teacher in a modern Orthodox day school was dissecting a sheep’s larynx as part of a science lesson for her eighth grade class. Some students noticed that the wind pipe was in front and the food pipe was behind it. The students said: this can’t be correct. We learned in Torah class that the food pipe is on the left and the wind pipe is on the right. That is why we recline to the left on Passover eve at the seder, so that the food will go straight down the food pipe. If we leaned to the right, the food would go to the wind pipe and we could choke. The teacher asked the students to look at the sheep’s larynx: they could see for themselves that the pipes were located one behind the other, not side by side. A student suggested that this may be true for sheep, but could not be true for humans. The teacher pointed out that the physiology for humans was the same. After class, the teacher discussed this issue with various Jewish studies teachers and administration members. Most had assumed that the pipes were side by side. Even when presented with the scientific facts, they were reluctant to accept this information. One teacher said: “I would find it difficult to teach something that goes against Hazal.” (But he apparently would not find it difficult to teach something that was demonstrably false!)

3. A junior high school class was studying the laws relating to washing hands in the morning. The teacher explained, following the Shulhan Arukh (O.H. 4:2-3), that the hands are washed in order to eliminate an evil spirit (ruah ra’ah). One is not allowed to touch the eyes or other sensitive parts of the body before washing hands, otherwise there is a danger that the evil spirit will cause harm. One student asked: what is the meaning of evil spirit? Most people in the world don’t wash their hands in the ritually prescribed way first thing in the morning. They touch their eyes and ears—but no harm seems to happen to them! Does the evil spirit only affect religious Jews, and no one else? The teacher told the student he was being impudent, and that it was a principle of faith that we should trust the wisdom of our sages. If the Shulhan Arukh says that there is a dangerous evil spirit on our hands in the morning, then that is absolute fact, not subject to doubt on our part.

4. While studying the Torah portion dealing with the marriage of Yitzhak and Rivka, students were told by their teacher that Rivka was three years old when she provided water to the camels of Abraham’s servant, and when she soon thereafter married Yitzhak. This, of course, is a midrashic teaching. A student asked: how was it possible for a three-year-old girl to water camels? It would have required far too much strength for any child so young. Moreover, if she were only three years old, why did her father ask her if she were willing to leave home to marry Abraham’s son: she would have been far too young to make such a decision. Also, is it reasonable to think that a forty year old man like Yitzhak would actually marry a three-year-old girl? The Torah’s description of Rivka certainly implies that she was much older than three. The rabbi responded: if Hazal say that Rivka was three years old, that’s how old she was! There is no room for further discussion.

5. A kindergarten student brought home a packet with pictures describing the story of Megillat Esther. One of the pictures depicted Vashti with pimples and a green tail. The child’s parent asked the teacher why she had included such an odd picture, when there was nothing in the text of the Megillah that warranted such a bizarre rendition of Vashti. The teacher replied that that is how she had learned the story, and that it was based on a midrashic description of Vashti. The parent asked why the teacher did not tell the students that this was from the midrash, and not in the text of the Megillah. The teacher responded that the teachings of Hazal in the midrash provide the true meaning of the text, and that there is no need to differentiate between the biblical text and rabbinic interpretation.

The above cases, reflective of the educational approach of many religious schools and individuals, are symptomatic of serious problems in the way our community transmits Torah teachings. The fundamentalist, literalist position—so vehemently criticized by Rambam—still holds sway among many Orthodox Jews. It is incumbent upon rabbis, teachers and parents to steer Torah education towards a rational and reasonable understanding of the words of our sages.

Torah and Science:

Since One God created both Torah and science, it is axiomatic that Torah and science can never be in fundamental conflict. Torah and science are manifestations of One God, the Author of truth. If Torah and science appear to be at odds on certain points, then either we have not understood Torah properly or we have not done our science correctly.

Scientific knowledge has progressed tremendously since ancient times. Each generation has contributed to the cumulative knowledge of humanity, and this process continues in our generation; it will continue in future generations as well. With the advent of new tools of research, scientists have been able to expand the horizon of scientific knowledge. If ancient or medieval sages believed that the earth is flat, that the earth is the center of the universe, or that the sun orbits around the earth—this can hardly be surprising, since that is what their level of scientific knowledge was in those times. Nor can they be faulted for not knowing things that were discovered or theorized long after their deaths. Rashi thought that the Atlantic Ocean was “the end of the world”; Rambam believed that the Ptolemaic system of astronomy was correct; Hazal thought that eclipses were signs of Divine wrath rather than predictable natural phenomena. It would be absurd to defend the outdated scientific views of these sages, since we now know that their views have proven to be incorrect. The sages based themselves on the best available scientific information; but later research and discoveries have led to more precise and accurate information. We need to address issues based on the current level of scientific knowledge. Let us turn to the question of the age of the universe, in light of Torah tradition and modern science.

Ancient Jewish sages calculated the age of humanity by adding up the ages of Biblical characters from the time of Adam. There were differences of opinion as to the exact age, since the Biblical account leaves some room for interpretation.[2] The Bible itself does not use the anno mundi (from the creation of the world) dating system, and the dating system that we currently use (5766 at the writing of this article) seems to have become widespread only after Talmudic times. The Tosafot (Gittin 80b, Zo Divrei Rabbi Meir) wonders why it is permissible to date bills of divorce from beriat olam, when in fact early divorces (and other documents) were dated based on the year of the ruling king of the land in which Jews resided.[3]

In fact, though, the current dating system does not date from the creation of the world, but from the creation of Adam. Literalists assume that the age of the world is reached by adding the first five days of creation to Adam’s age. This would mean that the world was created less than six thousand years ago—hence the impossibility of anything existing before that time. But we have unequivocal fossil evidence of beings that existed millions of years ago, and other scientific evidence that the universe came into being billions of years ago. The literalists solve the dilemma by denying the existence of anything prior to 5766 years ago. They dismiss scientific evidence as inaccurate, false, or based on wrong scientific assumptions. They stake their faith on the truth of the world being 5766 years old. Dinosaurs could not have existed millions of years ago; when we see dinosaur bones, we are really seeing “dog bones that were swollen during Noah’s flood”; or bones that God planted just to fool us into thinking the world was older than 5766; or bones which have been dated wrongly due to the ineptitude of scientists.

Yet, does the Torah really require us to deny scientific evidence in order to justify the anno mundi dating system? The Rambam would argue that the opposite is true, namely that we should seek truth and thereby come closer to the Author of truth. If science has demonstrated beyond reasonable doubt that dinosaurs existed millions of years ago, then we need to reject the literalist view that the universe is 5766 years old.

It has been pointed out that the six days of creation were not 24 hour days. Indeed, the sun was not created until the fourth day, so there could not have been a sunset or sunrise on the first three “days”. The word “days” might better be understood to mean “periods” of indeterminate length. At each period of the creation, there was a development from a simpler stage to a more complex stage. Since these six “days” of creation could have lasted billions of years by human calculation, then dinosaurs had ample time to live and become extinct before Adam and Eve were created on the sixth “day”.

Rabbi Aryeh Kaplan has cited classic rabbinic texts asserting that the world is much older than the 5766 years implied by our current dating system. The Sefer ha-Temunah, attributed to the Tanna Rabbi Nehunya ben ha-Kanah, suggests that there were other worlds before Adam was created. The Midrash Rabba on Bereishith 1:5 teaches that there were “orders of time” prior to the first day of creation recorded in the Torah. The Talmud records the view that there were 974 generations before Adam (Hagigah 13b).

