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The Torah provides a framework for sexual morality. Its legal prescriptions specify forbidden relationships; its narratives describe behavior and dress that reflect attitudes relating to sexuality and modesty.

The Torah’s view of sexual relationships might best be seen as fulfilling the overarching command that we be a holy people (vaYikra 19:2). Indeed, Rashi, in his commentary on this verse, identifies holiness with separation from forbidden sexual relationships.
However, the Torah does not enumerate rules relating to modesty in thought, dress, and speech. For example, it does not state how much of a person’s body needs to be covered, and gives no measurements for sleeve lengths or skirt sizes. Nor does it present specific rules relating to “hirhurim”—erotic thoughts; nor to “mehitsot” separating men and women at public gatherings; nor to the general—non-sexual—interrelationships of men and women. Rather, these rules are inferred from the mandate to be holy—to separate ourselves from sin, including sin of a sexual nature.

The Philosophy of Tseniut

The Talmud and later rabbinic literature provide additional material relating to sexual conduct in general, and tseniut (modesty) in particular. An aim of tseniut is to diminish the possibility of improper sexual temptations that could lead to sinful behavior. The human sexual drive is quite powerful, and the tseniut laws are intended to keep that drive under control.

Tseniut, though, is not simply a system of prevention from sin. Rather, it encompasses a positive philosophy relating to the nature of human beings. While acknowledging the power of human sexuality, tseniut teaches that human beings are more than mere sexual beings.

In his famous book, I and Thou, the philosopher Martin Buber pointed out that ideal human relationships involve mutual knowledge and respect, where people treat themselves and others as valuable persons—not as things. Tseniut, in fact, seeks to foster the highest form of I-Thou relationship. By insisting on modest dress and behavior, the laws of tseniut promote a framework for human relationships that transcends the physical/sexual aspects.

Non-tseniut behavior signals a person’s desire to be seen as an object of sexual attraction. People who dress in a sexually provocative way are interested in being noticed, in exciting the sexual interest of others. When people dress provocatively, what they are communicating is: notice me, I crave your attention, please don’t ignore me. Underlying this non-vocalized plea is the feeling that one will not be noticed unless he/she is prepared to become an object of attention or unless he/she conforms to the prevailing fashions, even if those fashions violate one’s sense of decency and propriety.1

It is normal and natural for people to want to appear pleasing to others. That is why they spend so much time and money on clothing and grooming. If one dresses nicely, neatly, and modestly, one may take pride and satisfaction in his/her appearance. If, though, one specifically dresses or behaves in a manner that is aimed at arousing sexual attention, then he/she has crossed into the non-tseniut mode. One has chosen to be an object a thing,rather than a Thou.

Why would people willingly dress or act in a manner as to make themselves into objects? The answer is that they want to be noticed, admired, longed for. They think that by presenting themselves as objects, they will more likely achieve these goals. They demand less of themselves and of others; no commitment or serious dialogue is invited or expected.

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

Dr. Norman Lamm has written: “One who lacks the sense of inner dignity and worth will expose himself [or herself], as if to say, ‘Look at me. Am I not beautiful? Am I not smart? Do you not like me?’ The lack of inner dignity leads to exhibitionism, the opposite of modesty, whereas a sense of inner dignity will normally result in the practice of modesty.”2

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

The Technicalities of Tseniut

It is important for us to understand the underlying assumptions of the ancient and medieval halakhic sources. The early rabbinic opinions on the topic of tseniut emerged from a context where women—Jewish and non-Jewish—were deemed to be subservient to men. The operative principle was that the honor of a princess, i.e. a dignified woman, is for her to remain in private. Women were to stay home to the extent possible. When they appeared in public, they were to be dressed in such a way as not to attract the attention of men. Women generally were not given the same educational opportunities as men, nor were they encouraged or generally allowed to participate in public life or to have authority over men. Women’s role was to care for the household, have children, and maintain piety and modesty.

Classic rabbinic literature assumes that women are primarily a source of sexual temptation to men, and that women should therefore dress and conduct themselves so as not to arouse men’s passions. Discussions of the laws of tseniut often tend to focus on specific details of what constitutes modest and immodest dress and behavior. Rabbi Yehuda Henkin, in his book Understanding Tzniut, cites talmudic and later rabbinic sources dealing with such issues as what parts of a woman’s body constitute nakedness; how much of a woman’s body needs to be covered; the ervah (nakedness) of a woman’s leg, voice, and hair. He also discusses sociological conditions that may impact on the boundaries of modesty.3

The discussion in Berakhot 24a is reflective of the prevailing talmudic attitude:

Rabbi Yitzhak said: An [uncovered] tefah (hand’s breadth) in a woman is nakedness (ervah)….Did not Rabbi Shesheth say that anyone [i.e. any man] who gazes even at a woman’s little finger is as though he gazes at her private parts?... Rabbi Hisda said a woman’s leg (shok) is ervah… Shemuel said that a woman’s voice is ervah…. Rabbi Shesheth said a woman’s hair is ervah.4

This passage, and others of the same tenor, operate with the following tacit assumption. Because women’s body, hair, and voice are so alluring to men, women are to cover themselves up to the extent possible, and are not to use their voices in a way that might arouse men. Halakhic literature contains various opinions as to how to apply the tseniut rulings—but by and large, the general assumptions outlined above are taken for granted.

Yet, let us delve a bit more carefully into these assumptions.

1. Women today are no longer relegated to the home, but are involved in all aspects of society. Women interact regularly, and in many contexts, with men; women often hold positions of responsibility, including having authority over men. Few today would agree with the notion that the honor of a woman is to remain in the privacy of her home. Few today would agree that women are or must be subservient to men.

2. If we are concerned lest men be erotically aroused by women’s body, hair, and voice, shouldn’t we also be concerned lest women be erotically aroused by men’s body, hair, and voice? Although halakhic sources spell out in detail the various restrictions on the manner of women’s dress and behavior, there is very little relating to men’s dress and behavior. The assumption is that men are far more passionate and uncontrollable than women. Whether or not this assumption is correct, it is surely not correct to assume that women lack strong sexual feelings for men. They are subject to erotic arousal by men’s manner of dress and behavior. Thus, all discussions of tseniut should deal with both sides of the equation, not just with women’s mode of dress and behavior.

3. If the rules of tseniut are to protect men from falling into sexual sin, why are most of the restrictions placed on women? The rules could have been formulated in an entirely different way. Since men are so passionate and women are so arousing, then men should cover their eyes in the presence of women and should avoid public places where women might be seen. If men have the problem, why should women be forced to pay the price for men’s weaknesses? Let the women conduct themselves as they wish, and let men guard themselves from falling prey to temptation!

The Philosophy of Tseniut and Its Technicalities

The philosophy of tseniut teaches self-respect, respect for others, and the importance of not treating oneself or others as objects. The goal of tseniut is to maintain human dignity, and to foster respectful and meaningful human relationships.

The technicalities of tseniut should aim at fulfilling the ideals of the philosophy of tseniut. In popular discussions of the subject, though, there often is a serious disconnect between philosophy and technicalities. Here are a few items that underscore the gap between the concept of tseniut and the technical halakhic rules that are supposed to foster tseniut.

1. “Women’s hair is considered ervah, nakedness.” Normative halakha applies this statement only to married women. Single women need not cover their hair, since men are used to seeing them with uncovered hair and will not be aroused. Is this a valid argument? In olden times when girls were married off at an early age, this assumption may have held true. Seeing girls up to the age of early teens with uncovered hair may have been a normal feature of life, not generating untoward thoughts on the part of men. Yet, today most women do not get married while they are still children. If a woman in her 20s or 30s has her hair uncovered, what difference would it make to men whether she is single or married? Most men would not be able to tell whether such a woman is single or married. Yet, halakha allows the single woman to go bare-headed, while a married woman must cover her hair. If the purpose of head covering is to foster tseniut and to prevent men from looking at women’s “nakedness,” then there is no substantial reason today to differentiate between married and single women. Either all women of marriageable age should cover their hair, or none of them need cover their hair because men are accustomed to seeing women with uncovered hair.5 Indeed, Rabbi Yosef Mesas rules that married women need not cover their hair in our days, since the normal practice of women in our society is to go with hair uncovered.6 He wrote: “Since in our time all the women of the world have voided the previous practice and have returned to the simple practice of uncovering their hair, and there is nothing in this that constitutes brazenness or lack of modesty…therefore the prohibition of covering one’s hair has been lifted.”

2. “Women’s hair is considered ervah.” Yet various posekim allow women to cover their own natural hair with a wig. As long as they have fulfilled the technicality of covering their hair, they are not in violation of halakha. In some circles, it is expected that married women wear wigs; if they do not do so, they are considered to be religiously deficient. Does this make any sense? Women will spend thousands of dollars to buy wigs that often look better than their own hair. They will wear these wigs, which can be quite attractive, and be considered to be within the laws of tseniut. However, if a woman “wears” her own hair, in a modest fashion, such a woman is deemed (by many) to be in violation of halakha. If a woman’s hair is indeed nakedness, how can it possibly be permitted for them to wear wigs—also made of hair? Would anyone suggest that a woman is permitted to wear a skin-colored dress that is printed with the design of her private body parts? Of course not. Such clothing is obviously anti-tseniut. Likewise, if a woman’s hair is nakedness, covering it with a wig is anti-tseniut.

3. “A woman’s voice is ervah.” This is generally applied to her singing voice, not to her usual speaking voice. But there are strong halakhic sources that permit men to hear women singing religious songs, or lullabies to their children, or other songs that have no erotic intent or content.7 When the prohibition of “kol ishah” is applied to all instances of women singing in the presence of men, this is a distortion of the intent of the halakha. The prohibition forbids licentiousness. Moreover, it should be applied not only to men hearing lewd songs sung by women, but also to women hearing lewd songs sung by men. The concept of “kol ish” is just as valid and just as important as “kol ishah.” If men sing in a manner that is sexually provocative to women, this constitutes a breach in tseniut and a breach in holiness.

4. “An uncovered tefah of a woman is nakedness.” Surely, it will be agreed that it is proper for women to cover the parts of their bodies that are particularly arousing to men. It should be equally agreed that men be required to cover parts of their bodies that are particularly arousing to women. But the real issue is not how long skirts and sleeves must be, nor how buttoned up a man’s shirt should be. Rather, the question is: What constitutes sexually provocative dress that is forbidden by the philosophy and rules of tseniut? A person might be covered from head to toe, and yet the clothing may be too tight, too clingy, too enticing. A person’s clothing might be entirely within the rules of tseniut, yet the person may use seductive gestures, facial expressions, or body movements. In many cases, an uncovered tefah of a woman (or a man) is not sexually arousing at all; rather it may be repulsive, an example of very bad taste. Likewise when people wear clothing that is too tight or too revealing. These are violations of tseniut, not because they are sexually arousing, but because they compromise one’s dignity—even if one does not want to realize this. They reflect a person’s conscious or subconscious desire to be seen as an object, rather than as a dignified person.

Confronting Reality

A number of tseniut rules in classic halakhic literature have come into conflict with changing societal realities. These rules have been modified or dropped by large groups of Torah-observant Jews. Here are a few examples.

1. …Our sages commanded that a man must not teach his daughter Torah, since the intelligence of the majority of women is not geared to be instructed; rather, they reduce the words of Torah to matters of foolishness according to the poverty of their understanding. Our sages said: One who teaches his daughter Torah is as though he taught her foolishness. To what does this refer? To the Oral Torah; but as concerns the Written Torah, he should not teach her; but if he did teach her it is not as though he taught her foolishness. (Rambam, Hilkhot Talmud Torah 1:13)

Despite Rambam’s ruling, in many Orthodox schools today, girls/women do study Talmud. Indeed, Stern College for Women of Yeshiva University has an advanced program of Talmudic Studies for women, instituted with the blessing of Rabbi Joseph B. Soloveitchik. Programs for women who wish to pursue advanced study of Talmud and halakha have blossomed in the United States and Israel. Modern Orthodox institutions reject the assumption that women‘s intelligence is unfit to absorb the wisdom of Talmud. Moreover, even if Hareidi schools do not teach girls/women Talmud, they do teach the Written Torah—in spite of Rambam’s ruling not to do so.

2. It is unseemly for a woman constantly to be going abroad and in the streets, and the husband should prevent his wife from this. He should not let her leave [home] except once or twice per month, according to the need. There is no beauty for a woman except in dwelling in the corner of her home, for so it is written, “All the glory of the king’s daughter is within (Psalm 45:14)” (Rambam, Hilkhot Ishut 13:11).

Very few, if any, Orthodox communities today follow this halakha of the Rambam. Very few, if any, accept the notion that a woman should live most of her life in the confines of her own home.

3. An unmarried man may not teach children because of the mothers who bring their children [and we fear possible immoral thoughts or conduct between teacher and the children’s mothers]… A woman may not teach children because of the fathers who bring their children [and we fear possible immoral thoughts or conduct between teacher and the children’s fathers]. (Shulhan Arukh, Yoreh Deah, 245:20–21).

Few, if any, Orthodox schools follow this halakha. It is quite common for single men to teach in Day Schools and yeshivot. It is also quite prevalent for women to teach in Day Schools and yeshivot. Indeed, Hareidi girls’ schools tend to encourage students to become teachers.

4. A man must distance himself from women very very much…It is forbidden to look at her beauty and even to smell perfume that is on her…It is forbidden to look at colorful clothes of a woman with whom he is acquainted, even when she isn’t wearing [these clothes], lest this lead him to think about her. If a man comes across a woman in the marketplace, it is forbidden for him to walk behind her; rather he should run so as to divert her to his side or behind him… One who looks even at a woman’s little finger with the intention of deriving pleasure from this, it is as though he looked at her private parts. It is forbidden to hear an ervah voice or look at her hair. One who intends to do any one of these things is subject to lashes [makatmardut]…. (Shulhan Arukh, Even haEzer 21:4).

In discussing the ruling that a man must run from a woman if he meets her in the market place, Rabbi Haim David Halevy asserted that this law refers to former times when women generally stayed home and were not often found walking in public. But in our day, many women walk in the public thoroughfares and marketplaces. If a man ran away every time he found a woman in front of him, people would think he was a fool. In his seeming piety, he would actually subject religion to ridicule in the eyes of the public. Rabbi Halevy concluded that a man who found himself walking behind a woman should simply try to keep his eyes from looking at her.8

The above examples demonstrate that there is a disconnect between various technical halakhot relating to tseniut, and the reality of the societal conditions in which we live. As a result, these halakhot—and others like them—have been generally modified or discarded among Torah-observant Jews. Sometimes apologetic explanations have been given and sometimes not.

Tseniut Today

We need to return to the underlying philosophy of tseniut: the expectation that we be holy, that we live dignified lives, that we not present ourselves as sexual objects. How these aims are actually fulfilled very much depends on the societal conditions in which we live. In ancient and medieval times, when women lived highly restricted lives, the rules of tseniut were applied accordingly. In our times, when women function openly and freely in society, the rules of tseniut also must be applied with this reality in mind.
The following are some proposed applications of the rules of tseniut in our modern societies:

1. Neither men nor women should dress, speak, or act in a licentious manner that will arouse the sexual attention of others. It is a violation of tseniut to wear skimpy, overly tight, or other clothing that is designed to highlight one’s sexuality.