Most interesting is the view of Rabbi Yitzhak of Akko, a student and colleague of the Ramban and one of the foremost Kabbalists of his time. In examining one of Rabbi Yitzhak’s important works, Ozar ha-Hayyim, Rabbi Kaplan discovered that Rabbi Yitzhak adduced that the universe is a bit over 15.3 billion years old! This theory by a medieval kabbalist, based on interpretations of Biblical and rabbinic texts, is remarkably close to the calculations of modern science that dates the “Big Bang” at approximately 15 billion years ago.[4] Rabbi Yitzhak felt no need to offer farfetched explanations to keep the universe within the 6000 year range. He, and his many pious colleagues and students, had no problem at all positing a universe that was billions of years old; they did not see this calculation as in any way impinging on the truth of Torah. It is significant, then, that we have legitimate traditions in Torah Judaism that view the universe as being far older than 5766 years.

Our schools should not be teaching our children that dinosaurs did not exist. They should not be telling children that the dinosaur bones are just “dog bones swollen in the flood of Noah’s time”. This is not Torah education, but mis-education. Not only is there no religious necessity to teach such nonsense; it is a religious mandate NOT to teach falsehood. To cloak falsity in the clothing of religion is to undermine true religion.

Likewise, in the matter of the location of the wind pipe and food pipe, it is educationally and morally unsound to teach patently false information in order to “validate” the mistaken notions of sages of earlier generations. The Talmud (Pesahim 108a) states that reclining backward or to the right is not a valid way of reclining, adding the explanation that leaning incorrectly may endanger a person by causing the food go down the wind pipe. Rashi states that this explanation refers to leaning backward. Rashbam, though, takes issue with Rashi and cites his teachers who claimed that the esophagus was on the right; when a person reclines to the right, this causes the epiglottis to open, increasing the possiblity of choking. (The more usual explanation is that the wind pipe is on the right, so that leaning to the right may result in choking.) Although neither Rambam nor the Shulhan Arukh cite this explanation, it was cited by the Magen Abraham and the Taz—and became a widespread teaching.[5] Yet, it is factually incorrect—and therefore certainly should not be taught as the reason why we recline to the left.

When teaching children to recline to the left at the seder, a suitable explanation is that in antiquity free people ate while sitting on couches. They reclined to the left so that their right hand would be available to hold their food. If someone should ask: don’t we lean to the left because that is where our food pipe is, the answer is: some people mistakenly thought this was the reason, but it is not the correct reason. The food pipe and wind pipe are not side by side.

As a general principle, we need to emphasize to our children and students that Hazal’s statements on science were based on their level of scientific knowledge. Our sages themselves admitted that the wise men of the non-Jews had greater knowledge in some scientific matters (Pesahim 94b). Rabbi Haim David Halevy observed: “If it becomes clear through precise scientific method that a specific idea expressed by our sages is not entirely correct, this does not mar their greatness, Heaven forbid, and their greatness as sages of Torah. Their words relating to Torah were stated with the power of the holiness of Torah with a kind of divine inspiration; but their other words on general topics were stated from the depth of their human wisdom only.[6]

Ruah Ra’ah:

Many of our sages in earlier generations believed in demons (shedim), malevolent metaphysical forces (e.g. ayin ha-ra), astrology, and other such things. So did many of the wise and learned non-Jews of those times. These beliefs are not only cited in the Talmud but in some cases also have entered into a number of standard halakhic codes. How are we to understand these sources, and how are we to explain them to our children and students? Let us consider one such concept, ruah ra’ah, as an illustration of how to address this issue.

The Shulhan Arukh (O.H. 4:2) rules that one must pour water three times on each hand upon awakening, in order to remove the ruah ra’ah, an evil spirit that clings to the hands. In 4:3, the Shulhan Arukh states that before washing the hands, a person should not touch his mouth, nose, ears or eyes. Since the unwashed fingers have a ruah ra’ah on them, touching these sensitive organs is dangerous.

Various commentators have offered explanations of the nature of this ruah ra’ah. Some say that it clings to the hands because during sleep a person’s hands may touch various parts of the body and become unclean (physically and/or spiritually). Others say that sleeping is akin to death; just as one needs purification when coming into contact with death, so one needs purification when awakening from sleep. The Zohar states: “For when a person is sleeping, his spirit flies away from him, and as his spirit flies off, an impure spirit is ready to settle on his hands, defiling them. So it is forbidden to offer a blessing with them without first washing.”[7]

While the halakha mandates the ritual washing of hands in the morning, is the belief in ruah ra’ah a religious requirement? Can the washing of hands be explained in another way?

Rambam cites the rule of washing in the morning, in the laws of prayer (4:2-3). Washing of the hands (and face and legs as well) is part of the proper preparation for coming before the Almighty in prayer. Rambam does not mention ruah ra’ah at all! He apparently believed that the obligation to wash before prayer was a matter of physical cleanliness and ritual purification, but was not connected to ruah ra’ah. Taking Rambam’s approach, then, we can observe and teach the practice of ritual washing in the morning without conditioning it on a belief in ruah ra’ah.[8]

While Rambam dismissed the notion of ruah ra’ah as the reason for washing hands in the morning, other sages were not as forthright. Though doubting that ruah ra’ah can cause bodily injury, they were reluctant to reject a belief recorded in the Talmud and other rabbinic texts. They resolved the problem by proposing that the ruah ra’ah existed in past times, but has lost its efficacy in modern times. The Maharam ben Habib, for example, pointed out: “in our times, we have never seen nor heard of anyone touching his eyes with unwashed hands in the morning, who then became blind [because of this]; therefore [it must be that] ruah ra’ah of the morning is no longer found among us.”[9] The opinion that ruah ra’ah has lost its efficacy in our times was also expressed by the MaharShaL, Eliyah Rabbah and others.[10]

Rabbi Haim David Halevy, a great posek who was also devoted to the Zohar, noted that there are many topics that transcend our understanding, including the concept of ruah ra’ah. The ruah ra’ah refers to matters in the spiritual world which are beyond our power of reason to comprehend. Yet, when he describes the fulfillment of the hand-washing, Rabbi Halevy provides a meaningful and reasonable explanation: “Since the intention of the heart is the essence of fulfilling commandments, it is fitting that one should think at the time of washing that in this way he prepares himself for the service of the Creator, just as a priest who washed his hands in the Temple.”[11]

Obviously, we must observe and teach the halakha of the ritual washing of hands in the morning. But we are not obliged to believe or inculcate a belief in ruah ra’ah. When teaching the Shulhan Arukh’s text on ruah ra’ah, we can explain that many people believed in this concept in those days; that Rambam did not even mention the term in his codification of the rules of washing in the morning; that it is not religiously required to believe in this concept. It can also be pointed out that various sages suggested that ruah ra’ah has lost its efficacy in our times, i.e. that it is no longer a relevant concept for us. We can explain hand-washing as a ritual purification after sleeping at night; or as a ritual purification in preparation for prayer. It is inappropriate to insist that children believe in ruah ra’ah as a tenet of our religious tradition. It is wrong to teach that touching one’s eyes, nose, mouth or ears with unwashed hands will cause bodily harm. It is pedagogically and intellectually unsound to compel students to accept things that are demonstrably false, and to dress such teachings in the garb of religious truth. This can only lead to the degradation of religion in the eyes of the students as they grow older and more sophisticated in their thinking. They may come to equate religion and superstition—a very dangerous and unfortunate eventuality.

The Nature of Midrashic/Aggadic Statements:

While some rabbinic opinion has favored a literalist interpretation of the words of Hazal, other rabbinic opinion has sharply rejected this approach.[12] Rabbi Zvi Hirsch Chajes, an ardent defender of the wisdom of Hazal, made an obvious point: “There are several subjects in the Gemara whose meaning cannot be taken in a literal sense, because the text expounded literally would depict God as a corporeal being, and would also at times involve an act of blasphemy. We should, and we are, indeed, duty-bound to believe that the transmitters of the true Kabbalah, who are known to us as righteous and saintly men and also as accomplished scholars, would not speak merely in an odd manner. We must therefore believe that their words were uttered with an allegorical or mystical sense and that they point to matters of the most elevated significance, far beyond our mental grasp.”[13] Rabbi Chajes offered examples of rabbinic teachings that were stated rhetorically in order to stir the curiosity of listeners; that expressed profound ideas in figurative style; that employed parables and hyperbole. To take these midrashim literally would be to misunderstand totally the methods and the messages of Hazal. [14]

Rabbi Haim David Halevy pointed out that Hazal often disagreed with each other in their midrashic interpretations. It is impossible that two opposite opinions can both be historically true. For example, the Torah reports that after the death of Yosef a new Pharaoh arose over Egypt. Rav suggested that this referred to an actual new Pharaoh. Shemuel, though, interpreted this to mean that the same Pharaoh made new decrees against the Israelites. These statements cannot both be true.[15] Neither Rav nor Shemuel offered historical evidence or tradition to support his view; rather, their opinions flowed from their own reading of the Biblical text.

Hazal’s interpretations were often made to convey a moral lesson, not to comment on actual historical events. For example, Rav Nahman suggests that Yaacov and family, on their way to Egypt to reunite with Yosef, stopped at Beer Sheva and chopped down trees that had been planted by Abraham. They took this wood with them to Egypt, and kept it throughout the centuries of their captivity. When they left Egypt, they brought this wood with them, and used it in building the Mishkan in the wilderness. [16]This is a beautiful way of tying together the history of the Israelites with their original ancestor, Abraham. Yet, there is no reason to assume that Rav Nahman did historical research that led to this interpretation, and there is no compelling reason to believe that he had an ancient oral tradition on this point; nor did he claim to have one. The significance of his interpretation has nothing to do with its historicity, but everything to do with the lasting influence of Abraham on the children of Israel.

Since Hazal utilized various literary and rhetorical techniques, it is essential to approach their statements with care. It is also essential to recognize that their interpretations reflect their own particular views, rather than a clearly defined, divinely ordained oral tradition.

Hai Gaon taught that the aggadah included statements by rabbis where “each one interpreted whatever came to his heart.” We do not rely on the words of aggadah, but view them as personal opinions.[17] Sherira Gaon taught that aggadah, midrash and homiletical interpretations of the Bible were in the category of umdena, personal opinion and speculation.[18] The Gaon Shemuel ben Hofni stated: “If the words of the ancients contradict reason, we are not obligated to accept them.”[19]

The non-literalist view of Hazal’s statements has a long and distinguished tradition including the Gaonim, Shemuel ha-Naggid, Rambam and his son, Ramban and so many others. In more recent times, the view was well expressed by Rabbi Samson Raphael Hirsch, who noted that “aggadic sayings do not have Sinaitic origin….Nor must someone whose opinion differs from that of our sages in a matter of aggadah be deemed a heretic, especially as the sages themselves frequently differ.”[20]

When we teach midrashim/aggadot, we must be sophisticated enough to view these passages in their literary and rhetorical context. We must not force a literalist interpretation, especially when such an interpretation violates reason, or when alternative valid interpretations are also available.

Some sages examined the Biblical stories and calculated that Rivka was three years old when she watered the camels of Abraham’s servant. This calculation, recorded in Seder Olam, assumes that Abraham sent his servant to find a wife for Yitzhak immediately after the Akedah. Yet, the Torah itself does not specify if this occurred immediately after the Akedah or if there was a lapse of some years between stories. The Tosafot (Yebamot 61b, vekhein hu omer) reports a rabbinic calculation which concludes that Rivka was fourteen years old at the time she watered the camels! Thus, even within classic rabbinic literature there is a difference of opinion as to how old Rivka was. The view that she was three years old apparently wishes to underscore the unusual, even miraculous, qualities of Rivka. The view that she was fourteen years old apparently wishes to understand the text in a more realistic light. Rivka obviously was old enough and mature enough to water camels, to decide to leave home to be married, and to marry Yitzhak.

When discussing the age of Rivka, then, it is fine to relate the rabbinic tradition that she was three, as a midrashic way of underscoring the unusual qualities of Rivka, just as a midrash has Abraham discovering God at the age of three. But it should also be noted that a valid rabbinic tradition holds that Rivka was actually fourteen at the time (and Abraham was forty, forty-eight or fifty-two when he discovered God). This view, of course, is more reasonable. No parent or teacher should insist that a child or student must believe that Rivka was three “because Hazal said so”. Hazal also said she was fourteen! Midrashic statements are often made to convey a lesson, not to record historical truth. In presenting midrashim, we need to examine their underlying lessons.

When the midrash is taught as though it is an integral part of the Biblical text, this does violence to the Biblical text—and also to the midrash. Students should always be able to differentiate between what is stated in the text, and what is later rabbinic interpretation. This is especially true when midrashim present supernatural or very odd details; students may come to believe that these midrashic elements are actually part of the Bible. If they later reject these strange midrashim, they may feel they are actually rejecting the Bible itself—and this may lead to much spiritual turmoil.

A well known tendency of midrash is to glorify the righteous characters and to vilify the wicked characters. Biblical heroes become larger than life in their goodness; and Biblical villains are characterized by all sorts of vices and defects. This is part of the story-telling and moralizing method of midrashic literature. This midrashic method should be taught to students, so that they become familiar with the style of Hazal in praising the righteous and condemning the wicked. This method will help us to understand the midrash’s presentation of Vashti.

The text of the Megillah tells us very little about Vashti. We do not know why she refuses to appear at the command of the king. Her refusal could be interpreted very positively: she was modest, and she was courageous in refusing her husband’s inappropriate command. But the midrashic mindset wants to vilify Ahashverosh—and also his wife. It is suggested that Vashti descends from the wicked Nebuchadnezar; that is why she is a “good” match for Ahashverosh. They are both corrupt people. If she is part of Nebuchadnezar’s evil family, she too must be evil. Then why didn’t she appear at Ahashverosh’s command? The reason could not be because she was modest or courageous; that would impute virtues to her. So the midrash suggests, perhaps with outlandish humor, that Vashti was stricken with hideous physical defects—pimples and a tail—so that she was embarrassed to appear before the king and his retinue. That is why she refused to come. This depiction deprives Vashti of moral virtue, and makes her a comical character punished with physical defects symbolic of her wicked soul.

I wonder what the point is of teaching this midrashic interpretation to kindergarten children. It is unlikely that they will understand the midrashic method underlying this description of Vashti. Teachers may like to teach this in order to make the children laugh and have their imaginations aroused. Yet, in the long run this lesson does damage to the children unless the teacher makes it very clear that this is a midrashic vilification of Vashti, not the description found in the Megillah’s text. Hazal never claimed that their midrashim were to be indistinguishable from the Biblical text, nor should we make that claim for them.