2. It is proper for men and women to dress nicely, neatly, and modestly. It is fine to dress fashionably, as long as those fashions do not violate the philosophy of tseniut.

3. In our society, it is normal for upstanding and proper women to wear pants/pants suits; short sleeved dresses/blouses; clothes with colorful designs. Wearing these things is not a violation of tseniut, as long as these items are not fashioned in such a way as to highlight one’s sexuality.

4. Married women need not cover their hair, as long as their hair is maintained in a modest style. The wearing of wigs does not constitute a proper hair-covering for those married women who wish to cover their hair. Rather, such women should wear hats or other head coverings that actually cover their hair.

5. Men and women may sing in the presence of those of the other gender, as long as the songs are of a religious nature, or of a general cultural nature (e.g. opera, folk songs, lullabies). People should neither sing nor listen to songs that have vulgar language or erotic content that will lead to improper thoughts or behavior.

6. If a person dresses, speaks, and acts in a proper, dignified manner, it is not his/her responsibility if others are sexually aroused by him/her. That is their problem. It is their responsibility to control their thoughts and emotions, and/or to remove themselves from situations that they find to be sexually provocative.

7. Normal interactions between men and women are a feature of our societies. Women may serve in positions of authority over men, just as men may serve in positions of authority over women.9 The key point is this: holiness and tseniut should characterize all contexts where men and women mingle and work together. Co-ed youth groups and schools are permitted, but must be maintained with high standards of tseniut.10

Conclusion

Rabbi Avraham Shammah, who teaches at the Herzog Teachers’ College in Israel, stated: “Women and men should behave in a manner that reflects great respect for one another; they should not consider one another in a crude manner such as sexual objects; they should not dress provocatively, nor should their body language be provocative….”11 This is a fine formulation of the guidelines of tseniut.

It makes little sense to pretend that our living conditions today are identical to those of antiquity and the middle ages. Women’s roles in society have changed radically. The interrelationships of men and women today are far more common and far more frequent than in former times. Fashions have changed dramatically. Definitions of brazenness and immodesty are far different today than they were in olden days. Recognizing these changes is essential to formulating a proper application of tseniut rules.

It must also be recognized, though, that modern-day fashions often reflect very non-tseniut standards. Clothing that is designed to be sexually provocative—low cut in front or back, dresses or skirts above knee-length, clothing that is too tight, men’s pants that are worn below the belt line, and so forth—are clearly in violation of the philosophy and rules of tseniut.

Our goal as thinking halakhic Jews is to be clear on our responsibility to be holy, and to treat ourselves and others as fellow human beings—not as sexual objects. When we live as tseniut human beings, we enhance our own dignity and the dignity we show to others. This is not an inconsiderable accomplishment.

Notes

1. See my book, Losing the Rat Race, Winning at Life, Urim Publications, Jerusalem, 2005, especially chapter 4.
2. Norman Lamm, “Tseniut: A Universal Concept,” in Haham Gaon Memorial Volume, ed. M.D. Angel, Sephardic House and Sepher Hermon Press, New York, 1997, p. 155.
3. Yehuda Henkin, Understanding Tzniut, Urim Publications, Jerusalem, 2008.
4. I am not going into the discussion about improperly seeing or hearing women during one’s recitation of the Shema, nor distinctions between seeing or hearing one’s wife or other women.
5. See Rabbi Henkin’s discussion of hair-covering for women, pp. 29f; and article by Michael Broyde, “Hair Covering and Jewish Law,” Tradition, Fall 2009, 42:3, pp.97-179. It is understood that married women must adhere to a higher standard of tseniut than single women, since married women are subject to the laws of adultery for illicit relations. Nonetheless, both married and unmarried women are bound by the rules of tseniut and obviously are not allowed to comport themselves in a way that will entice improper thoughts or deeds on the part of men who see them.
6. Rabbi Yosef Mesas, Mayyim Hayyim, vol. 2, no. 110.
7. For a discussion of sources relating to kol isha, see Saul Berman, “Kol Isha,” in Rabbi Joseph H. Lookstein Memorial Volume, ed. Leo Landman, Ktav Publishing House, New York, 1980, pp. 45–66; and the responsum of Rabbi David Bigman, “A New Analysis of Kol B’Isha Erva,” in the Responsa section of jewishideas.org. Michael Makovi collected many sources on the topic in his article “A New Hearing for Kol Ishah,” in the Articles section of jewishideas.org
8. H. D. Halevy, Mayyim Hayyim 2:45.
9. See Benzion Uziel, Piskei Uziel, Jerusalem, Mossad HaRav Kook, 5737, no. 44, where Rabbi Uziel argues that women may vote in elections, and may be elected to public office where they have authority over men.
10. See the excellent pamphlet by Rabbi Yuval Cherlow and Ron Hori, Hevra Sheleimah: Hevrah Tsenuah Me’orevet leKhathila,” published by Neemanei Torah vaAvodah and HaKibbutz HaDati, Tel Aviv, 2011.
Rabbi Shammah’s paper was originally published in Hebrew and can be found at http://www.kolech.org.il/show.asp?id=25484. It was published in English in the bulletin of JOFA.

The Talmud records a poignant story relating to the destruction of the Temple in Jerusalem by the Romans in 70 CE. Although historians describe various political, sociological, and military explanations for the Roman war against the Jews, the Talmud—through the story of Kamtsa and Bar Kamtsa—points to a moral/spiritual cause of the destruction:

R. Johanan said: The destruction of Jerusalem came through Kamtsa and Bar Kamtsa in this way. A certain man had a friend Kamtsa and an enemy Bar Kamtsa. He once made a party and said to his servant, Go and bring Kamtsa. The man went and brought Bar Kamtsa. When the man [who gave the party] found him there he said, See, you tell tales about me; what are you doing here? Get out. Said the other: Since I am here, let me stay and I will pay you for whatever I eat and drink. He said, I won't. Then let me give you half the cost of the party. No, said the other. Then let me pay for the whole party. He still said, No, and he took him by the hand and put him out. Said the other, Since the rabbis were sitting there and did not stop him, this shows that they agreed with him. I will go and inform against them to the Government. He went and said to the Emperor, The Jews are rebelling against you. He said, How can I tell? He said to him: Send them an offering and see whether they will offer it [on the altar]. So he sent with him a fine calf. While on the way he [Bar Kamtsa] made a blemish on its upper lip, or as some say on the white of its eye, in a place where we [Jews] count it a blemish but they [the Romans] do not. The rabbis were inclined to offer it in order not to offend the Government. Said R. Zechariah b. Abkulas to them: People will say that blemished animals are offered on the altar. They then proposed to kill Bar Kamtsa so that he should not go and inform against them, but R. Zechariah b. Abkulas said to them, Is one who makes a blemish on consecrated animals to be put to death? R. Johanan thereupon remarked: Through the scrupulousness of R. Zechariah b. Abkulas our House has been destroyed, our Temple burnt and we ourselves exiled from our land. (Gittin 55b–56a)

The story tells of a host—apparently a wealthy man—who throws a party and wants his friend Kamtsa to be brought to it. The servant makes a mistake and brings Bar Kamtsa—a person the host despises. When the host sees Bar Kamtsa, he orders him to leave. Even though Bar Kamtsa pleads not to be humiliated by being sent away, the host is unbending. Bar Kamtsa offers to pay for whatever he eats, for half the expenses of the entire party, for the entire party—but the host unceremoniously leads Bar Kamtsa out of his home.

The story reflects a lack of peace among the Jewish community in Jerusalem. The antagonism between the host and Bar Kamtsa is palpable. The unpleasant scene at the party was witnessed by others—including “the rabbis”; obviously, “the rabbis” were included on the party’s guest list. They were part of the host’s social network. When Bar Kamtsa was ejected from the party, he did not express rage at the host. Rather, he was deeply wounded by the fact that rabbis had been silent in the face of the humiliation he had suffered: “Since the rabbis were sitting there and did not stop him, this shows that they agreed with him.” He might have understood the host’s uncouth behavior, since the host hated him. But he could not understand why the rabbis, through their silence, would go along with the host. Why didn’t they stand up and protest on behalf of Bar Kamtsa? Why didn’t they attempt to increase peace? Bar Kamtsa was so disgusted with the rabbis that he decided to stir up the Roman Emperor against the Jewish people. If the rabbinic leadership itself was corrupt, then the entire community had to suffer.

Why didn’t the rabbis speak up on behalf of Bar Kamtsa?

Apparently, the rabbis kept silent because they did not want to offend their host. If the host wanted to expel a mistakenly invited person, that was his business—not theirs. The host seems to have been a wealthy patron of the rabbis; he obviously wanted them included on his invitation list. Why should the rabbis offend their patron, in defense of an enemy of their patron? That might jeopardize their relationship with the host and could cost them future patronage.

The rabbis kept silent because they thought it socially and economically prudent for their own interests. They could not muster the courage to confront the host and try to intervene on behalf of Bar Kamtsa. By looking out for their own selfish interests, the rabbis chose to look the other way when Bar Kamtsa was publicly humiliated.

Rabbi Binyamin Lau, in his review of the rabbinical and historical sources of that period, came to the inescapable conclusion that “the rabbis were supported by the wealthy [members of the community], and consequently were unable to oppose their deeds. There is here a situation of economic pressure that enslaved the elders of the generation to the officials and the wealthy….The Torah infrastructure depended on the generosity of the rich.”

When rabbis lost the spirit of independence, they also lost their moral compass. They were beholden to the rich, and could not afford to antagonize their patrons. They remained silent even when their patrons behaved badly, even when their silence allowed their patrons to humiliate others. Bar Kamtsa was outraged by the moral cowardice of the rabbis to such an extent that he turned traitor against the entire Jewish people.

The story goes on to say that Bar Kamtsa told the Emperor that the Jews were rebelling. To verify this, the Emperor sent an offering to be sacrificed in the Temple. If the Jews offered it up, that proved they were not rebelling. If the Jews refused to offer it up, this meant that they were defying the Emperor and were rising in rebellion. Bar Kamtsa took a fine calf on behalf of the Emperor, and put a slight blemish on it. He was learned enough to know that this blemish—while of no consequence to the Romans—would disqualify the animal from being offered according to Jewish law.

When Bar Kamtsa presented the offering at the Temple, the rabbis were inclined to allow it to be offered. They fully realized that if they rejected it, this would be construed by the Emperor as a sign of disloyalty and rebellion. Since there was so much at stake, the rabbis preferred to offer a blemished animal rather than incur the Emperor’s wrath. This was a sound, prudent course of action. But one of the rabbis, Zecharyah b, Abkulas, objected. He insisted that the rabbis follow the letter of the law and not allow the offering of a blemished animal. He cited public opinion (“people will say”) that the rabbis did not adhere to the law and therefore allowed a forbidden offering. The rabbis then considered the extreme possibility of murdering Bar Kamtsa, so that this traitor would not be able to return to the Emperor to report that the offering had been refused. Again, Zecharyah b. Abkulas objected. The halakha does not allow the death penalty for one who brings a blemished offering for sacrifice in the Temple. Murdering Bar Kamtsa, thus, would be unjustified and illegal. This was “check mate.” The rabbis offered no further ideas on how to avoid antagonizing the Emperor. The offering was rejected, and Bar Kamtsa reported this to the Emperor. The result was the Roman destruction of Jerusalem and razing of the Temple. “R. Johanan thereupon remarked: Through the scrupulousness of R. Zechariah b. Abkulas our House has been destroyed, our Temple burnt and we ourselves exiled from our land.”

Rabbi Johanan casts R. Zecharyah b. Abkulas as the villain of the story. R. Zecharyah was overly scrupulous in insisting on the letter of the law, and he lost sight of the larger issues involved. He did not factor in the consequences of his halakhic ruling; or if he did, he thought it was better to suffer the consequences rather than to violate the halakha. Rabbi Johanan blames R. Zecharyah’s “scrupulousness” for the destruction of Jerusalem, the razing of the Temple, and the exile of the Jewish people. The moral of the story, according to Rabbi Johanan, is that rabbis need to have a grander vision when making halakhic decisions. It is not proper—and can be very dangerous—to rule purely on the basis of the letter of the law, without taking into consideration the larger issues and the consequences of these decisions. Technical correctness does not always make a halakhic ruling correct. On the contrary, technical correctness can lead to catastrophic results. To follow the precedent of Rabbi Zecharyah b. Abkulas is a dangerous mistake.

Yes, Rabbi Zecharyah b. Abkulas was overly scrupulous in his application of halakha, when other larger considerations should have been factored in. His narrow commitment to legal technicalities caused inexpressible suffering and destruction for the Jewish people. But is he the real villain of the story?

Rabbi Zecharyah was only one man. The other rabbis formed the majority. Why didn’t they overrule Rabbi Zecharyah? The rabbis surely realized the implications of rejecting the Emperor’s offering. They were even willing to commit murder to keep Bar Kamtsa from returning to the Emperor with a negative report. Why did the majority of the rabbis submit to Rabbi Zecharyah’s “scrupulousness”?

The story is teaching not only about the mistaken attitude of Rabbi Zecharyah b. Abkulas, but about the weakness and cowardice of the rest of the rabbis. The other rabbis were intimidated by Rabbi Zecharyah. They were afraid that people would accuse them of being laxer in halakha than Rabbi Zecharyah. They worried lest their halakhic credibility would be called into question. Rabbi Zecharyah might be perceived by the public as the “really religious” rabbi, or the “fervently religious” rabbi; the other rabbis would be perceived as compromisers, as religiously defective. They recognized that Rabbi Zecharyah, after all, had technical halakhic justification for his positions. On the other hand, they would have to be innovative and utilize meta-halakhic considerations to justify their rulings. That approach—even if ultimately correct—requires considerable confidence in one’s ability to make rulings that go beyond the letter of the law. Rabbi Zecharyah’s position was safe: it had support in the halakhic texts and traditions. The rabbis’ position was risky: it required breaking new ground, making innovative rulings based on extreme circumstances. The rabbis simply were not up to the challenge. They deferred to Rabbi Zecharyah because they lacked the courage and confidence to take responsibility for bold halakhic decision-making.

When Rabbis Do Not Increase Peace in the World

When rabbis lose sight of their core responsibility to bring peace into the world, the consequences are profoundly troubling. The public’s respect for religion and religious leadership decreases. The rabbis themselves become narrower in outlook, more authoritarian, more identified with a rabbinic/political bureaucracy than with idealistic rabbinic service. They become agents of the status quo, curriers of favor from the rich and politically well-connected.
When rabbis lack independence and moral courage, the tendencies toward conformity and extremism arise. They adopt the strictest and most fundamentalist positions, because they do not want to appear “less fervent” than the extremist rabbinic authorities.