The points made in this article should seem fairly clear and obvious to all those interested in proper Torah education. Yet, the fact is that much mis-education is found in our homes, synagogues and schools. A simplistic, literalist approach to the words of Hazal continues to be influential—and very widespread. This is not only intellectually and pedagogically unsound: it is a degradation of Torah and Hazal, as pointed out by the Rambam. We all need to raise our voices for the sake of Torah, truth and the religious wellbeing of our future generations.

[1].See his Ma-amar Odot Derashot Hazal, printed in the introductory section of the Ein Yaacov.[
[2] Azariah de Rossi (1511-1578) pointed out the discrepancies in the rabbinic calculations in his Meor Enayim, Vilna, 1865, in the section Yemei Olam. See especially pp. 64f and pp. 223f.
[3] See Isaac S. D. Sassoon, Destination Torah, Ktav Publishing House, Hoboken, 2001, pp. 4-5.
[4] Aryeh Kaplan, Immortality, Resurrection and the Age of the Universe: A Kabbalistic View, Ktav Publishing House, Hoboken, 1993, p. 9. See also Nathan Aviezer, In the Beginning, Ktav Publishing House, Hoboken, 1990.
[5] Rambam, Hilkhot Hamets U-Matsah 7:8; Shulhan Arukh, O.H. 472:3, and the Magen Abraham and Taz on this passage. The Tur, O.H. 472, inverses the opinions of Rashi and Rashbam.
[6] Asei Lekha Rav, Tel Aviv, 5743, 5:49
[7] The Zohar, translation and commentary by Daniel C. Matt, Stanford University Press, Stanford, 2004, vol. 1, p. 70. See also note 524 on p. 69.
[8] See the discussion of the Arukh ha-Shulhan, O.H. 4, where he cites others who view the hand-washing as preparation for prayer.
[9] Cited in note 8 of Yalkut Yosef, by Yitzhak Yosef, Jerusalem, 5745, volume one of Tefillah, pp. 9-10.
[10] Ibid.

[11] Mekor Hayyim, Jerusalem, 5743, vol. 1, 2:5. For a discussion of Rabbi Halevy’s approach to halakha and kabbala, see Marc D. Angel with Hayyim Angel, Rabbi Haim David Halevy: Gentle Scholar and Courageous Thinker, Urim Publications, Jerusalem, 2006.
[12] For a discussion of both traditions in rabbinic literature, see my article “Authority and Dissent: A Discussion of Boundaries,” in Tradition, 25:2, Winter 1990, pp. 22f.
[13]The Student’s Guide to the Talmud, London, 1952, p. 201. See also his discussion on p. 208f.
[14] Ibid., chapters 26-30.

[15] Asei Lekha Rav 5:49.
[16] Midrash Rabbah ha-Mevoar, Jerusalem, 5748, vol.4, Bereishith 94:4
[17] Ozar ha-Geonim, ed. B. M. Lewin, Jerusalem, 5692, vol. 4 (Hagigah), pp. 59-60.
[18] Ibid., p. 60.

[19] Ibid., pp. 4-5,

[20] Joseph Munk, “Two Letters of Samson Raphael Hirsch, a Translation,” L’Eylah, April, 1989, pp. 30-35.

            The United States of America is a constitutional republic, with a system of governance designed to prevent tyranny of government or the majority. This includes a division of power and checks and balances, as well as the rule of law, which is imbued with a spirit of liberalism that recognizes that each individual has rights too.

            These principles of good governance are rooted in the oral and written laws and traditions of the Torah, embodied in the Bible, Mishna, and Talmud, as elucidated and interpreted by rabbinic commentaries thereon. The Founding Fathers had access to this treasure trove of wisdom, in the body of Hebraic literature and thought, extant at the time, when they originally formulated our constitutional republic.[1]

However, it is important to appreciate that the Bible itself is not a political treatise. It does not literally prescribe the intricate details of how to organize a society into a polity and the mechanisms for providing for the best form of government, in absolute terms. There are some principles outlined; but, as more fully discussed below, this is not the fundamental purpose of the Bible and, therefore, not a primary focus of the biblical text. Even the discussions in the Book of Samuel[2] about the deficiencies of monarchy do not expressly address the matter of alternatives or what is the most desirable form of government, beyond just implicitly preserving the status quo. That subject is taken up by some of the medieval rabbinic commentators, but more on this below.[3]

            The Torah does provide the most enduring comprehensive statement of individual rights and duties in recorded history. It also reflects one of the most majestic aspects of humanity; that we all share a common genetic ancestry, as the progeny of Adam and Eve, and yet, each of us is unique. As the Talmud[4] notes, no two faces, minds, or personalities are exactly alike. Nevertheless, we all bear the same spiritual essence, known as the image of God or soul. It commends each of us to afford everyone the utmost of respect and dignity; no human being is more equal than others. Thus, the Mishna[5] records, sustaining the life of one soul is tantamount to sustaining the entire world. Fulfilling the ultimate purpose of creation requires all people, with their manifold varieties of features, forms, tones, character traits, intellects, languages, skills, and aspirations to have the opportunity to fulfill their own individual life missions.

The Bible is in the nature of a handbook, which primarily provides for how an individual can perfect his or her self, so as to achieve and maintain a connection to the Divine. As Rabbeinu Nissim[6] explains,[7] the workings of government are not the main object of the Bible. He analyzes the hukkim[8] and notes they are not relevant, per se, to the functioning of society. Rather, they are exclusively the province of perfecting the individual’s ability to acquire and sustain a connection to the divine. Similarly, the mishpatim[9] are designed to unify the material and spiritual, in pursuit of a higher purpose and, thereby, also establish a connection to the divine. While the mishpatim also have the effect of ordering of society, the Ran offers that they are still markedly more oriented toward the sublime.

Interestingly, the Bible[10] does provide some level of detail regarding the judicial function. The Mishna and Talmud[11] set forth more extensive provisions on the appointment of judges and how courts are to be organized and function.[12] This includes the Sanhedrin, which also acts as a legislative body. Nevertheless, as the Ran notes, the purpose of judges and courts is primarily orientated toward the individual. Their job is to render judgments, which are true and righteous, objectively determining what is flawed behavior for the betterment of the affected individual, irrespective of any societal advantage or detriment. In essence, by following the dictates of the court and correcting his or her misbehavior, a person is ennobled and, in effect, cleaves to the divine.[13] Thus, like the vast majority of the Commandments, these too are similarly devoted to regulating the behavior of an individual for his or her gain and any benefit conferred on society is peripheral.

Astonishingly, the Ran declares that some of the laws of the nations will be found to be more effective in furthering societal order than some of the laws of the Torah. This may seem paradoxical, because we have come to accept that the Torah prescribes a total solution to how human beings should best function in this world. However, the Ran offers, the Bible is not intended as a guide for how to organize society and govern its affairs. Instead, it is primarily devoted to instructing the individual in the process and means of achieving perfection and, thus, an enduring connection to the divine. The structure and practical affairs of government, according to the Ran, are left to a monarch to fill in the gaps. Others, though, do not accept monarchy as the Bible’s implicit solution and are even more flexible in how government can and should be organized.

            The Bible[14] devotes just two verses to the concept of appointing a king. It records that if,[15] after entering the Land of Israel, which God gave to the people of Israel and inheriting and settling in it, the people determine to establish a king as their governing authority, as do all the surrounding nations, then they may do so by selecting the one chosen by God to be the king from among their people and not a foreigner.       

            The Talmud[16] takes up the question of whether this is an obligatory commandment or just a permitted one. It reports that Rabbi Nehorai says the biblical passage noted above is optional and it is not required that there be a king. It is only in response to a request by the people to appoint a king that it takes effect. Rabbi Yehuda disagrees and asserts that it is a part of a series of three mitzvoth[17] that were commanded to the Jewish people upon entering the Land of Israel, as follows:

1. to appoint a king, based on the verses noted above;
2.  to wipe out Amalek;[18] and
3.  to build the Temple.[19]

This disagreement is further taken up among the Rishonim, who have a range of opinions on the subject. Thus, for example, Ibn Ezra[20] viewed the entire matter of appointing a king as optional, not obligatory. Nahmanides[21] views it as an obligatory commandment and cites the Sifrei[22] in support thereof. Maimonides[23] also holds that the commandment to appoint a king is obligatory. However, Abarbanel[24] analyzes the entire matter in two lengthy essays[25] on the subject and concludes otherwise. His deep and thorough analysis of the views noted above, cogent reasoning, and compelling conclusions are bracing and every bit as fresh and thoughtful, as if expressed today. It’s no wonder that his thoughts and views, expressed in the fifteenth century, were embraced by our Founding Fathers in the eighteenth century.

Abarbanel’s thesis reflects his own breadth of knowledge of the classics, including political philosophy, familiarity with a variety of other systems of government, besides monarchy, and life experience with the fickleness of kings and capriciousness of affairs of state in monarchies. Thus, he served as the Treasurer to King Afonso V of Portugal. When the King died, his son John II took over and wanted to clean house of what he perceived to be his political opponents. In furtherance of this objective, Abarbanel was falsely accused of conspiring against the king; but he managed to make a hasty escape to Spain. Nevertheless, his extremely large fortune was confiscated by royal decree. In Spain, he became a financier to Queen Isabella. However, with the expulsion of the Jews in 1492, which he was unable to stop, despite heroic efforts and offers of vast sums to the Spanish King to revoke the decree, he too left with his fellow Jews. He then settled in Naples; but was forced to flee yet again, when it was conquered by the French. He ultimately resided in Venice, where he passed away and was reportedly buried in Padua.

  Abarbanel presents and questions the views of his predecessors, noted above, who favored the position that the appointment of a king is an obligatory commandment. Among other things, he asks, if this was indeed a biblical requirement, then why did the Prophet Samuel[26] react so negatively? Although God did instruct Samuel to heed the demand of the people, God also consoled Samuel and noted that the people’s demand for a king was not a rejection of Samuel, but was a rejection of God as king. Indeed, Abarbanel explains this means the people’s misconduct was despicable and comparable to the sin of idolatry.[27] However, Abarbanel notes this was not a matter of how the demand was phrased. Indeed, even had the people invoked the precise formula set forth in Deuteronomy,[28] it still would have been inappropriate. Therefore, he goes on to argue that appointing a king could not possibly be a Torah mandate, because if the people were only following the Torah’s dictates, then how could this possibly be so egregious an error in judgment?

This position appears to be supported by the Midrash on Deuteronomy,[29] which also takes a dim view of the seeming need by the people for a monarch. It records that God said to the people of Israel that God wanted them to be free of monarchy and the dread of kings. What was the point of asking for a king; only to be enslaved again and subject to the vagaries of monarchy, as well as, enveloped by the misfortunes likely to ensue, because of the inevitable misdeeds of the king? Moreover, as Psalms[30] cautions, we should not trust in the great, who are after all mere mortal human beings, who cannot be counted on to save us. In that sense, reliance on a mortal king is not only misplaced, it is also akin to idol worship and fated to fail. We can only truly trust in God as the genuine king.

Abarbanel[31] describes the endemic malady of kings in detail. Although the Bible[32] requires a king not to have a soaring ego or to think he is better than his people, this is usually not the case. A king is also enjoined to follow the halakha and not veer left or right.[33] However, this is not what occurs in practice. Instead kings typically enslave the people and take their children, fields, vineyards, servants, work animals, and flocks. Kings steal and oppress and are often no more than tyrants.

Abarbanel finds the efforts made to reconcile the seemingly contradictory texts of Deuteronomy and Samuel, noted above, so as to support a conclusion that there is still nevertheless a biblical requirement to appoint a king, personally unsatisfying.  Indeed, he goes on to ask, if having a king was a biblical imperative, then why didn’t Joshua immediately appoint one upon entering the Land of Israel?

Before tackling the seeming biblical inconsistencies summarized above, Abarbanel first introduces the topic of monarchy, generally, as a philosophical matter, in the world at large. He poses the threshold and fundamental question of whether monarchy is an intrinsically necessary form of government, or is it possible to have an organized nation without a king? 

Abarbanel begins his analysis by citing reasons typically asserted by political philosophers in support of the absolute necessity for a monarchial form of government of a nation. He notes, they reason that a king is required: (i) to assure unity of the polity and to stamp out any divisions; (ii) as the source of continuity, mitigating against instability; and (iii) to wield the absolute power needed to hold people in check and society together. However, Abarbanel concludes that these assumptions are actually false.

Abarbanel notes that it is undeniable that Florence and Venice organized very successful societies, which function extremely well and are most prosperous, all without the need of a king. Their form of government is composed of councils of many leaders of the people, elected for set terms. They gather and unite and agree upon one policy. They also adopt laws and provide mechanisms for their administration and enforcement under their leadership. Thus, the proposition that there is a need for one leader with absolute power has proven in practice to be untrue.

Abarbanel goes on to analyze how it is better to have term limits of one to three years and a system of checks and balances. This might help deter many of the corrupt and dissolute practices of leaders, because they will soon have to account to the new leaders elected to serve after the offending leaders’ term of office ends. The new leaders and judges can then investigate and enforce claims against the prior leadership for malfeasance. No one should be above the law. He also notes that one person with sole power is more likely to err than a group of leaders, since if one purports to do wrong, others will usually protest. Moreover, since their term in office is limited, there will ultimately be an accounting for misdeeds. As the popular saying goes, power corrupts and absolute power corrupts absolutely.

Abarbanel then artfully disposes of the halakhic[34] arguments mustered, based on biblical exegesis, which are cited in support of the position that appointing a king is an obligatory commandment. He first asserts that the biblical verse[35] does not unqualifiedly state appoint a king; rather, it provides for a situation if and when the people ask for one. This suggests that it is optional and not a requirement; otherwise, why the need for this threshold condition? Secondly, if this were an absolute requirement, then why the superfluous phrase, like all the other nations, in the text of the invocation? This qualification makes no sense if it was indeed intended as an obligatory requirement. After all, what difference does it make if anyone else does or doesn’t have a king, if we are commanded to have one? Moreover, we are separately commanded not to emulate the ways of the idol worshippers, which makes this apparent qualification even more paradoxical. Indeed, as Abarbanel goes on to note, in his third point on the subject, the text can more readily be interpreted as a prophetic statement as to what would occur in the future, rather than a definitive commandment. This then puts the report in the Book of Samuel in the context of a realization of that prophecy, as opposed to a contradictory text.

Abarbanel’s fourth point is a marvel of statutory construction and technical legal artistry. He posits that if the verses in Deuteronomy were actually intended to be a commandment, then perforce there would be two positive mitzvoth. The first would be to appoint a king and the second, in the next verse,[36] would be the requirement to appoint one chosen by God, from among his people. Furthermore, there would also be a third negative commandment not to appoint a stranger as a king, who is not kin.