When rabbis fear to express moral indignation so as not to jeopardize their financial or political situation, then the forces of injustice and disharmony increase. When rabbis adopt the narrow halakhic vision of Rabbi Zecharyah b. Abkulas, they invite catastrophe on the community. When the “silent majority” of rabbis allow the R. Zecharyahs to prevail, they forfeit their responsibility as religious leaders.

The contemporary Hareidization of Orthodox Judaism, both in Israel and the Diaspora, has tended to foster a narrow and extreme approach to halakha. This phenomenon has been accompanied by a widespread acquiescence on the part of Orthodox rabbis who are afraid to stand up against the growing extremism.

In the summer of 1984, I met with Rabbi Haim David Halevy, then Sephardic Chief Rabbi of Tel Aviv. He was a particularly independent thinker, who much regretted the narrowness and extremism that had arisen within Orthodox rabbinic circles. He lamented what he called the rabbinic “mafia” that served as a thought police, rooting out and ostracizing rabbis who did not go along with the official policies of a small group of “gedolim,” rabbinic authorities who are thought to have the ultimate power to decide halakhic policies. When honest discussion and diversity of opinion are quashed, the religious enterprise suffers.

The Orthodox rabbinic establishment in Israel, through the offices of the Chief Rabbinate, has had the sole official religious authority to determine matters relating to Jewish identity, conversion, marriage, and divorce. It has also wielded its authority in kashruth supervision and other areas of religious law relating to Jewish life in the State of Israel. This religious “monopoly” has been in place since the State of Israel was established in 1948. With so much power at their disposal, one would have expected—and might have hoped—that the rabbinate would have won a warm and respectful attitude among the population at large. The rabbis, after all, are charged with increasing peace between the people of Israel and their God; with applying halakha in a spirit of love, compassion, and understanding; with creating within the Jewish public a recognition that the rabbis are public servants working in the public’s interest.

Regrettably, these things have not transpired. Although the Chief Rabbinate began with the creative leadership of Rabbis Benzion Uziel and Yitzchak Herzog, it gradually sank into a bureaucratic mire, in which rabbis struggled to gain political power and financial reward for themselves and/or for the institutions they represent. The Chief Rabbinate is not held as the ultimate religious authority in Israel by the Hareidi population. It is not respected by the non-Orthodox public. It has scant support within the Religious Zionist camp, since the Chief Rabbinate seems more interested in pandering to Hareidi interests than in promoting a genuine Religious Zionist vision and program for the Jewish State.

Recent polls in Israel have reflected a growing backlash against the Hareidization of religious life and against the political/social/religious coercion that has been fostered by Hareidi leadership. Seventy percent of Jewish Israelis are opposed to new religious legislation. Fifty-three pecert oppose all religiously coercive legislation. Forty-two percent believe that the tension between the Hareidim and the general public is the most serious internal schism in Israeli Jewish society—nearly twice as many as those who think the most serious tension is between the political left and political right. Sixty-five percent think the tensions between Hareidim and the general public are the most serious, or second most serious, problem facing the Israeli Jewish community. An increasing number of Israelis are in favor of a complete separation of religion and State, reflecting growing frustration with the religious status quo.

Since the days of Rabbi Samson Raphael Hirsch, the Orthodox world has been blessed with many great leaders and thinkers who have scrupulously observed halakha (Jewish law) but who have, at the same time, adjusted to the modern world, including its science and technology. In more recent times, we have been fortunate to have Yeshiva University as guided by Rabbi Norman Lamm and more recently by Richard Joel. We have had a series of outstanding chief rabbis of the United Hebrew Congregations of the Commonwealth, most recently, Jonathan Sacks. There was the incomparable Joseph B. Soloveitchik, of course, whose inspirational teachings have generated numerous leaders across the globe.

I continue to be impressed with Jewish thinkers such as Menachem Kellner, David Hartman, Adam Ferziger, Marc Shapiro, José Faur, Joseph Telushkin, and many others. At the same time, we have inspiring congregational leaders who have assumed wider roles, such as Rabbi Shlomo Riskin, Rabbi Benjamin Lau, Rabbi Marc Angel, and Rabbi Avi Weiss. In Israel we have the example of Yeshivat Har Etzion, so ably led by Rabbis Aharon Lichtenstein and Yehuda Amital. One cannot help but be impressed with the textual skill of Rabbi Menachem Leibtag.

Notwithstanding our recent history of esteemed leaders and thinkers, the weaknesses in our Orthodox world cannot be ignored if they are to be mended. A variety of factors have resulted in a collapse of any meaningful application of the word "leadership" to Modern Orthodoxy. This collapse is mostly self-induced.

A few years ago I was walking on Ben Yehuda Street in Jerusalem. In the Jewish world there are not six degrees of separation but rather, only one or two for the most part. I was searching the passing faces for people I knew. There was something oddly familiar about a gentleman approaching me, but I assumed it could not be anybody that I knew because the man was decked out in a long black coat and big-brimmed black hat of the type rarely seen in my hometown of Seattle except for on the occasional meshulah (charity collector). As my brain adjusted, though, I could see that it was a rabbi I had known for many years. I knew him as a moderate, educated, Modern Orthodox congregational leader. My confusion was multiplied when I remembered that this rabbi was Sephardic, yet he was dressed as if he were someone from Eastern Europe in the high fashion of Polish gentry 200 years ago. We greeted each other and I asked him why he was dressed in Hareidi garb. He straightforwardly answered that, in order to fit in and be taken seriously as a rabbi, he felt he had to dress in that manner and conform to "the look."

This encounter was symbolic as it relates to the topic at hand, which is the leadership crisis. This brings us to one of the most distinct factors in the decline of leadership: a massive inferiority complex. When the Jews left Egypt, they left with the direct intervention of God, with all God's visible power and with the promise of continuing intervention in the conquest of the Promised Land. Moses assembled the leadership of the time and sent them to reconnoiter the land. Despite having all of the power of God behind them, the majority had a crisis of confidence. Ten of the twelve spies projected their own insecurities onto the situation with the Canaanites, and in a famous bout of self-criticism said: "We were like grasshoppers in our eyes, and so were we in their eyes" (Numbers 13:31-33).

In the context of this discussion, many in our Modern Orthodox world, including congregational rabbis and organizations, seem to frequently operate with one eye on the Hareidi world as if it consisted of giants. As a consequence, they seem to view themselves as inferior. It is time to stop this grasshopper effect.

We must ask ourselves: Who are these "giants," and what do they stand for? The Hareidi world is characterized not only by observance of strictures (humrot), but also by the baggage that generally (although not always) comes with the long black coat and wide-rimmed black hat. More often than not, that baggage includes a rejection of reality. For example, most Hareidim insist that the universe is strictly 5,768 years old, despite overwhelming proof from geology, physics, astronomy, and biology that the universe is approximately 14 billion years old, the age of the earth is approximately 4.5 billion years, and life on this planet dates from about 3.5 billion years ago. They reject any notion of evolution, making themselves look foolish in the eyes not only of scientists but also in the eyes all people whose worldview is grounded in factual reality.

In addition, most Hareidim hold that a literal interpretation of Midrashim is often the most accurate. Here, I quote extensively from Maimonides' Commentary on the Mishna. Rambam's wisdom, written 825 years ago, still resonates. Since this passage inspires me, I quote it in full:

It is important for you to know that there are three classes [of thinkers] who differ in their interpretation of the words of the Sages, of blessed memory. The first class comprises the majority among those that I have come across and whose compositions I have read and of whom I have heard. They understand the words of the Sages literally and do not interpret them at all. To them all impossibilities are necessary occurrences. They only do this because of their ignorance of sciences and their being distant from [various] fields of knowledge. They do not possess any of the perfection that would stimulate them [to understanding] of their own accord, nor have they found someone else to arouse them. Therefore, they think that the intent of the Sages in all their precise and carefully stated remarks is only what they can comprehend and that these [remarks] are to be understood literally. This is despite the fact that in their literal sense some of the words of the Sages would seem to be so slanderous and absurd that if they were related to the uneducated masses in their literal sense, and all the more so to the wise, they would look upon them with amazement and exclaim: 'How is it possible that there exists in the world anyone who would think in this manner or believe that such statements are correct, much less approve of them!' This class is poor [in understanding] and one should pity their folly. In their own minds, they think they are honoring and exalting the Sages, but they are actually degrading them to the lowest depths. And they do not perceive that, as God lives, it is this class of thinkers that destroys the splendor of the Torah of God into saying the opposite of what it intends to convey. For God said in His perfect Torah: This is your wisdom and your understanding in the sight of the nations, which shall hear all these statutes and say: Surely this great nation is a wise and understanding people. [Deuteronomy 4:6] But this category [of thinkers] expounds the words of the Sages in their literal sense so that when the nations hear them, they will say: "Surely this small nation is a foolish and degenerate people." (Introduction to his commentary on Perek Helek)

Throughout rabbinic literature, our Sages note that God's highest gift to humankind is our intelligence and our ability to think. But in the Hareidi world, people feel that their highest duty is to turn off that brain and allow their "Rav" or a "Gadol" to do their thinking for them about even the simplest and most personal things, including occupation, residence, spouses, and politics. Despite the acknowledged disappearance of prophecy within Judaism, at least until messianic times, Hareidim all but import it back into our faith through the concept of "Daas Torah." Loosely defined, "Daas Torah" is knowledge of all things because of immersion in Torah unadulterated by any other knowledge. (See Lawrence Kaplan, "Daas Torah: A Modern Conception of Rabbinic Authority," in the Orthodox Forum, Rabbinic Authority and Personal Authority.) We see the spectacle of well-known Hareidi rabbis speaking with self-confidence as to why God did specific things as if they have spoken to God directly. God's supposed reasons for the Holocaust proliferate, for example. In more recent times, God's so-called reasons for the devastation of New Orleans by Katrina, or reasons for the debacle of the last war in Lebanon against Hizbullah have been expounded by these "sages." The more isolated a Hareidi leader is from science, current events, indeed any secular knowledge, the more that world considers that leader as holy. These are the "giants" before whom many in the Modern Orthodox world feel small.

I have to question whether we really need to "look up" to the Hareidi world which overwhelmingly rejects the legitimacy of the State of Israel. Should we really be in awe of those in Israel who avoid national service-yet accept state welfare in huge numbers? For that matter, if we all took on their lifestyle, who would pay for it? In Israel we would all live in abject poverty. In the United States, we would take state welfare. In both countries we would live in ever-increasing ignorance. How is this a long-term solution to world change?

Jewish self-confidence eschews any need to seek validation in the views, real or imagined, of others. The Torah was given by God and, accordingly, we must view God's system as perfect. Jews have always been an infinitesimal percent of the world's population but this minority status has never been a concern of ours. Historically, Christianity and Islam have sought through force and active proselytizing to convert as many people as possible to their respective religions. Islam continues to support, for the most part, these goals through violence, while Christianity continues to pursue these goals by softer methods. Mormons have honed the proselytizing skills to such a degree that there are now almost as many Latter Day Saints in the world as there are Jews-even though Joseph Smith incorporated the religion only in 1830. Each of these religions partially justifies itself by pointing to what each of them perceives to be proof of the inherent validity of their religion. They argue that their religions are true because they have attracted so many millions of adherents, as if truth is a matter of popular vote, or is self-validated by large numbers of members. Many of our Modern Orthodox leaders turn, in similar fashion, to the Hareidi world for validation. The fact that so many Orthodox leaders act (or refuse to act) with one eye over their shoulder to how they think the so-called gedolim of B'nei Brak or Monsey will perceive them is an acute demonstration of an endemic shortage of self-confidence. People who are self-confident are not afraid of the marketplace of ideas, nor do they need to be ideologues believing in the most ridiculous of things despite evidence and proof to the contrary.

Another manifestation of the weakness of leadership is in the proliferation of outreach kollels of all stripes around the country, including Kollel MiZions. (See the article by Adam Ferziger of Bar Ilan University: "The Emergence of the Community Kollel.") There are a number of reasons why Modern Orthodox rabbis welcome these kollels into their midst and, so often, actively promote them. One of the reasons is that Orthodox leadership has become lazy and has outsourced to the kollels one of its primary functions. Leadership would imply feelings of responsibility for all Jews. Leadership would also require the desire to promote greater levels of observance in all congregants. Leadership would include outreach to nonmembers. Yet instead of taking on the responsibility, our Modern Orthodox leaders all too often simply abdicate. They sit back and watch the kollel families do their work for them, not realizing that their own authority and effectiveness are undermined.

The outreach function of the kollels has one other drastic effect on the quality of Modern Orthodox leadership. Except for the Kollel MiZion movement, the rabbis chosen for these kollels are, more often than not, trained in Hareidi yeshivas. Therefore, directly and indirectly, these kollels promote the views of the Hareidi yeshivas to the people with whom they interact, many of whom do not have backgrounds sufficiently solid to aid them in sorting out the wheat from the chaff.

Are these kollels encouraging their adherents to ask questions of and seek guidance from their local Orthodox rabbis? Occasionally this does happen, but more often they themselves give the answers, or they seek the answers from their own teachers and relay them to their adherents. The kollels are a Trojan horse to Modern Orthodox leadership but, by the time they realize it, it is often too late. (See my article on the Seattle experience at the Institute for Jewish Ideas and Ideals website, www.jewishideas.org [3] [1] [1], entitled "The Seattle Kollel: A Study of Unintended Consequences.")

Often, when sufficient numbers of supporters are achieved, the kollels then promote their own schools (as was done in Seattle) and promote their own synagogues-and pressure the communities directly and indirectly to adopt Hareidi standards. An example of a Hareidi takeover is the transformation of the Breuer's Community in Washington Heights, New York City. That community supposedly followed in the footsteps of Rabbi Samson Raphael Hirsch. The legacy was "Torah im derekh erets," Torah with the ways of the world. Rabbi Hirsch promoted the idea that truth is unitary, and that Judaism should strictly adhere to halakha, while responsibly and selectively incorporating well-tested facts and truths that come to us by way of secular culture. That community's transformation into just another Hareidi community was documented by George D. Frankel in his five-part 2002 essay entitled "Dan Shall Judge His People."

Within the North American Modern Orthodox community, the very concept of what a congregational rabbi is supposed to be has changed, leaving many in the dust of practical irrelevance. It used to be sufficient for the rabbi to be a halakhic expert and a good Talmud teacher. Today he must be so much more. Many of our Modern Orthodox rabbis lack any training, or even much interest, in the kinds of skills necessary for successful congregational leadership. Earning semikha (ordination) from most yeshivas does not require (nor do they even offer) training in psychology, sociology, communications, educational theory, or many other prerequisites for effective leadership within the context of the modern world. Until the various yeshivot teach and promote real leadership skills there will continue to be a decline in the effectiveness and power of congregational rabbis.