Abarbanel then states, in his fifth point on the subject, the irony of the people asking the Prophet Samuel to appoint a king, albeit for the wrong reason of judging them, and the harsh reaction of Samuel and God.[37] However, he goes on to quip, if this was an obligatory commandment, then why didn’t Joshua perform it, immediately upon entering the Land of Israel?

For all the foregoing reasons, Abarbanel concludes, appointment of a king is not an obligatory commandment; rather, it is a permitted one. This he notes is consistent with another commandment relating to a war bride.[38] He observes that there is no obligation to seek one out; but if do so, then there are a number of applicable requirements that apply.

He posits, similarly, if the people elect to have a king, then there are a series of requirements that follow, including as to the process of selection and certain rules that are intended to restrain the behavior of the king. As noted above, the king must be one selected by God, from among the Jewish people, as communicated by a Prophet of God and with the approval of the Sanhedrin.[39] The king may not have too many horses or wives nor accumulate an excessive amount of gold and silver.[40] He is also required to write a Sefer Torah and keep it with him, read it all his days, be guided by it, and observe all its precepts.[41] However, notwithstanding these requirements, in general, the history of kings is a sordid one, with limited exceptions.

The Netziv[42] also considers the appointment of a king a permitted, not obligatory matter. He offers that it is for the people to decide what form of government best serves their needs.

 In contradistinction to the subject of monarchy, the Talmud[43] also deals with the appointment of leaders, generally. It records Rabbi Yehuda says that leaders are not to be appointed without consulting with the members of the community. He bases this principle on the appointment of Bezalel as the leader of the project of building the Tabernacle.[44] He explains that God told Moses to go ask the Children of Israel whether the choice of Bezalel was a suitable appointment in their eyes. Their answer was if suitable to God and Moses, then of course it’s suitable to them. While the Talmud does not set forth the details of the elective process, it does posit that the consent of the governed is required.[45]

The tradition of democracy is an essential and fundamental part of the halakhic court (including legislative function of the Sanhedrin) and decision-making process. The guiding principle is majority rule governs.[46] The concept is also applied in determining whether legislation so enacted remains effective. Thus, if a majority of the people don’t accept a new enactment, then it is vitiated.[47]

It is noteworthy that there is also a healthy respect among the sages for dissenting points of view. As the Mishna[48] reports, dissenting opinions are recorded so that if a court prefers the opinion of a single sage, it may rely thereon.

The Talmud[49] records that both the views of Bet Shammai and Bet Hillel, who argued matters of halakha with each other, asserting conflicting positions, were authoritative expressions of divine will. The views of Bet Hillel were generally accorded preference in determining the final ruling adopted as the halakha, because in making their presentation, they first stated the position of Bet Shammai, before arguing their own. Interestingly, The Talmud[50] also provides that, while the halakha is generally in accordance with Bet Hillel, one who wishes to act in accordance with the opinion of Bet Shammai may do so, so long as follows all of Bet Shamai’s rulings consistently and not just the leniencies of each of them. Most importantly, the Talmud[51] records that despite their pronounced differences when it came to matters of halakha, neither refrained from marrying within one another’s families. They epitomized the healthy respect, friendship, and camaraderie, as well as love of truth and peace[52] that are the paradigm for interpersonal relations.

The consent of the governed and civil rights accorded each and every individual are a fundamental and essential part of our tradition. Government would appear to be a matter of expediency, and we have come a very long way from demanding and needing an actual king to be appointed. Yet, leadership at some level and the executive function are recognized as a necessary complement to the organization and proper functioning of society. As the Mishna[53] pithily declares, pray for the welfare of government, for otherwise one person might swallow another alive.

It is most gratifying to know that democratic principles of majority rule, as well as respect for the views and rights of individuals who may differ are an intrinsic part of our tradition.

May divine providence guide our choices of leadership so that they are good ones, suitable to God and humankind alike.

Notes

[1]KOHELET

SANCTIFYING THE HUMAN PERSPECTIVE[2]

INTRODUCTION

Tanakh is intended to shape and guide our lives. Therefore, seeking out peshat—the primary intent of the authors of Tanakh—is a religious imperative and must be handled with great care and responsibility.

Our Sages recognized a hazard inherent to learning. In attempting to understand the text, nobody can be truly detached and objective. Consequently, people’s personal agendas cloud their ability to view the text in an unbiased fashion. An example of such a viewpoint is the verse, “let us make man” from the creation narrative, which uses the plural “us” instead of the singular “me” (Gen. 1:26):

R. Samuel b. Nahman said in R. Jonatan’s name: When Moses was engaged in writing the Torah, he had to write the work of each day. When he came to the verse, “And God said: Let Us make man,” etc., he said: “Sovereign of the Universe! Why do You furnish an excuse to heretics (for maintaining a plurality of gods)?” “Write,” replied He; “And whoever wishes to err will err.” (Gen. Rabbah 8:8)

The midrash notes that there were those who were able to derive support for their theology of multiple deities from the this verse, the antithesis of a basic Torah value. God would not compromise truth because some people are misguided. It also teaches that if they wish, people will be able to find pretty much anything as support for their agendas under the guise of scholarship. Whoever wishes to err will err.

            However, a second hazard exists, even for those sincerely seeking the word of God:

It is related of King Ptolemy that he brought together seventy-two elders and placed them in seventy-two [separate] rooms, without telling them why he had brought them together, and he went in to each one of them and said to him, Translate for me the Torah of Moses your master. God then prompted each one of them and they all conceived the same idea and wrote for him, God created in the beginning, I shall make man in image and likeness. (Megillah 9a)

This narrative reflects the concern that by popularizing the Torah through translation, less learned people may inadvertently derive the wrong meaning from the “plural” form of “Let Us make man.” For this anticipated audience, God inspired the elders to deviate from the truth and translate with the singular form so that unwitting people would not err.

While this educational discussion is central to all Tanakh, Ecclesiastes probably concerned our Sages and later commentators more than any other biblical book. By virtue of its inclusion in Tanakh, Ecclesiastes’ teaching becomes truth in our tradition. Regarding any book of Tanakh, if there are those who wish to err in the conclusions they draw, they will do so. However, our Sages worried that Ecclesiastes might cause even the most sincerely religious people to draw conclusions antithetical to the Torah, thereby causing greater religious harm than good. and consequently they considered censoring it from Tanakh:

R. Judah son of R. Samuel b. Shilat said in Rav’s name: The Sages wished to hide the Book of Ecclesiastes, because its words are self-contradictory; yet why did they not hide it? Because its beginning is religious teaching and its end is religious teaching. (Shabbat 30b)

Our Sages discerned internal contradictions in Ecclesiastes, but they also worried that Ecclesiastes contained external contradictions, that is, verses that appear to contradict the values of the Torah. They addressed this alarming prospect by concluding that since Ecclesiastes begins and ends with religiously appropriate teachings, those verses set the tone for the remainder of its contents. If one reaches anti-Torah conclusions from Ecclesiastes, it means that something was read out of context. A striking illustration of this principle is a midrashic teaching on Ecclesiastes 11:9. The verse reads:

O youth, enjoy yourself while you are young! Let your heart lead you to enjoyment in the days of your youth. Follow the desires of your heart and the glances of your eyes—but know well that God will call you to account for all such things.