Another factor that promotes a decline in leadership is the way we allow Modern Orthodox leaders to be maligned. Those vibrant rabbis within the Modern Orthodox world who do spend time and energy trying to find the tools to attract and mold greater levels of observance are often ostracized and heavily criticized for their efforts. This negativity is not only from the Hareidi world but also from the Modern Orthodox community, another sign of insecurity and the need to seek validation from the right wing. While the conga lines during Adon Olam in Riverdale might not be my cup of tea, one cannot argue that spirited services and displays of warmth and friendship have brought thousands of Jews closer to God and have inspired ever-increasing levels of personal and communal observance and involvement. The pillorying of those rabbis who are making valiant efforts to truly lead can only discourage others from even trying. Here the aforementioned generalized insecurity manifests itself. Why? Because even within the Modern Orthodox world many rabbis are quick to jump on the Hareidi bandwagon of criticism of their fellows. Each tries to outdo the next in tearing down a colleague to "prove" how much more "religious" he is.

Torah Judaism provides a structure for a moral life. We as a people have been inhibited from maximizing our specific function and job on earth by millennia of persecution. Nevertheless, without a mission, without a purpose, no organization can stay healthy. Jewish leadership entails responsibility to perfect our fellow Jews and to teach the world by word and by example the ways of God, in order to bring the world to ethical monotheism. However, there is a strange fact within observant Judaism, including Modern Orthodoxy. Generally speaking, the further to the right one goes, the less one is concerned about fellow Jews outside one's own particular group and, certainly, the less one is concerned about the non-Jewish world. It is interesting to note that the further left toward Reform Judaism one goes, the more of an emphasis can be found on tikkun olam (repairing the world)-but the less emphasis one can find on the rest of the phrase, b'malkhut Shaddai (under the kingship of God). For this reason the causes embraced by the left are sometimes contrary to Jewish law. The further to the right one goes, one finds that the emphasis is on the yoke of heaven, and recognition of a responsibility to fix the world fades to nothingness. True leadership would promote the sight of kippot in rallies against the genocide in Darfur and the other ongoing mass murders. We should see participation in the promotion of human rights across the globe, not only for refuseniks, but also for the downtrodden in Zimbabwe. Our synagogues should be visible pillars of support for local food banks and neighborhood watch committees.

"Leadership" makes itself irrelevant when it fails to vigorously and unequivocally condemn immoral or illegal behavior just because the perpetrator is part of the Orthodox community. We should not be silent about sexual predators within our midst and within some of our schools. We should not turn a blind eye to the abuse of children or the denigration of women. Leadership should insist that tax evasion is not just a game and that dishonesty in business is not to be tolerated. There should not be an automatic defense of a kosher meat processor who systematically violates the law and treats workers as disposable commodities. There seems to be a fear that the rabbi who speaks out on these issues will himself be criticized by those further to the right.

When is the last time that many of us asked a halakhic question of our local Orthodox rabbi? And when we do ask questions, do we get well thought-out, reasoned opinions? When our lay and local leadership attend yeshiva in the United States or in Israel and turn to their roshei yeshivot for halakhic guidance they thereby undermine Orthodox leadership by failing to take seriously the local community rabbis. This is especially true today because of the proliferation of cheap communications by telephone and email. Our roshei yeshivot should stop this practice and encourage decisions at the local level.

When we do ask questions, we see the grasshopper effect again, because often an opinion is given orally with the refusal to put it in writing. In Seattle there are, for example, extensive written guidelines by the local Va'ad for Passover procedures and products. Oral advice is sometimes at odds with the written advice because local Orthodox rabbis simply don't want to put in writing a view that they think is correct but that will draw criticism from those further to the right. We have become people of the look, rather than people of the book. (See the Jerusalem Post article by Michael Freund, 1/29/08, entitled "People of the Look.")

Another problem with maintaining moderation within the Orthodox world is structural. Often, as in Seattle, the local Orthodox rabbis organize, ostensibly for more strength. They join together in a Va'ad for the purposes of uniform community standards. Since these Va'ads operate by consensus, there is a shift in these community standards to the most extreme views of the furthest right member. The nature of consensus is often, in practice, that the most extreme views have to be honored or there will be no consensus.

The recent controversy over conversions is a good example of the partial abdication of Modern Orthodox leadership in the United States, and is a further example of the "grasshopper effect." Many Orthodox rabbis throughout the United States know how ineffective they are at inspiring observance. They therefore have gravitated toward political requirements for conversion, requirements that have only tangential relationship to talmudic requirements for conversion. Every generation adds strictures, partly to show how "serious" they are about their Judaism. They frontload the conversion process with demands and commitments far beyond any requirement for native-born Jews. (See the Rabbinical Council of America (RCA) geirus [sic] standards on their website.) One reason they do this is they hope it will mean they will not have to spend energy inspiring converts to greater observance after conversion. The RCA's effort to conform to the will of the now Hareidi-controlled Chief Rabbinate is another example of the grasshopper effect. The RCA's effort to appease the Chief Rabbinate was almost immediately mocked by the ruling in Israel invalidating (supposedly and only in their view) potentially thousands of conversions previously done under the Chief Rabbinate's own Conversion Authority.

I recommend the book The True Believer: Thoughts on the Nature of Mass Movements by Eric Hoffer (1902-1983). Hoffer was a longshoreman who wrote philosophy. In 1983 he was awarded the Presidential Medal of Freedom for this book. In it, he analyzes the nature of ideology. One of the chief components of his argument is that beliefs are held onto so strongly by the ideologue that reality and any evidence appearing to contradict the belief system is simply ignored. Jewish leadership will fail to the extent that it holds onto beliefs such as the literal interpretation of Midrash, and a less than 6,000 year history to the universe.

In the short term, those true believers who find it necessary to not only be trembling (hareidim) before God but to also be trembling before science and the unfolding nature of reality, will continue to gain strength. There is a certain power that the true believer has, as witnessed by the political movements of the last century and continuing to the present time.

The world is moving too fast. Technology today is creating a new haskalah (enlightenment). Fundamentalism and rejection of reality are an understandable reaction found, not only within Judaism, but even more so within Islam, Christianity, and even within Hinduism. The Hareidim are in good company with Christian fundamentalists in the United States. For example, according to a Gallup Survey in 2004 almost half (45 percent) of Americans believe that the world is under 10,000 years old and that humans were created in our present form within that period. However, although understandable, the effort to shut off the stream of information is not a solid long-term approach to the challenge that faces us.

What Modern Orthodox leadership can offer in place of such a short-sighted approach is a path to the future that accepts reality, examines it through the lens of Jewish values, and helps us to strengthen our observance in the face of change. That is why we need to encourage an independent leadership at the international, national, and local levels. We need rabbis and lay leaders who are not so insecure in their Judaism that they must look to the Hareidi world for validation.

The Modern Orthodox have the numbers. According to a detailed study by Samuel C. Heilman, cited in his book Sliding to the Right, the Contest for the Future of American Jewish Orthodoxy, approximately 11 percent of identifiable North American Jews are Orthodox. Of them, only 27-32 percent could be classified as Hareidi, with half of that number being Hasidim. In other words, about 70 percent of observant Jews in North America fall into the category of Modern Orthodox.

In addition to the numbers, the Modern Orthodox also have the economic power, the educational and organizational background, and the knowledge to continue to lead the Jewish people throughout this century and into the future. We need leaders who can strengthen us for the future by understanding the present. We need leaders who recognize the potential of Modern Orthodoxy. We need leaders who embrace our strengths, and who reject the grasshopper mentality.

Identity, Royalty and Contentment: Breastfeeding in Tanakh[1]

                              
by Rabbi Hayyim Angel

The Bible relates that four of our greatest figures were breastfed: Isaac, Rebekah, Moses, and Samuel. In this essay, we shall explore these narratives as well as several poetic references to breastfeeding. Tanakh attributes meaning to breastfeeding that significantly transcends mere physical nourishment. There is a stress on nurturing religious identity, conferral of elevated status, and ultimate contentment through breastfeeding.

Narrative References to Breastfeeding

Isaac

When Abraham and Sarah miraculously become parents, Abraham circumcises Isaac as God had commanded him. The Torah shifts attention to Sarah’s nursing Isaac, and to the feast Abraham held when Isaac was weaned:[2]

Abraham gave his newborn son, whom Sarah had borne him, the name of Isaac. And when his son Isaac was eight days old, Abraham circumcised him, as God had commanded him. Now Abraham was a hundred years old when his son Isaac was born to him. Sarah said, “God has brought me laughter; everyone who hears will laugh with me.” And she added, “Who would have said to Abraham that Sarah would suckle children! Yet I have borne a son in his old age.” The child grew up and was weaned, and Abraham held a great feast on the day that Isaac was weaned. (Genesis 21:3–8)

Leon Kass[3] observes that male circumcision was widely practiced in the ancient world as a puberty ritual.[4] It was a sign of sexual potency and an initiation into the society of males, ending a boy’s primary attachment to his mother and household, the society of women and children. The Torah radically transforms the ritual of circumcision into a father’s religious duty toward his son. Circumcision in the Torah celebrates not male potency but rather procreation and perpetuation. Immediately after the birth of a son, a father must begin transmission of the covenant.

            More than women, males need extra inducement to take a parental role. They need to be acculturated to become interested in child rearing. Virility and potency are far less important to the Torah than decency, righteousness, and holiness. The society of males must be sanctified from birth. It is defined by those who remember God rather than those who fight, rule, and make their name great. Circumcision also profoundly affects the mother of the child, as it reminds her that her son is not fully hers. God therefore renames Sarai to Sarah at the time of God’s command of circumcision to Abraham.

            One underdeveloped area in Kass’ analysis is his treatment of motherhood. For Kass, women need far less religious guidance than men in order to stand properly before God. Once they overcome the potential arrogance of considering their children as their possessions, they are well on their way to living a life of holiness. In contrast, Rabbi Joseph B. Soloveitchik offers a more nuanced view of motherhood through his typology of Natural people and Redeemed people. In the natural community, a father’s role is minimal, whereas motherhood is central to a woman’s life. Similar to Kass, Rabbi Soloveitchik outlines ways the Torah teaches men they must educate their children in the covenant to be worthy of a redeemed fatherhood.

However, Rabbi Soloveitchik also develops the central role of the mother in partnering with her husband in the spiritual upbringing of her children.[5] God names Abraham—and not Adam—av hamon goyim, a father of many nations, because redeemed fatherhood begins with a father’s commitment to his children’s religious education: “Man’s involvement with God is only realizable if he is ready to commit his offspring to God by imbuing them with Torah knowledge and Torah ideals.”[6] Eve received her new name because she was em kol hai, the mother of all living beings, since natural motherhood involves true sacrifice. However, Sarai was renamed Sarah in the same discussion as Abraham’s name change in the context of circumcision, since she did more than raise biological progeny—she partnered with Abraham in transmitting the covenant:

In the natural community, the woman is involved in her motherhood-destiny; father is a distant figure who stands on the periphery. In the covenantal community, father moves to the center where mother has been all along, and both together take on a new commitment, universal in substance: to teach, to train the child to hear the faint echoes which keep on tapping at our gates and which disturb the complacent, comfortable, gracious society.[7]

            Given the Torah’s highlighting of both Isaac’s circumcision and breastfeeding-weaning, we may suggest that the religious partnership between father and mother described by Rabbi Soloveitchik is explicit in the text. Both elements establish the religious identity of the child.

Rebekah

            The Torah notes that Rebekah also was breastfed. When Rebekah agrees to accompany Abraham’s servant back to the Land of Canaan to marry Isaac, she is joined by her wet nurse:

So they sent off their sister Rebekah and her nurse along with Abraham’s servant and his men. (Genesis 24:59)

We learn of this nurse’s name—Deborah—only when she dies:

Deborah, Rebekah’s nurse, died, and was buried under the oak below Bethel; so it was named Allon-bacuth. (Genesis 35:8)

            The Torah provides no further details as to why Deborah should have been mentioned at all. Yet, she matters enough to warrant biblical notice. Addressing these anomalous references, Rabbi Joseph Soloveitchik speculates that Deborah must have been a singular positive influence on Rebekah, who grew up in the pagan household of Bethuel and alongside her wicked brother Laban. Perhaps Deborah’s religious vision steered Rebekah onto the exceptional path of hospitality and righteousness that became hallmarks of the matriarch’s life.[8]

Moses

            The Torah relates that the greatest prophet, Moses, was breastfed by his mother Jochebed:

Then his sister said to Pharaoh’s daughter, “Shall I go and get you a Hebrew nurse to suckle the child for you?” And Pharaoh’s daughter answered, “Yes.” So the girl went and called the child’s mother. And Pharaoh’s daughter said to her, “Take this child and nurse it for me, and I will pay your wages.” So the woman took the child and nursed it. (Exodus 2:7–9)

At one level, the narrative highlights the cleverness of Moses’ sister,[9] who looked after her brother and then brilliantly was able to arrange for Moses’ own mother to nurse him and even receive payment for her services.

            However, there appears to be greater significance to highlighting that Moses was breastfed by his own mother, rather than by an Egyptian or by a slave of Pharaoh’s daughter. One talmudic passage surmises that God wanted to shield Moses from nursing from a pagan woman. The infant who would grow to become the greatest prophet should be breastfed by an Israelite:

Then said his sister to Pharaoh’s daughter, Shall I go and call thee a nurse of the Hebrew women? Why just “of the Hebrew women”?—It teaches that they handed Moses about to all the Egyptian women but he would not suck. He said: Shall a mouth which will speak with the Shekhinah suck what is unclean! (Sotah 12b)

A different Midrash (Exodus Rabbah 1:25) presents this view and also offers an alternative: Moses would become the greatest prophet, and God did not want the Egyptians to credit themselves for nursing him.

Common to both midrashic responses is the rabbinic assumption that breastfeeding helps form the identity and character of a child.[10]

Samuel

            The prophet Samuel was breastfed by his mother Hannah. In this narrative, Hannah’s maternal love shines forth and helps shape the exceptional personality of Samuel:

Hannah conceived, and at the turn of the year bore a son. She named him Samuel, meaning, “I asked the Lord for him.” And when the man Elkanah and all his household were going up to offer to the Lord the annual sacrifice and his votive sacrifice, Hannah did not go up. She said to her husband, “When the child is weaned, I will bring him. For when he has appeared before the Lord, he must remain there for good.” Her husband Elkanah said to her, “Do as you think best. Stay home until you have weaned him. May the Lord fulfill His word.” So the woman stayed home and nursed her son until she weaned him. When she had weaned him, she took him up with her, along with three bulls, one ephah of flour, and a jar of wine. And though the boy was still very young, she brought him to the House of the Lord at Shiloh. (I Samuel 1:20–24)

Hannah’s commitment to nursing Samuel also results in the delayed fulfillment of her vow to dedicate her son to God.[11] Hannah’s husband Elkanah supports Hannah’s decision.

            At one level, Hannah’s breastfeeding provides necessary nourishment for her child that the High Priest Eli would be unable to replace. However, it also symbolizes her love, nurturing, and religious influence.

            The text does not indicate Samuel’s age when Hannah weaned him and brought him to Shiloh to serve in the Tabernacle under Eli’s tutelage. Rabbinic sources discuss the age of weaning more broadly. Tosefta Niddah 2:2, quoted in Ketubot 60a, presents a debate. Rabbi Eliezer maintains that women breastfed for two years. Rabbi Joshua suggests that nursing could go up to four or five years. Mayer Gruber[12] observes that there is ancient Near Eastern evidence for weaning as late as 3, 7, 10, and even 15 years. Gruber links this survey to Samuel, as one must consider when he would be old enough to remain in Shiloh and serve God.

            Regardless, Hannah’s breastfeeding of Samuel plays a vital role in the narrative, and transcends mere nourishment in terms of Samuel’s development into a leading prophet of Israel.

Poetic References to Breastfeeding

Cynthia Chapman[13] explores several poetic biblical references to breastfeeding. In Isaiah 60, the prophet envisions the rebuilding of the Temple and return of Israel’s exiles. The prophet portrays redemption in royal terms, as kings and nations will bow to Israel. Israel then will suck the milk from the royalty of nations:

Bowing before you, shall come the children of those who tormented you; prostrate at the soles of your feet shall be all those who reviled you; and you shall be called “City of the Lord, Zion of the Holy One of Israel.” Whereas you have been forsaken, rejected, with none passing through, I will make you a pride everlasting, a joy for age after age. You shall suck the milk of the nations, suckle at royal breasts. And you shall know that I the Lord am your Savior, I, The Mighty One of Jacob, am your Redeemer. (Isaiah 60:14–16)

Similarly, the prophet portrays Israel’s redemption in terms of their being nurtured by foreign kings and queens:

Kings shall tend your children, their queens shall serve you as nurses. They shall bow to you, face to the ground, and lick the dust of your feet. And you shall know that I am the Lord—those who trust in Me shall not be shamed. (Isaiah 49:23)

Chapman explains that the symbolic “breastfeeding” from foreign kings and queens confers royal status onto the people of Israel.

            In Isaiah 66, the ingathered exiles will drink the milk of God and Jerusalem, who co-parent Israel in their rebirth to ethnic status and glory:

Rejoice with Jerusalem and be glad for her, all you who love her! Join in her jubilation, all you who mourned over her—That you may suck from her breast consolation to the full, that you may draw from her bosom glory to your delight. For thus said the Lord: I will extend to her prosperity like a stream, the wealth of nations like a wadi in flood; and you shall drink of it. You shall be carried on shoulders and dandled upon knees. As a mother comforts her son so I will comfort you; you shall find comfort in Jerusalem. (Isaiah 66:10–13)

Chapman concludes that breastfeeding confers identity and elevated status. She applies this thesis to explain why the Torah highlights Sarah’s breastfeeding Isaac and Jochebed nursing Moses. In both instances, it would have been plausible for non-Israelites to nurse the infants, but the Torah stresses the full Israelite identity of these figures.

Chapman proposes further significance for Naomi’s holding the baby Obed after Ruth and Boaz give birth to him:

Naomi took the child and held it to her bosom. She became its foster mother (omenet), and the women neighbors gave him a name, saying, “A son is born to Naomi!” They named him Obed; he was the father of Jesse, father of David. (Ruth 4:16–17)

The Hebrew term meneket, nurse, is used exclusively with women, and refers to breastfeeding. Omen-omenet is less clear, since it is used both for men and women. The wet nurse of Mephibosheth (II Samuel 4:4) is the only other biblical occurrence aside from Naomi where omenet refers to a woman. For a man, the term omen generally means “guardian” or “foster father” (II Kings 10:1; Esther 2:7, 20).

            Whether Naomi literally or symbolically breastfeeds Obed, she confers support for Obed’s Judean identity since Ruth still is identified as a Moabite. This identity legitimizes Obed’s grandson, David.

Contentment and Security

In the course of expressing concern over God’s abandonment of Israel to its enemies, the psalmist in Psalm 22 draws consolation from God’s helping the nation in birth, and offering security at its mother’s breast:

You drew me from the womb, made me secure at my mother’s breast. I became Your charge at birth; from my mother’s womb You have been my God. Do not be far from me, for trouble is near, and there is none to help. (Psalm 22:10–12)

            One of the most beautiful poetic references to breastfeeding is expressed by the psalmist of Psalm 131. He is able to ward off the natural human feelings of greed by developing a deep sense of being satisfied, like a weaned child with its mother:

A song of ascents. Of David. O Lord, my heart is not proud nor my look haughty; I do not aspire to great things or to what is beyond me; but I have taught myself to be contented like a weaned child with its mother; like a weaned child am I in my mind. O Israel, wait for the Lord now and forever. (Psalm 131)

Breastfeeding becomes a symbol of the ultimate sense of security and contentment.

            On the reverse side, Moses despairs when the people demand meat in the wilderness. He is unable to supply the malcontent people’s needs:

And Moses said to the Lord, “Why have You dealt ill with Your servant, and why have I not enjoyed Your favor, that You have laid the burden of all this people upon me? Did I conceive all this people, did I bear them, that You should say to me, ‘Carry them in your bosom as a nurse (omen) carries an infant,’ to the land that You have promised on oath to their fathers? Where am I to get meat to give to all this people, when they whine before me and say, ‘Give us meat to eat!’ I cannot carry all this people by myself, for it is too much for me. If You would deal thus with me, kill me rather, I beg You, and let me see no more of my wretchedness!” (Numbers 11:11–15)

Moses likens himself to a nurse (omen) who is unable to provide for an infant. Abarbanel explains that Moses feels like a man holding a crying infant who needs to be breastfed. Moses is paralyzed since of course he has no milk for his baby. So too he has no ability to provide meat for the complaining people.

Conclusion

            Far beyond physical nourishment, breastfeeding highlights the mother’s role in shaping a child’s religious identity. Prophets and psalmists draw further inferences through poetic usage of the imagery to describe how breastfeeding confers identity and status onto a child. Finally, a religious relationship with God ideally is characterized by humility and contentment, paralleled to a weaned child with its mother.

Notes

The abortion rhetoric provides the hermeneutic key whereby the contemporary contenders to the faith franchise called "Orthodox Juism" reveal the moral essences of their alternative constructions of religious reality. At stake in this conversation is the meaning of Masorah, a culturally encrusted code word. According to the Judaism of the Rabbinic canon, or book-based Orthodox Judaism, it is the transmitted oral Torah as preserved for the collective of Israel in the public, vetted literature of the rabbis up to and including the Babylonian Talmud. Masorah is however also invoked as the retort of last resort to resolve the often occurring conflicts between the canonical Torah library and the living culture of affiliating Orthodox Jews. While in theory, the Orthodox Jew consults the canon, the literary trove of which is both necessary and sufficient source of normative value, in practice this trove is mediated by rabbis, known as gedolim, great ones, or hakhmei ha-Mesorah, Masoretic sages, whose divinely inspired intuition is empowered to parse divine intent and to preserve the cohesiveness of culture based Orthodox Judaism.
This study contrasts the legal rhetoric regarding the abortion issue. What does the plain sense of the canonical library actually prescribe? And what is the view of that version of Orthodox Judaism that bases itself on the intuitive consensus of an elite group of rabbis through a kind of "continuous revelation?"

To accomplish this goal, we examine:

1. the apologia and rhetoric of "pro-life" Orthodox Judaism
2. the actual values encoded in the Judaism of the canonical documents regarding [a] fetal life and [b] the grounds for authorizing an abortion
3. the actual position of the Judaism of the canonical documents regarding abortions
4. the self-understandings of the two Orthodox Judaisms that compete with each other, in pre-modern and in modern times

1. The apologia and rhetoric of "pro-life" Orthodox Judaism

This version of Orthodox Judaism reflects the publicly proclaimed consensus of those who are self-authorized, empowered, and emboldened to speak as spokesmen [women have no voice in this Judaism] for Torah. The pronouncements of this dialect of Orthodox culture are apodictic, dogmatic, authoritative and authoritarian. For this Orthodox Judaism, conversation is condemned as disrespectful to God because God's vicarious spokesmen alone are authorized to speak--because they are intuitively endowed-- on God's behalf. Persuasion of peers is for this Orthodox Judaism pointless because those issuing bold, culture conservative apodictic rulings are, by their own account, without peer. According to Rabbi Herschel Schachter's understanding of his teacher, Rabbi Joseph B. Soloveitchik, great rabbis may rule from intuition or "from the gut," but most other Orthodox rabbis may not even entertain the right to articulate a reasoned, dissenting opinion. After all, these second tier rabbis do not understand Torah deeply and intimately because they [1] have not been vetted as great rabbis by the clique of great rabbis and [2] these second rate Orthodox rabbis, by dint of their corrosive exposure to non-Jewish and non-ultra-Orthodox culture, are presumably under the influence or spell of un-Jewish heretical ideas, ideologies, and sensibilities. Therefore, in order to be considered to be legitimate Orthodox rabbis, second tier rabbis are required to defer to the pious policies of the truly great rabbis, those untainted by secularity, forgoing the role of poseq [religious authority] and assuming the role of police, who deferentially and piously enforce the policies, positions, and proclamations of the truly authentic great rabbis. To this view, citing relevant sources is insufficient, and otherwise compelling logic is spiritually inadequate. Only those accepted as great rabbis are authorized as Masoretic sages to preserve the ethic, ethos and spirit of authentic Judaism. In this Judaism, authentic Torah opinion, Da’as Torah, resides primarily in the charismatic person, rather than in the canonical object, which is the revealed, canonical text. In this Judaism, the sacred Torah serves as the rhetorical resource trove which is sifted, shifted, and manipulated in order to justify the apodictic rulings of the actual and ultimate source of living Torah, the inspired intuition of great rabbis, the actual word of the Lord that applies in contemporary times.

The Judaism "of the canonical documents" is the alternative Orthodox Judaism that challenges the claims of the charisma-led Orthodoxy described above. According to Rabbi Marc Angel, this is the Judaism of the Oral Torah applied appropriately to current settings. And according to Prof. Jacob Neusner, this is the Judaism of the Dual, i.e., Oral and Written Torah, which alone expresses God's will as it was proclaimed at Sinai, in the wilderness sojourn, in the Prophetic writings and Hagiographa, and in the Oral Torah library. Contemporary Orthodox Judaism has undergone change in modernity because it is self-conscious about its religious choice and identity, which is not the case for pre-modern Traditional Jewish religious communities. Modern Orthodoxy's adherents and advocates, this writer included, believe that God is revealed in the sacred, canonized Torah text as explained persuasively by whoever makes the most reasonable, persuasive, and compelling reading of that canon. Apodictic rulings, declaratory judgments, and ex cathedra decrees are not recognized to be legitimate value statements according to the version of Jewish Orthodoxy that is encoded in the Oral Torah canon. These apodictic rulings may only issue with authority from a Sanhedrin sitting in plenum, but not from post-Talmudic self-selective clerics sitting in clergy conclaves, whose intuition is taken to represent God's will.

The charismatic Orthodox Judaism opposes an expanded abortion license by appealing to the sanctity of life and human humility, a code term intended to intimidate ethical initiatives, demean the rectitude of the individual moral conscience, and to foster legal passivity

by besmirching and delegitimating those who would dare to revisit classical texts in order to reconsider and perhaps revise practices and policies, based upon a philological reading of the sacred canon. While for the Judaism of the Oral Torah, halakhic discourse rejects mysteries and vague platitudes out of hand, [Dt. 29:28] "pro-life" culture conservative Judaism, representing what it takes to be the moral high ground, with its accompanying legitimating stringency, cannot tolerate a conversation regarding what the canon actually records because with conversation comes the moral demand for accountability.
2. The actual values encoded in the Judaism of the canonical documents regarding [a] fetal life and [b] the grounds for authorizing an abortion
The most relevant Biblical passage informing the abortion controversy is:

“When [at least two] men fight and [inadvertently] strike a pregnant woman and [as a consequence of the blow] the fetuses abort but there is no calamity [i.e. the pregnant woman survives the blow] [the offending culprit] must assuredly be punished as to be mandated by the woman's husband in court.” [Ex. 21:22-23]

In this passage, the incidence of unintentional feticide is punished by a fine, but the offending culprit is not consigned to a city of refuge, which would be the case were this accidental abortion to be viewed as a homicide [Ex. 21:23]. Therefore, the assault upon the fetus is, according to the Pentateuchal document that every version of Orthodox Judaism accepts to be the will and word of God, the human fetus carries the status of property, but not person.
However, the canonical library of the Oral Torah, the foundation documents of which are also sacred canon for Orthodox Judaism, provides the literary, theological, and legal filter whereby Biblical norms are legally processed and culturally applied. The approaches of our two contending Orthodox Judaisms to this canonical legal filter reveals, en passant, that there are two competing and ideologically incompatible Orthodox Judaisms contending for recruits, recognition, and the collective soul of the Orthodox affiliating community.

The tendentious reading of this passage advanced by pro-life Orthodoxy cites the following Talmudic comment, with its accompanying ideological spin, to be the final, exhaustive, and to its view unquestionable will and word of God:

[In the case of] a woman in hard labor [the court mandates] the cutting of the unborn fetus and removing it [from the womb] limb by limb because her [i.e. the mother's] life takes precedence over its [i.e. the fetal] life. [bSan 72a]

According to Rabbi J. David Bleich, only in this case, where the fetus endangers the life of the gestating mother, may an abortion be condoned, and in other cases, i.e., when the gestating mother is not in mortal danger, the abortion procedure is by implication forbidden. [Contemporary Halachic Problems, New York, 1977, 327) But the Talmudic context cited here only refers to a legally mandated abortion. Philologically parsed, this canonical statement prescribes that in a case in which the maternal life, i.e., a legally defined person carrying moral rights, is endangered by a life threatening fetus, which prior to birth is considered to be not a person but property, Oral Torah law mandates the destruction of the fetus, which is property, in order to spare the actual living human person, the gestating mother. The claim, advanced by R. Bleich and others, that an abortion is in fact forbidden by statutory implication, reflects the a priori ideology of the exegete but neither the philological sense of the statute nor the actual norm encoded in that statute. Maimonides astutely and precisely ruled [Laws of the Murderer and Life Preservation 1:9] that this case, when the gestating mother is herself endangered by the fetus she carries, is akin [but not identical] to that of the pursuer, when it appears that one person pursues another person with apparent intention to commit rape or murder, a bystander may take the requisite vigilante action to stop the pursuer, even by killing the presumptive culprit, should circumstances so require.

3. The actual position of the Judaism of the canonical documents.

According to what Orthodox Jewish believers, committed to the Written Law as filtered by the Oral Law, are supposed to maintain, the penalty for fetal destruction is a fine, indicating that in Israel's canon, feticide is a tort, not a crime, an assault upon property, not person. The identical definition recorded in Israel's sacred canon also appears in Hammurabi's code. [CH 210, ANET 17-19] The only, but critical, difference between the ethic of the Torah and the ethos of Hammurabi's code is that for the latter, human and property worth inhabit the same moral universe, while for the Torah ethic the human person carries moral rights because s/he carries the image of God and may not be reduced to or treated as property.
Orthodox Judaism ignores the astonishing fact that the religiously canonical bArakhin 7a-b actually fills the gap of the wrongly and ideologically imputed silence of bSanhedrin 72a. The claim that non-therapeutic abortions “must” be halakhically forbidden is based [or biased] upon an ideological reading of a passage that only and explicitly deals with a mandated abortion. In bArakhin 7a-b, a woman about to be executed by the court is, if pregnant, aborted, [a] even though the biological father has property rights to the unborn, because the court is empowered to confiscate property, in this case, the fetus for which there is a paternal claim of property interest, and [b] the grounds for taking this action, the destruction of the fetus, is the shame that the condemned woman would endure if executed while pregnant. Therefore, the condemned woman's shame provides sufficient warrant to confiscate what Jewish law in its canonical statement defines as property. We have in this passage an explicit warrant for discretionary abortion.