To which our Sages respond:

R. Benjamin b. Levi stated: The Sages wanted to hide the Book of Ecclesiastes, for they found in it ideas that leaned toward heresy. They argued: Was it right that Solomon should have said the following: O youth, enjoy yourself while you are young! Let your heart lead you to enjoyment in the days of your youth (Ecc. 11:9)? Moshe said, So that you do not follow your heart and eyes (Num. 15:39), but Solomon said, Follow the desires of your heart and the glances of your eyes (Ecc. 11:9)! What then? Is all restraint to be removed? Is there neither justice nor judge? When, however, he said, But know well that God will call you to account for all such things (Ecc. 11:9), they admitted that Solomon had spoken well. (Lev. Rabbah 28:1; cf. Ecc. Rabbah 1:3)

Were our Sages genuinely worried about people not reading the second half of a verse and consequently adopting a hedonistic lifestyle? Based on the midrashic method of reading verses out of their natural context, this verse likely posed a more serious threat in their society than it would for a pashtan who reads verses in context. The best defense against such egregious errors always is good peshat. This chapter will briefly consider the challenges of learning peshat in Ecclesiastes, and then outline a means of approaching Ecclesiastes as the unique book it is.

METHODOLOGICAL CONSIDERATIONS

            At the level of derash, many of our Sages’ comments on Ecclesiastes appear to be speaking about an entirely different book, one that is about Torah. The word “Torah” never appears in Ecclesiastes. Such midrashim appear to be radically reinterpreting Ecclesiastes to make it consistent with the rest of Tanakh. Similarly, many later commentators, including those generally committed to peshat, sometimes follow this midrashic lead of radical reinterpretation of the verses they find troubling.

            This approach is rooted in the dual responsibility of our commentators. As scholars, they attempt to ascertain the original intent of the biblical text. However, they also are students and teachers of Jewish tradition. Their educational sensitivities often enter the interpretive arena, particularly when the surface reading of Ecclesiastes appears to threaten traditional values.[3]

            For example, Kohelet opens by challenging the enduring value of the two leading manifestations of human success: wealth and wisdom. That Kohelet focuses on the ephemerality of wealth and physical enjoyment is not surprising, but his focus on the limitations and vulnerability of wisdom is stunning:

For as wisdom grows, vexation grows; to increase learning is to increase heartache. (1:18)

Sforno is so uncomfortable with this indictment of wisdom that he reinterprets the verse as referring to the ostensible wisdom of heretics. I often wonder if the parshan himself believes that a suggestion of this nature is peshat, that is, does he assume that Kohelet cannot possibly intend what he appears to be saying; or is he reinterpreting primarily to deflect such teachings from a less learned readership, as did the authors of the Septuagint in the Talmudic passage cited above.[4]

Some commentators attempt to resolve certain internal and external contradictions in Ecclesiastes by attributing otherwise troubling (to these commentators) statements to other people—generally evil people or fools. Take, for example, one of Kohelet’s most life-affirming declarations:

Go, eat your bread in gladness, and drink your wine in joy; for your action was long ago approved by God. Let your clothes always be freshly washed, and your head never lack ointment. Enjoy happiness with a woman you love all the fleeting days of life that have been granted to you under the sun—all your fleeting days. For that alone is what you can get out of life and out of the means you acquire under the sun. (9:7-9)

Ibn Ezra—the quintessential pashtan—writes, “This is the folly that people say in their hearts.” Ibn Ezra maintains that Kohelet’s own view is the opposite of what this passage says.[5] However, such attempts to escape difficult verses appear arbitrary. Nothing in the text signals a change in speaker (particularly if Kohelet wishes to reject that speaker’s views), leaving decisions of attribution entirely in the hands of the commentator.[6]

            Commentators also devote much energy to reconciling the internal contradictions of Ecclesiastes. See, for example, the lengthy discussions of Ibn Ezra (on 7:3) and Mordechai Zer-Kavod (introduction in Da’at Mikra, pp. 24-33). Some reconciliations are more textually convincing than others. Regardless, it is critical to ask why there are so many contradictions in the first place.[7] That so many strategies were employed to bring Ecclesiastes in line with the rest of Tanakh and with itself amply demonstrates that this Megillah is unusual. Ecclesiastes needs to be understood on its own terms rather than being reinterpreted away. Pashtanim also developed a methodology for confronting Ecclesiastes’ challenges directly, as will be discussed presently.[8]

ATTEMPTING A PESHAT READING: GUIDELINES

            In order to approach Ecclesiastes, we must consider a few of its verifiable features. Ecclesiastes is written about life and religious meaning in this world. The expression tahat ha-shemesh (beneath the sun) appears twenty-nine times in Ecclesiastes, and nowhere else in the rest of Tanakh. Tahat ha‑shamayim (under heaven) appears three additional times, and Rashi and Rashbam[9] maintain that this expression is synonymous with tahat ha‑shemesh. In the same vein, people are called ro’ei ha-shemesh (those who behold the sun) in 7:11. The word ani (I) appears twenty-nine times, and its appearance is not grammatically necessary. The emphasis on tahat ha-shemesh demonstrates a this-worldly perspective, while the repetition of the word ani highlights the personal nature of the presentation. Michael V. Fox notes the difference between how 1:12-14 is written:

I, Kohelet, was king in Jerusalem over Israel. I set my mind to study and to probe with wisdom all that happens under the sun.—An unhappy business that, which God gave men to be concerned with! I observed all the happenings beneath the sun, and I found that all is futile and pursuit of wind.

Fox then imagines how these verses could have been written without the focus on the personal narrative:

Studying and probing with wisdom all that happens under the sun is an unhappy business, which God gave men to be concerned with! All the happenings beneath the sun are futile and pursuit of wind.

Without the personal reflections that are central to Kohelet’s thought, we are left with a series of dogmatic pronouncements. Kohelet’s presentation invites readers into his mind as he goes through a personal struggle and process of reflection.[10]

            Given this starkly anthropocentric perspective, Ecclesiastes should reflect different perspectives than the theocentric viewpoint of revealed prophecy. All people perceive the same reality that Kohelet does. On the basis of this observation, R. Simeon ben Manasia maintained that Ecclesiastes was not inspired altogether:

R. Simeon ben Manasia says: The Song of Songs defiles the hands because it was composed with divine inspiration. Ecclesiastes does not defile the hands because it is only Solomon’s wisdom. (Tosefta Yadayim 2:14)[11]

Though his minority view was rejected by our tradition (which insists that Ecclesiastes is divinely inspired), Ecclesiastes is written from the perspective of human wisdom.

            The word adam appears forty-nine times in Ecclesiastes, referring to all humanity (except for one instance in 7:28, which refers specifically to males). Kohelet speaks in a universal language and does not limit its discourse to a Jewish audience. Torah and other specifically Jewish themes do not appear in Ecclesiastes, which focuses on more universal hokhmah (wisdom) and yirat Elokim (fear of God).

            Similarly, God’s personal name—the Tetragrammaton—never appears in Ecclesiastes. Only the generic name Elokim appears (forty times), signifying both the universalistic discourse of Ecclesiastes and also a distant, transcendant Deity, rather than a close and personal relationship with God. In Ecclesiastes, God appears remote, and it is impossible to fathom His means of governing the world. For example, Kohelet warns:

Keep your mouth from being rash, and let not your throat be quick to bring forth speech before God. For God is in heaven and you are on earth; that is why your words should be few. (5:1)

Since God is so infinitely superior, there is no purpose and much harm in protesting against God (cf. 3:11; 7:13-14). Moreover, Kohelet never speaks directly to God; he speaks about God and the human condition in a sustained monologue to his audience.