In search of an anti-abortion argument, Rabbi Aharon Lichtenstein ["Abortion: a Halakhic Perspective," Tradition 25 (Summer 1991), 4] contends that [a] since the Israelite law must be more rigorous for an Israelite than non-Israelite, [bHullin 33a], and [b] a non-Israelite is executed for the crime of feticide, [ bSan 57a] , R. Lichtenstein concludes syllogistically, abortion "must" be forbidden to Jews by implication because it is forbidden explicitly to non-Jews. Like R. Bleich, R. Lichtenstein is ideologically predisposed to justify a restrictive abortion ruling and not to read the canon as an objective text scholar applying philological controls, going where the data leads, being disinterested in the resultant findings, and to use R. Bleich's very felicitous idiom, letting "the chips fall where they may." R. Lichtenstein's very clever construction is however parried by the legal fact that non-Israelites suffer execution for assaults on property, while Israelites are not so sanctioned. Thus, the claims that Israelite law "must" be stricter than other legal systems and that only therapeutic abortions are by implication licit, must be addressed philologically, not ideologically. Therefore, in its canonical version, Orthodox Judaism requires an abortion when there is a danger to human life, and considers shame to be a ground to authorize other, i.e., discretionary abortions. Were Jewish law to outlaw abortions undertaken to avoid shame, then the bArakhin 7a-b passage would not appear in the Talmudic canon. In the case of a woman pregnant with an illegitimate fetus, R. Yair Bacharch [Havot Ya’ir 31] was restrictive on public policy grounds, conceding that a lenient ruling might be justified if the letter of the law were the only relevant consideration. Jewish law does allow for policy strictures, but not for ideologically driven misrepresentations of the evidence, here evidence of the popular refusal to deal with or address the implications of the bArakhin 7a-b evidence. Furthermore, the Lichtensteinian position, that stricture is per se a quality of Torah ethic, while finding roots in Tosafot, does not seem to reflect the religion of sacred canon. After all, Nadab and Abihu were both extra strict and extra wrong. [Leviticus 10:1-7]

4. The self-understandings of the two Orthodox Judaisms that compete with each other, in pre-modern and in modern times

While taken in amazement with the creative, innovative, and dazzling apologias for the pro-life position, argued brilliantly by Rabbis Bleich and Lichtenstein, both nevertheless seem to arrive at their respective conclusions prior to their investigation of the data. Neither rabbi advocates a strict construction reading of the canonical law but both appeal to "morality," derived from culture bias, a self-defined "spirit of the law," and what appears to be culture conservative subjective taste. R. Lichtenstein also suggests that there is a normative morality that is beyond the halakhah that is nevertheless binding. Pro-life culture traditionalist Orthodox rabbis read the canonical documents as if their intuitions reflect God's intentions, and accordingly read the sacred canon selectively, finding in the Torah that ethic which they are programmed, conditioned, and expected to find, and will ignore and, in the case of bArakhin 7a-b, suppress facts, however canonical those facts may be, when those facts fly in the face of deeply revered sensibilities, self-evident intuition, and consensus social policy. According to the Orthodoxy encoded in the Oral Torah library, God transmitted a textual Torah book to all Israel but did not transmit a secret, private, hidden interpretation code entrusted only to a special self-select elite. By allowing the book/text of the Jewish sacred canon to be superseded by policy driven poseqim, albeit with the best of intentions and moral instincts, pro-life Orthodox Judaism de jure claims that God's Torah, while divine and from Heaven, is transferred to their human hands and authority and is no longer in Heaven. According to the Judaism of the Oral Torah, only the Great Sanhedrin is invested with this power, and without this legislative/judicial institution, Torah is entrusted to all Israel and is read with literary and historical tools and with a public conversation, not with intuitive explanations bereft of review, dialogue, and persuasion.

The abortion debate has a long history in Jewish law. One Tosafist view allows abortion, and another does not, arguing that Judaism cannot be less strict than non-Jewish religions. The restrictive view is often cited, the lenient view is not. While to his abiding moral credit, Rabbi Feinstein unflinchingly cited and addressed the lenient Tosafist view. He argued from conjecture and without a shred of supporting evidence that the lenient view must be rejected because the Tosafist text is corrupt. Maimonides argues that the claim "Judaism must be stricter than other religions," is inadmissible, that Judaism’s canonical documents alone defines Judaism, and we do not spin texts in order to find what we wish to find. [Iggeret ha-Shemad] So for Maimonides, [1] Torah religion is about obeying God's law and not being reflexively strict, and we argue that [2] before one claims that a given text should be discarded because it is corrupt, that corruption must be identified and defined, and not merely proclaimed because the textual content conflicts with the interpreter's positions.

The pro-life Orthodox culture conservatives are what Professor Jeffery Gurock calls modernity "resisters," while the scientific modern Orthodox who are committed to a philological parsing of the canon, seek to "accommodate" modernity. For the former, Halakha is not primarily what the Jew must do, it is the lomdus/conceptualism that the rabbinic elite imposes upon the canon so that religious culture not change, the cohesiveness of Orthodox society not become unglued, and its leadership status not be challenged. But lomdus, or "learningness," is a term unattested in Israel's canonical library; it is an invented culture construct created to empower an exclusive rabbinic elite to monopolize the interpretive access to the canon in order to make theologically correct normative judgments. This elite is unabashedly and passionately opposed to the philological reading of the canon because, in the words of the late R. Ahron Soloveichik, academic, philological readings of the canon undermine "the sanctity of Torah." To this view, allowing public access to parse the divine word is a recipe for theological, communal, and sectarian anarchy.

Tellingly, ultra-Orthodoxy denies the “great rabbi” credential to modern Orthodox rabbinic elite rabbis simply because they are "modern." When determining religious legitimacy is ideas based upon political rather than exegetical considerations, it is power rather than persuasion that invests theologically correct ideas with normative, religious valence. Thus, being a "great rabbi" is determined not only by expertise and scholarship, but by politics, culture taste, and social policy. Thus, for Haredi Judaism, Rabbis Lichtenstein and Joseph Soloveitchik cannot be great rabbis because [a] they are Zionists and [b] earned secular doctorates in English and Philosophy, respectively. Furthermore, the reading presented here reflects the influence of Responsa Pisqei Ben Zion Uzziel 52, that has been ignored but not refuted by the popular rabbinic consensus. The Arakhin passage quoted above is in culture conservative Orthodox circles vocalized "erkhin" [sic]. According to Hebrew grammar, the singular erekh, value, in the plural becomes arakhin, not erkhin. And the form erkhin is also grammatically improper because were the form to exist--which it does not--it would be vocalized erkin, with a "k.” In order to condition its affiliating community not to read Israel's sacred canon philologically, like the early authorities, i.e., the rishonim, and in our time, R. Uzziel, there may be no applied study of grammar, syntax, semantics, or hermeneutics in culture conservative, pro-life, modernity resisting Orthodoxy. By obfuscating the tradition/masora of canonically correct Hebrew, the Tradition of canonical text is replaced with and is superseded by the "tradition" of culture conservatives who are singularly endowed to divine God's true intentions.

The other Orthodoxy, populated by the militant moderates of Modern Orthodoxy, are committed to philology because this Orthodoxy pines to hear and obey the actual voice of the living God as it is revealed in the Torah's living words. God did not entrust the Torah to any sacred synod of Torah sages, but to the collective of Israel, Morasha kehillat Ya'aqob. Maimonides ruled not based on human charisma, but the best reasoning based upon the best rendering of the canonical reading. Culture conservative modernity- resisting Orthodoxy prizes conformity in practice, dress, thought and attitude; the moderate militants of Modern Orthodoxy culture accommodators believe that God's unchanging principles apply to ever changing social realities. The culture conservative Orthodox looks to the sociology of the community and is therefore ironically similar to the Reconstructionist approach, which claims that ultimate religious normativity is grounded in social rather than in theological and covenantal concerns.
R. Ya'ir Bachrach [Responsum 31] ruled restrictively regarding the termination of a fetus conceived in adultery on policy grounds. Policy claims must persuade but may not intimidate. They certainly may not claim that their voice is God's voice. God gave the Torah to "us," the collective called Israel, not to an elite, save the Great Sanhedrin; not to a clique, however convinced it may be by its self- selecting consensus, and not by partisans of any party. Like the statutes/mishpatim that are rational and are intended to persuade, we welcome conversation, not coercion, reason, not reproach, and ideas, not ideology.

The abortion debate within Orthodox Judaism reveals that there are two contenders for the mantle of Orthodoxy. The modernists read the sacred canon and its law literally, the Biblical and rabbinic narratives figuratively, and find God in the sacred text. Orthodoxy's culture conservatives read the law figuratively and the narratives literally so that critical thinking be suppressed, so that God's presence is transferred from the holy text to the holy person. The modernists read texts critically because they want to know how to think and practice; Orthodoxy's anti-modernists read their agenda into the canonical text because [1] the Jew is taught what to think and [2] challenging those who tell others what to think is akin to challenging God. Which version of Orthodoxy do you, the reader, believe to be the true seeker of God's will?

We stand at the mass grave of men, women and children—
Indians who were massacred at Wounded Knee in the
bitter winter of 1890. Pondering the tragedy that
occurred at Wounded Knee fills the heart with crying and with silence.

The great Sioux holy man, Black Elk, was still a child when he saw the
dead bodies of his people strewn throughout this area. As an old man, he
reflected on what he had seen: “I did not know then how much was
ended. When I look back now from this high hill of my old age, I can still
see the butchered women and children lying heaped and scattered all
along the crooked gulch as plain as when I saw them with eyes still young.
And I can see that something else died there in the bloody mud and was
buried in the blizzard. A people’s dream died there. It was a beautiful
dream. For the nation’s hoop is broken and scattered. There is no center
any longer, and the sacred tree is dead.”

Indeed, the massacre at Wounded Knee was the culmination of
decades of destruction and transformation for the American Indian. The
decades of suffering somehow are encapsulated and symbolized by the
tragedy at Wounded Knee. Well-armed American soldiers slaughtered
freezing, almost defenseless, Indians—including women and children.
Many of the soldiers were awarded medals of honor for their heroism, as
if there could be any heroism in wiping out helpless people.

How did this tragedy happen? How was it possible for the soldiers—
who no doubt thought of themselves as good men—to participate in a
deed of such savagery? How was it possible that the United States government
awarded medals of honor to so many of the soldiers?

The answer is found in one word: dehumanization. For the
Americans, the Indians were not people at all, only wild savages. It was no
different killing Indians than killing buffaloes or wild dogs. If an American
general taught that “the only good Indian is a dead Indian,” it means that
he did not view Indians as human beings.

When you look a person in the eye and see him as a person, you simply
can’t kill him or hurt him. Human sympathy and compassion will be
aroused. Doesn’t he have feelings like you? Doesn’t he love, fear, cry,
laugh? Doesn’t he want to protect his loved ones?

The tragedy of Wounded Knee is a tragedy of the American Indians.
But it is also more than that. It is a profound tragedy of humanity. It is the
tragedy of dehumanization. It is the tragedy that recurs again and again,
and that is still with us today. Isn’t our society still riddled with hatred,
where groups are hated because of their religion, race, national origin?

Don’t we still experience the pervasive depersonalization process where
people are made into objects, robbed of their essential human dignity?

When Black Elk spoke, he lamented the broken hoop of his nation.
The hoop was the symbol of wholeness, togetherness, harmony. Black Elk
cried that the hoop of his nation had been broken at Wounded Knee.

But we might also add that the hoop of American life was also broken
by the hatred and prejudice exemplified by Wounded Knee. And the hoop
of our nation continues to be torn apart by the hatred that festers in our
society.

Our task, the task of every American, is to do our share to mend the
hoop, to repair the breaches.

The poet Stephen Vincent Benet, in his profound empathy, wrote:
“Bury my heart at Wounded Knee.” This phrase reflects the pathos of this
place and the tragedy of this place.

But if we are to be faithful to Black Elk’s vision, we must add:
Revitalize our hearts at Wounded Knee. Awaken our hearts to the depths
of this human tragedy. Let us devote our revitalized hearts toward mending
the hoop of America, the hoop of all humanity That hoop is made of
love; that hoop depends on respect for each other, for human dignity.

We cry at this mass grave at Wounded Knee. We cry for the victims.
We cry for the recurrent pattern of hatred and dehumanization that
continues to separate people, that continues to foster hatred and violence
and murder.

Let us put the hoop of our nation back in order. For the sake of those
who have suffered and for the sake of those who are suffering, let us put
the hoop of our nation back in order.

             It isn’t easy to pray from the heart every day. It isn’t easy to teach about it either. As for a great many things, the hardest thing is often to decide how to start. What is the very best “trigger” to use at the outset, to engage other people in meaningful study?

When I began to teach “Directing the Heart in Jewish Prayer” (kavvanah) almost 30 years ago, I found a powerful trigger that proved effective over and over again. I used it many times in the past to initiate study, and sometimes I still do today. But in more recent years I shifted to a different trigger at the very beginning. Now I use the older trigger later on in the course of study.

The switch derives in part from a change in the audience over the past few decades, and in part from a change in the order of study. Both parts are related, because the change in the audience motivated a change in the sequence. Yet it seems to me that the newer trigger and order of study might have been best for the original audience, too. Finally, and most recently, the coronavirus pandemic forced synagogues to shut and millions of Jews to suddenly change how they pray. This turned out to be yet a third trigger for discussing kavvanah. In this paper I will describe these three triggers one by one.

The First Trigger: Kavvanah as an Obligation to God

The first trigger is a story:

A friend of mine was hired by a successful corporation. He was thrilled about his new job, not only because it was lucrative, but also because his new boss had a reputation for being fair and easy to work with. The boss was also known to cultivate warm, friendly relationships with his employees.

Not long after my friend began working, his boss told him that he’d like to get to know him better and meet his family. So my friend invited the boss to his home for dinner with his family the very next week. As soon as he came home that night, he asked his wife and children to help get things ready for the big visit. They all made plans together to shop and cook and clean up the house. Each of his kids had a special job to do: One was to mow the lawn, another to vacuum, and another to clean out the garage. Everything had to be perfect when the boss arrived for dinner.

But when the big night arrived, my friend decided to leave everything to his wife and children. He himself drove off to spend the evening at a basketball game! When the boss arrived, my friend’s wife had no good way to explain why her husband wasn’t home. The boss was furious (despite the wonderful dinner that was ready to be served) and fired the man on the spot in his own home, right in front of his family.

The most embarrassing thing about the story above is that it isn’t really about a friend of mine. It’s about me. It is also about pretty much every Jew, male or female, young or old, Sephardic or Ashkenazic, who has ever attempted to say the daily prayers found in the siddur with regularity. It was first written down as a parable in Spain nearly 1,000 years ago by Rabbenu Baḥya ibn Pakuda in his classic Duties of the Heart:[1]

When one prays with his tongue, but his heart is distracted by matters other than prayer, his prayer will be like a body without a soul, or an empty shell, because his body is present but his mind is absent when he prays. Of those like him the verse says: “Inasmuch as this people approached with its mouth, and with its lips honored Me, but kept its heart far from Me, and their reverence for Me was a commandment of men learned by rote…” (Isaiah 29:13).

This has been compared to a servant whose master was his guest. He charged his wife and the members of his household to serve the master and attend to all his needs, while he left to occupy himself with pleasures and games. He didn’t serve his master personally, and he didn’t strive to honor him and do what was proper for him. The master was angry with him and refused his honors and service. He threw everything back in his face.

Likewise for one who prays while his heart and mind are devoid of the matter of prayer: God will not accept the prayer of his limbs nor the movement of his tongue. You can see this from what we say at the end of our prayers: “May the words of my mouth and the meditation of my heart be pleasing before You, O Lord, my Stronghold and my Redeemer” (Psalms 19:15). But when a man occupies himself with any matter in the world, whether it is permitted or forbidden, and afterward he finishes his prayer and says “May the words of my mouth and the meditation of my heart be pleasing before You,” is it not a great disgrace that he claims to have spoken to his God with his heart and his mind when his heart was not with him, and then he asks God to accept it from him with pleasure? He is like those of whom it was said, “As a nation that pretends to show righteousness…” (Isaiah 58:2).

According to the parable above, the “master of the house” within each of us is the mind, and when we pray it sets tasks for the other parts of the body: It tells the eyes to scan the text of the siddur, the tongue and lips to pronounce the words, the spine to hold us up straight for the Amidah (the silent standing prayer) and bend when it is time to bow. It tells our hands to hold the siddur and our feet step back and forth three times before and after the Amidah. Although I don’t do it myself, many others find that swaying (“shuckling”) helps them concentrate better during prayer: For these people their hips are also involved in the action when they pray.  All these parts of the body do the tasks they are given by the mind during prayer, and sometimes they do their jobs well. But if one’s conscious mind is absent when one prays, occupied instead with business, friends, or a basketball game, then neither the words of one’s mouth nor the other movements of one’s body have any value to God.

This trigger provokes serious discussion because it makes a very firm demand. That demand is made in personal terms, as a moral obligation toward God. But it is also clearly binding on a halakhic level: All the codes of Jewish law have always required kavvanah for prayer. The personal demand and the formal requirement coincide, but it is the former that gives rise to the latter. Rabbenu Baḥya’s Duties of the Heart is a pietistic work, and Jewish pietism has ever refused to admit a distinction between ritual and morality as separate realms.[2] For Rabbenu Baḥya, the “religious” order and the “social” order are one and the same, because God is a personality and a relationship with God can be understood (at least partially) in human terms. No human being could fail to be insulted in the face of such behavior, and the very same is true of God.

Yet the discussion of Rabbenu Baḥya’s parable can sometimes get heated precisely because the obligation is halakhic as well. The parable makes sense on an interpersonal level precisely because we don’t recite fixed texts to other people three times a day! Since our conversation with other people is extemporaneous and unique—as opposed to being fixed and highly repetitive—it is indeed insulting to talk to a person without paying any attention to what you are saying. But how can the same thing be said of prayer? Isn’t the very demand both unfair and impossible?

It is with this question that a serious discussion of kavvanah really begins. It gets right to the crux of the problem at the very heart of halakhic prayer: Should one pray to God when kavvanah is unlikely or impossible? Is that really what the halakha demands? It turns out that according to talmudic rules that were accepted by all of the great authorities, at least in principle, one simply must not. Rabbenu Baḥya himself accepted these rules in practice, not just in principle, and that lets us understand his parable anew in an entirely different light: His demand to pray with kavvanah is neither unfair nor impossible, because when kavvanah is not forthcoming one simply does not pray.[3] To be clear: It is not just that prayer isn’t obligatory when kavvanah isn’t forthcoming, but that it is forbidden. Maimonides ruled the very same way almost two centuries after Rabbenu Baḥya, also in practice and not just in theory.[4] Even according to those who said that these rules are no longer practical, kavvanah is still required and the obligation of prayer is not met without it.[5]

            The advantage of Rabbenu Baḥya’s parable as a trigger for discussing kavvanah is that it goes straight to the heart of prayer and kavvanah as obligations. That makes it highly effective with observant Jews who are committed to the halakha as binding. But there are millions of Jews today who don’t share that commitment. How can the topic be taught to them?

The Second Trigger: “Words from the Heart Enter the Heart”

            Teaching prayer to groups of Israelis from the entire spectrum of observance required a different trigger. I still use Rabbenu Baḥya’s parable for prayer without kavvanah with these groups, and we still study prayer as an obligation. Indeed, to study Jewish prayer without that idea would be to misrepresent it. But in more recent years, instead of starting right away with that trigger and its related topic, I begin with something else.

            The second trigger is a short prayer about prayer called Oḥilah la-El. It is sung by the prayer leader (shali'aḥ ẓibbur) on Rosh Hashanah and Yom Kippur. In the Sephardic tradition it is said before the prayer leader’s repetition of the Amidah for Musaf, and in the Ashkenazic tradition it is said before the special blessing of the holidays (within the repetition). Here are its words:

I firmly hope in God and plead with Him,

I ask Him to grant me the gift of expression,

That I may sing His praise among people,

And express His deeds in song.

A person has an inner world,

But the gift of expression comes from the Lord.[6]

Lord, open up my lips, and let my mouth declare Your praise![7]

To be sure, I don’t give my students this prayer as a text right away. First we listen to it sung in the tender yet stirring melody composed by Rabbi Hillel Peli, which has become quite popular in Israel and is widely used in synagogues.[8]

After listening, when we focus on its meaning, one sentence always stands out: “A person has an inner world, but the gift of expression comes from the Lord.” There is a contrast here between that which is shared and that which is special. Every person has an “inner world” and that is what makes him or her a human being. It is, of course, a blessing just to be, to exist, but that is a blessing shared by everyone alive. It is “the gift of expression” that is special, i.e. the ability to express one’s inner world in a way that means something to another person. This blessing is not shared equally by all.

Some of us express ourselves better than others. Even those who have some share in this blessing find that there are certain times or situations when they don’t find the right words from the heart that can enter the heart of another. One of the greatest tragedies in life is when we want to share our inner world with someone else, but cannot express it. Most poignant of all is when we want to create a connection or deepen a bond to another person, but we don’t know how to do it. It is then that we need to ask God for “the gift of expression.” And if it is God with whom we want a connection, then we pray: “Lord, open up my lips, and let my mouth declare Your praise!”

As for Rabbenu Baḥya above, the idea here is human. The gift of expression is perhaps the most precious quality that a human being can possess. It is needed in each and every interpersonal context, whether the other personality is God or a human being. Here, too, the artificial boundary between the “religious” realm and the “social” or “moral” realm blessedly collapses. This allows for discussion of prayer and its meaning for Jews across the entire spectrum of observance. I now think that even for observant Jews—those who are committed to halakha and obligatory prayer—this is where study of prayer should begin. With this trigger the very soul of prayer itself comes first, before discussing prayer as an obligation and the difficulties that it causes for kavvanah. At the same time it still puts kavvanah in the center of things, where it belongs, right at the start.

Furthermore, the fact that this prayer is said by the prayer leader (shali'aḥ ẓibbur) brings home other aspects of Jewish prayer in a way that can be meaningful to all. First of all, “the gift of expression” is a blessing not just for individuals, but for groups. How might a class in a school, as a group, approach a teacher or a principal? How might the employees in a company approach their senior manager? How might a community approach a governor or a president? They need to choose a representative to speak for them, because if they all spoke at once then they wouldn’t be speaking as one. The most important quality for such a representative will certainly be “the gift of expression,” and if he cares deeply about his mission then he might see fit to pray for that. That is exactly what Oḥilah la-El means for the prayer leader.

Finally, there is the matter of the fixed prayers as found in the prayer book. Is prayer really about talking to God in a way that requires “the gift of expression”? How can it be, if the prayer book already tells you what to say? What need is there for the prayer leader to ask for “the gift of expression” if he already knows what to say?

The prayer Oḥilah la-El implies that there is some degree of novel expression in what the prayer leader says to God, not just in tunes or intonations but in the very words themselves. While halakhic prayer is certainly structured, it was not meant to be fully fixed; there is a rich middle ground between reading a text that appears on a page and total improvisation.[9] This also touches upon the idea that halakhic prayer is public in essence, and that is why it must have a good deal of structure. But even private speech between individuals has more structure than it might seem, and part of “the gift of expression” lies in the ability to use inherited forms in new ways to touch the heart of the listener.[10]

A large part of what makes kavvanah so difficult derives from the built-in tension between personal sincerity and a structured public framework. That tension is suddenly eased when public prayer is not an option. This recently happened during the coronavirus pandemic, and it led to renewed focus on kavvanah.

The Third Trigger: Sudden Closure of Synagogues

            An extraordinary situation can sometimes call our attention to ordinary things that we tend to overlook.

The pandemic forced sudden, radical change upon observant Jews who are accustomed to praying with a minyan (quorum of ten). Many of these people are denizens of the yeshivot or yeshivah graduates. Others are classic “minyan-goers,” people who often make strenuous efforts to work community prayer into their busy lives every single day. On the fringes of the group that received this sudden shock are those Jews who usually only pray with a minyan on Shabbat and holidays, along with the kaddish-sayers. But the shock was the most severe for people who seek out a minyan every single day.

It is hard to predict the results of a sudden shock. To put its severity into perspective, this wasn’t just a jarring personal change in the lives of current minyan-goers. Rather, it is the first time since the destruction of the second Temple in Jerusalem that the daily public worship of God was suddenly silenced in the vast majority of synagogues around the world. In medieval Ashkenaz, the “holy congregation” and its public worship were thought to be the direct continuation of the Temple service, upon which the world stands.[11] That sentiment echoes to this very day in the many Ashkenazic communities that still contain the Hebrew abbreviation k”k (“kahal kadosh,” or “holy congregation”) in their names. But recently, the public worship of the nation that stands before God came to a sudden halt. In the long term, this may prove to be a deeper wound than the personal shock to people’s routines.

When it comes to individuals, a jarring event can sometimes bring change, even if that change is not immediately visible. But sometimes there is no real change and old habits quickly return. It is quite likely that prayer with a minyan will resume in its usual form once the current emergency ends. For most of the devoted people who try never to miss prayer with a minyan, the current crisis will remain a vivid memory, but not one that changed their lives. Many people, whether they are daily minyan-goers or not, may learn to cherish community prayer more deeply in the wake of recent events, and it is possible that synagogue attendance may even be strengthened. No virtual environment can fully replace the experience of a community where people meet regularly in person.

It is also possible that this shocking interruption to the age-old institution of community prayer will cause long-term harm that weakens future participation, or that there will be no change at all. One cannot presently know. It is quite possible that the result depends on our response.

It is tempting to measure strength or weakness in terms of attendance and participation, and to think about the possible effect of the pandemic on future synagogue life in those terms. But perhaps, if there is to be any long term change as a result of this crisis, it might better be in the quality of community prayer.

The pace of a minyan is far too fast for sincere speech (and certainly for “the gift of expression”), but that speed is a necessary function of the overwhelming amount of text that is said. At the very same time the demand for sincere speech is clear and uncompromising in the sources, and to pray without it is clearly called a transgression. This is a problem that cannot be resolved, it seems, unless prayer with a minyan becomes impossible due to an unforeseen crisis. Then we must pray at home, which suddenly makes sincere speech possible.

To pray publicly, with a minyan, is thought to be a sign of piety today, just as it has been for a great many centuries. At the very same time to pray with kavvanah is also an aspect of piety (an even greater one than prayer with a minyan according to the halakhic sources). But on a practical level, for so many people, these two related kinds of piety can be mutually exclusive!

It is not just that it is difficult to pray with kavvanah in a minyan. It is not just that it is a tremendous challenge. The real problem is that it can be impossible. It is simply a practical issue: The 100+ pages of a weekday Shaḥarit, recited in full in the synagogue, make sincerity impossible for a great many people. There are of course ways for the individual pray-sayer to abridge what he or she says. But someone who does so removes oneself from what is going on at the very same time in public: That person isn’t really praying with the community for most of Shaḥarit. The speed-reading game goes on simultaneously, but that is a losing game according to Rabbenu Baḥya and the halakhic codes. If that person is asked to be the prayer leader, such a person will need to play that losing game or else decline. The competition between public prayer and sincere prayer can be a zero sum game.

One might object that this is an age-old problem. We are told, after all, that it “was the custom of Rabbi Akiva, when he would pray with the congregation he would shorten his prayer and go up, so as to avoid being an encumbrance on the public. But when he prayed by himself, if a person would leave him in one corner he would find him [later still praying] in another corner. And why all of this? Because of his many bows and prostrations” (Berakhot 31a).

At first glance, this passage seems to reflect the same kind of tension we find today. In his great enthusiasm, Rabbi Akiva often extended his prayers, but not when he prayed with the community. Rabbi Akiva’s personal spirituality is praised in this passage, but the needs of the public come first.

Note, however, that the passage talks about Rabbi Akiva “shortening” his prayer in public or “extending” it privately. The prayer that is probably meant here is no more and no less than the Amidah (the Eighteen Blessings), probably along with personal supplications (taḥanunim) that are appropriate at its end. The person who witnessed Rabbi Akiva could not have imagined a daily Shaḥarit of 100+ printed pages in his wildest dreams (or nightmares). If Rabbi Akiva’s extended Amidah was “an encumbrance on the public,” then what are we to say of our order of public prayer today?

It is also important to point out that for Ḥazal, the question of “more” or “less” has little to do with kavvanah (Berakhot 5b, 17a). When the Talmud tells us that Rabbi Akiva “would shorten his prayer” in public, it doesn’t mean that he would pray without kavvanah. It rather means that his kavvanah was appropriate to a public setting.

In short, our condition today is the exact reverse of what the Talmud describes: It is the daily prayer of the community that encumbers the individual because of its excessive length and quantity and speed, not the individual who encumbers public prayer by taking longer.

Finally, Rabbi Akiva’s “short” public Amidah and his “long” private one probably had nothing to do with reading fast or slow. It is more likely that he was using his own words within the overall framework of the prayer. Sometimes he said more to God and sometimes he said less. In public he said less, so as not to encumber the community.

By forcing people to pray at home, alone or with their families, the coronavirus pandemic laid bare the conflict at the very heart of our daily community prayers. Never before was there a trigger for kavvanah that affected so many people directly and all at once. We would do well, when our daily minyanim resume, to find ways to make them far less encumbering and much more conducive to kavvanah, for individuals and communities alike.