            Tying together these strands of evidence, Rabbi Naftali Tzvi Yehudah Berlin (Netziv) attempts to explain why Ecclesiastes is read (primarily by Ashkenazim[12]) on Sukkot:

It is written in Zechariah chapter 14 that in the future the nations of the world will come [to Jerusalem] on Hol HaMo’ed Sukkot to bring offerings…. And this was the custom in King Solomon’s time. This is why Solomon recited Ecclesiastes on Hol HaMo’ed Sukkot in the presence of the wise of the nations…. This is why it contains only the name Elokim, since [non-Jews] know only that Name of God. (Harhev Davar on Num. 29:12)

Needless to say, this means of justifying a custom is anachronistic from a historical vantage point. Nonetheless, Netziv’s keen perception of Kohelet’s addressing all humanity with universal religious wisdom captures the unique flavor of this book.

            From a human perspective, life is filled with contradictions. Ecclesiastes’ textual contradictions reflect aspects of the multifaceted and often paradoxical human condition. Significantly, Ecclesiastes’ inclusion in Tanakh and its consideration as a divinely inspired book elevates human perception into the realm of the sacred, joining revelation and received wisdom as aspects of religious truth.

            While Ecclesiastes contains truth, it is but one aspect of truth rather than the whole truth. For example, Kohelet considers oppression an unchangeable reality:

I further observed all the oppression that goes on under the sun: the tears of the oppressed, with none to comfort them; and the power of their oppressors—with none to comfort them. Then I accounted those who died long since more fortunate than those who are still living; and happier than either are those who have not yet come into being and have never witnessed the miseries that go on under the sun. (4:1-3)

Kohelet never calls on God to stop this oppression, nor does he exhort society to stop it. He simply laments that human history repeats itself in an endless cycle of oppression. Kohelet sets this tone in 1:4-7 by analogizing human existence to the cyclical patterns in nature (Ibn Ezra).

            In contrast, prophecy is committed to changing society so that it ultimately matches the ideal messianic vision. While a human perspective sees only repetitions of errors in history, prophecy reminds us that current reality need not mimic past history.

            Kohelet grapples with the realities that wise/righteous people do not necessarily live longer or more comfortable lives than the foolish/wicked and that wisdom itself is limited and fallible:

Here is a frustration that occurs in the world: sometimes an upright man is requited according to the conduct of the scoundrel; and sometimes the scoundrel is requited according to the conduct of the upright. I say all that is frustration…. For I have set my mind to learn wisdom and to observe the business that goes on in the world—even to the extent of going without sleep day and night—and I have observed all that God brings to pass. Indeed, man cannot guess the events that occur under the sun. For man tries strenuously, but fails to guess them; and even if a sage should think to discover them he would not be able to guess them. (8:14-17)

Kohelet maintains both sides of the classical conflict: God is just, but there are injustices manifested in the real world. While Kohelet cannot solve this dilemma, he discovers a productive response. Once a person can accept that the world appears unfair, one can realize that everything is a gift from God rather than a necessary consequence for righteousness.[13] We ultimately cannot fathom how God governs this world, but we can fulfill our religious obligations and grow from all experiences. Wisdom always is preferred to folly,[14] even though wisdom is limited and the wise cannot guarantee themselves a more comfortable life than fools, and everyone dies regardless.[15]

On a deeper level, the human psyche is profoundly attracted to being godlike. This tendency lies at the heart of the sins of Eve (Gen. 3:5, 22) and the builders of the Tower of Babel (Gen. 11:1-9).[16] Kohelet blames God for creating us with this desire while limiting us, rendering this innate drive impossible (7:14; cf. Rashbam, Ibn Ezra on 1:13). Confrontation with our own limitations leads to the extreme frustration manifest in Ecclesiastes. However, once we can accept that we cannot be God, this realization should lead to humility and awe of God:

He brings everything to pass precisely at its time; He also puts eternity in their mind, but without man ever guessing, from first to last, all the things that God brings to pass. Thus I realized that the only worthwhile thing there is for them is to enjoy themselves and do what is good in their lifetime; also, that whenever a man does eat and drink and get enjoyment out of all his wealth, it is a gift of God. I realized, too, that whatever God has brought to pass will recur evermore: Nothing can be added to it and nothing taken from it—and God has brought to pass that men revere Him. (Ecc. 3:11-14)[17]

Michael V. Fox summarizes Ecclesiastes’ purpose as follows:

When the belief in a grand causal order collapses, human reason and self-confidence fail with it. This failure is what God intends, for after it comes fear, and fear is what God desires (3:14). And that is not the end of the matter, for God allows us to build small meanings from the shards of reason.[18]

While Kohelet challenges us at every turn, he simultaneously provides us the opportunity to find meaning beneath the unsolvable dilemmas.

Similarly, the universality of death tortures Kohelet. Once Kohelet accepts the reality of death, however, he concludes that it is preferable to attend funerals rather than parties, since focusing on our mortality will encourage us to live a more meaningful life:

It is better to go to a house of mourning than to a house of feasting; for that is the end of every man, and a living one should take it to heart. (7:2, cf. Rashbam)

Rabbi Joseph B. Soloveitchik expands on this idea, and says that it is not that there can only be meaning in life if there is death:

The finite experience of being arouses man’s conscience, challenges him to accomplish as much as possible during his short life span. In a word, finiteness is the source of morality…. For orgiastic man, time is reduced to one dimension; only the present moment counts. There is no future to be anticipated, no past to be remembered.[19]

Certain paradoxes and limitations are inherent to human existence, and not even the wisest of all men can make them disappear. Instead, Kohelet teaches us how to confront these challenges honestly and then embark on a process of intense existential frustration that ultimately leads to a greater recognition of the infinite gap between ourselves and God, leading in turn to humility and fear of God, leading in turn to living more religiously in every sense.[20]

CONCLUSION

A further word: Because Kohelet was a sage, he continued to instruct the people. He listened and tested the soundness (izzen ve-hikker) of many maxims. (12:9)

Kohelet relentlessly challenges received wisdom rather than blindly accepting it. This process is accompanied by formidable dangers and responsibilities; but ignoring that pursuit comes with even greater dangers. Kohelet never abandons his beliefs nor his normative sense of what all God-fearing people should do; yet he also never abandons nor solves his questions and his struggles with human existence. By presenting this process through a personal account with inspired wisdom, he becomes the teacher of every thinking religious individual.

One midrash suggests that Solomon made the Torah accessible in a manner that nobody had done since the Torah was revealed. He taught those who were not prophets how to develop a relationship with God:

He listened and tested the soundness (izzen ve-hikker) of many maxims (12:9)—he made handles (oznayim) to the Torah…. R. Yosei said: Imagine a big basket full of produce without any handle, so that it could not be lifted, until one clever man came and made handles to it, and then it began to be carried by the handles. So until Solomon arose, no one could properly understand the words of the Torah, but when Solomon arose, all began to comprehend the Torah. (Song of Songs Rabbah 1:8)

Tanakh needed prophecy so that we could transcend ourselves and our limited perspectives to aspire to a more perfected self and world, and to reach out across the infinite gulf to God. Ultimately, however, it also needed Ecclesiastes to teach how to have faith from the human perspective, so that we may grow in our fear of Heaven and observe God’s commandments in truth.