ZIKA, HALAKHA AND THE POLITICS OF ABORTION
By Dr. Richard Grazi

Zika is all over the news. About 10-30% (we don’t know the exact percentage just yet) of pregnant women infected with the Zika virus will deliver babies with microcephaly, or smaller than normal heads. The medical consequences of this condition are those derived from restricted growth of the brain and include poorly developed sections of the brain, enlarged brain ventricles, and even abnormalities outside the skull such as congenital joint contractures. , [1,2] All of the described anomalies are life-altering for the babies as well as for the families into which they are born.

So where does that leave a woman who wishes to terminate her pregnancy because her fetus is doomed to be born severely disabled, or to never reach sentient life? These are the situations under which many women seek to terminate their pregnancies, and are virtually always the reason why a late termination is done. Would, for example, aborting a fetus diagnosed with a Zika infection be halakhically permissible?

This came to mind earlier this year, during the presidential primaries, as one Republican candidate after another announced the intent to criminalize the “murder of unborn children.” [3] Of course, following the Supreme Court’s decision announced this past June, [4] the chances of abortion again becoming illegal in this country seem remote. Still, the pressure being brought by conservative religious groups on what they see as a child-killing industry is unrelenting and has resulted in severely restricted access to abortion in many states. Some Orthodox Jews reflexively support those efforts. After all, how can God-fearing persons not consider themselves “pro-life”?

What follows is not a political discourse or an opinion about who should win our votes. It is meant to provide basic information about abortion from a traditional Jewish perspective, with the hope that the Torah-observant community can be vigilant about the matter regardless of the outcome of November’s election. Delving into the abortion debate is surely risky business, given the passion with which many cling to their beliefs on the matter. It may also seem strange coming from someone whose professional life has been devoted to procreative medicine. But although most of our patients are desperate to become pregnant, someone is and wants just as desperately not to be. This happens when there is an in utero diagnosis of severe fetal anomalies, be they genetically based or acquired by other means.

The Zika crisis has forced many couples to consider the consequences of bringing a severely disabled child into their homes, including the significant impact it might have on their future lives, particularly when there are other children for whom they are responsible. As all of us who have followed the political campaign are now aware, the Catholic and fundamentalist Christian view on abortion, even in such cases, is clear-cut: no abortion under any circumstances. One must not assume, however, that because Judaism prizes life no less than Christianity, devout Jews must also stand opposed. Halakha is more nuanced. In fact, the halakhic approach suggests that the very terminology used to describe the anti-abortion movement – “Right to Life” – has been misappropriated. In this brief paper, I will present some rabbinic decisions that have shaped present day Halakha in regards to abortion. The material that I will present is derived in large part from an analysis of the subject by Rav Moshe Zuriel. [5] But first, a brief accounting of abortion in our current political landscape is in order.

* * *

One’s view on abortion is intimately connected, for obvious reasons, to one’s view of when life begins. So when exactly does life begin? For many people in the United States, the answer is that life begins the moment an egg is fertilized by a sperm. At that point, that one cell embryo is considered fully human, deserving of the same rights and protections of all humans who walk the earth, and any action that disrupts the growth of that embryo, whether as a fetus or even as a bunch of cells in a petri dish, is no different from killing a fully alive human being. Those who share this belief do so with great passion. It is a passion ignited by religious zeal. They see themselves living in a society that has run amok in its countenance of murder on an industrial scale. And, as we know, that zeal itself too often has had consequences, fueling violence against actually-alive human beings who facilitate or perform abortion. The reader may remember this:

Amherst, N.Y., Oct. 24, 1998 — Dr. Barnett Slepian, an obstetrician with a practice in this Buffalo suburb, returned home from synagogue Friday night with his wife, Lynn, and greeted his four sons. Then he stepped into his kitchen, where a sniper's bullet crashed through a back window and struck him in the chest, the police said.

He fell to the floor, calling for help, and died within two hours.[6].

Dr. Slepian was one of three abortion providers in the Buffalo area. The miscreant who did this killed to defend the “Right to Life.” Unfortunately, there have been others such murders supported and perpetrated and by an offshoot of the “Right to Life” movement who call themselves the Army of God.

This point of view presents great difficulty for reproductive specialists. In the routine course of fertility treatments, we routinely discard embryos, either because – like 80% of embryos formed in the natural process of reproduction – they lack implantation potential, or because we have been requested to do so by former patients. [7] Notwithstanding the pro-life nature of in vitro fertilization (IVF) – without it, millions of babies would never have been born – the technique has engendered fierce opposition in fundamentalist communities. Their calculation is simple: IVF is no different than abortion; be it a fetus in the womb or a one cell embryo in a test tube, ending their existence is murder. American voters ignore the consequences of this view at their own peril: in July, the House Appropriations Committee of the US Congress agreed to an amendment that, if passed, would deny funding of IVF treatment to military personnel whose wounds prevent them from having children by any other means.[8] Beyond the ethical implications of such a policy, a moratorium against federal funding of research involving human embryos was put into effect in 1976 and its ripple effects continue to slow the pace of advancements in IVF and its spin-off technologies, including stem cells.[9]

Even more far-reaching is the “Personhood Amendment,” a brilliant new political tactic being used by those who wish to see legal abortion in this country disappear. It seeks to set a new definition of the word "person." Its importance stems from the original Roe v. Wade decision in 1973,[10] wherein Supreme Court Justice Harry Blackmun ruled that that the equal protection clause of the Fourteenth Amendment does not refer to the fetus because it is not legally considered a person. Personhood Amendments seek to redefine the term “person" as something that begins when an egg is fertilized by sperm and ends when the last breath is taken. Were this definition of personhood accepted, the right to life for an embryo or a fetus would then be guaranteed specifically by the Fourteenth Amendment.

In the last five years, thirteen states have attempted to place “personhood” measures on the ballot. Only two states – Colorado and Mississippi – have put such measures to a vote, and voters rejected them. Nevertheless, their derivative, the so-called fetal homicide laws, are already being used in many states to arrest and prosecute women who miscarry pregnancies or are otherwise seen as “harming” the fetus.[11] In Indiana earlier this year, the governor enacted a law that would prosecute any doctor who performs an abortion for almost any reason, including fetal abnormalities, for wrongful death. By that same law, any woman undergoing an abortion at any stage and for any reason would also be required to pay for burial or cremation of the fetus.[12] Appropriately, this law has not been carried out due to an injunction issued by a federal judge this past June.[13]

At the federal level, two similar pieces of legislation – the Sanctity of Human Life Act and the Life at Conception Act – are introduced in Congress year after year; they have failed on each occasion. This past winter, however, every Republican candidate indicated support for these bills.

* * *

Although abortion on demand is anathema to the ethics of the Halakha, in Jewish law there are many situations in which a pregnancy may be terminated. Within the first 40 days of pregnancy, in particular, the embryo is considered by the Talmud to be “mere water.”[14] By inference, an embryo outside the womb certainly has no status as a human life. Thus, as Rabbis Mordechai Eliyahu ZS”L and Haim David Halevi ZS”L pointed out,[15,16] , fertilized eggs in a petri dish may be discarded. In their responsa, neither of these authorities offers any detailed analysis of his legal ruling, considering the position to be obvious and noncontroversial from the perspective of Halakha.

Halakha also does not consider abortion a capital crime. The source for this is in the Torah itself:
If two men fight and they collide with a pregnant woman and she miscarries, but she is not fatally wounded, the one who struck her shall pay damages as assessed by the husband of the woman.
Exodus 21:22

Additionally, there are situations when Halakha mandates abortion. The examples that follow will illustrate this point.

Consider the Talmudic account of a woman has been convicted of a capital offense and is sentenced to death. The court rules that the sentence must be carried out immediately. Even if she is pregnant, the court determines that she, along with her unborn child, must die. Wishing tospare her the agony of anticipating her own death, the court will not wait a single extra day. It discounts any consideration of her fetus. In fact, the iconic amora, Shemuel, rules that the fetus must first be intentionally killed – by striking the woman’s abdomen – before she is executed. He wishes to save her the embarrassment of contemplating the miscarriage and bleeding that will follow her death.[17] Of course, this is only a theoretical discussion – the death penalty was rarely, if ever, practiced in Jewish law, and certainly not in the era of the Talmud. Still, the discussion sheds light on how hazal viewed the fetus. In this case they make clear that a fetus is not a nephesh; it has no independent status as being alive, and it is certainly not a human being.

The Talmud also teaches that if the childbirth process is interrupted and the mother’s life is in danger, the fetus is killed and the body is removed piecemeal in order to rescue the mother’s life.[18] We learn from this passage that up until the moment that the fetus emerges it is not considered a separate individual. It instead has the status of an inner organ of the mother, just like her kidneys or liver. Therefore, if she needs life, we may destroy that part. As Rashi comments there, the fetus has no soul. It does have ruah hayim, or spirit of life, but that is derived from, and is dependent on, its mother. The soul is only acquired upon birth. The notion that killing a fetus is tantamount to murder was not one that he or any of our early sages would recognize.

An example of how this is relevant was given by the Radbaz (Rabbi David ben Zimra, Sephardic, 16th century) who ruled on the case of a kohen who hit a pregnant woman and caused her to miscarry. The question was whether the kohen must thereafter refrain from reciting birkat kohanim because, by Halakha, a murderer is disqualified from all priestly services. Radbaz ruled that the kohen is permitted to continue since a fetus is not yet a soul.

While it would be safe to say that no halakhic authorities allow abortion only for the sake of convenience, all of them accept that in the case of piquah nefesh – where the fetus is jeopardizing the mother’s life – her life comes first. But what do we make of a situation where a woman’s pregnancy does not pose a physical danger to her, only an emotional one?

As background to Rav Zuriel’s analysis, he states that the Torah is certainly concerned with savlan shel ha’beriot, the “suffering of humanity.” Here is a partial listing of the responsa that he cites, specifically regarding a married woman who has conceived as the result of an adulterous relationship and requests an abortion:

(A) Chavot Ya’ir – (Rav Yair Bachrach, Ashkenazi, 17th century) – permitted.
(B) She‘ilat Ya’avetz – (Rav Ya’akov Emden, Ashkenazi, 18th century) – permitted.
(C) Ben Ish Chai – (Rav Yosef Hayyim, Sephardic, 19th century) – permitted.[19]
Mishpetei Uzziel (Rav Ben-Zion Meir Chai Uzziel, Sephardic, 20th century) was asked by a sick woman who feared becoming deaf in both of her ears due to childbirth. Relying on the passage in the Talmud cited above, he permitted abortion, even though it was not a matter of life and death. He specifically states that the reason the court is permitted to abort the fetus before the execution has nothing to do with the fact that they are both destined to die; rather, as clearly stated in the Talmud, it is done for the good of the woman, to spare her embarrassment.

* * *

While there are halakhic decisors who, following the rulings of their respective gedolei hador, disallow termination of such a pregnancy, there are nevertheless many poskim of major import whose views differ. Here is a sampling of 20th Century poskim who considered the subject:

(1) Rabbi Shaul Yisraeli, Rosh Yeshiva of Mercaz HaRav, was asked by a woman who took thalidomide during pregnancy. This drug caused severe birth defects in many but not all exposed fetuses, and he permitted abortion. His hidush was that even if not all such fetuses are in danger, but the obstetricians claim that a sizeable percentage born in such situations are damaged severely, this is enough to support performing an abortion.
(2) Rabbi Dr. Ya’akov Yechiel Weinberg, a mid-20th century European master of Torah as well as secular studies, author of Seridei Eish, was asked by a woman who was sick with German measles during her pregnancy, and who was advised by her doctors that many such fetuses are born deaf, blind and mentally impaired. He, too, permitted abortion.
(3) Rabbi Ovadia Yosef, ZS”L also permitted abortion for suitable medical causes but only to the end of the first trimester.
(4) Finally, the late Rabbi Eliezer Yehuda Waldenberg, ZS”L author of the Tzitz Eliezer, went to great length to prove why abortion of a sick fetus is permissible. He allowed first trimester abortion of a fetus that would be born with a deformity that would cause it to suffer and, famously, termination of a fetus with a lethal fetal defect such as Tay-Sachs disease up to the conclusion of the seventh month of pregnancy.

With this in mind, we must ask, why would any posek condemn a woman pregnant with a Zika-damaged fetus to carry her pregnancy to term? Rabbi Moshe Feinstein, ZS”L considered abortion except when the mother’s life is clearly endangered to be impermissible.[20] In his teshuva he explains why. His reasons are many and varied and include not only his detailed halakhic analysis but also his distrust of doctors’ motivations. He also believed that even a brief and painful life would merit the newborn tehiyat hameitim. Many contemporary poskim, despite their great respect for Rav Moshe, discounted his objections. What prompted Rav Moshe to take his strict position cannot be known. We do know that it was penned in 1976, shortly after abortion was legalized in the United States and in the midst of a new sexual freedom sweeping across the country. It is possible he foresaw that the collusion of these phenomena could bring undesirable consequences for the Jewish world.

In any event, not all poskim accept Rav Moshe’s psak. Rav Zuriel concludes his survey with the notion that koach d’heteira adif. In this regard, the reader should recall the words of Rav Aharon Lichtenstein, ZS”L who wrote the following with the same matter in mind:

A sensitive posek recognizes both the gravity of the personal circumstances and the seriousness of the halakhic factors…. He might stretch the halakhic limits of leniency where serious domestic tragedy looms, or hold firm to the strict interpretation of the law when, as he reads the situation, the pressure for leniency stems from frivolous attitudes and reflects a debased moral compass.[21]

Regardless of which halakhic analysis is deemed more “correct,” any couple facing the looming tragedy of pregnancy with a sick fetus and who chooses to terminate that pregnancy may lean on the wisdom of many giants of Torah. In the language of our sages, yesh al mi l’smokh.

* * *

Collectively, we hope and pray that none of us finds ourselves personally involved in such situations. They are heartbreaking, no doubt. But, as Torah-observant Jews, these situations must not always lead to endless pain and suffering. Our approach does not coincide with the fundamentalist sentiment sweeping America. While the Jewish perspective is indeed pro-life, its conclusion is different. To be pro-life halakhically means to be in favor of a pregnant woman retaining her dignity and for the couple in question to be allowed to live their life without the emotional trauma that accompanies the birth of a dying or damaged child. While we certainly respect those who choose to take on that burden, the Torah does not require women to do so. To be pro-life is also to support the use of IVF, when necessary, to build families, including lots of Jewish families.

Zika is a very complicated subject, too new and too potentially threatening for even the medical world to have answers. Curiously, its emergence as a serious threat to the health of American women and children at the very same time that the presidential elections are in full gear reminds us that the abortion issue – and the opposing platforms of the candidates – must be taken seriously. Redefining life as beginning at fertilization discounts the problem of savlan shel ha’beriot and ignores the cruel repercussions that such a policy would engender. As such, this doctrine is in conflict with Halakha and cannot be countenanced by those who are committed to Torah values.

[1]Johansson MA, Mier-y-Teran-Romero L, Reefhuis J, Gilboa SM, Hills SL. Zika and the risk of
microcephaly. NEJM. 2016;375(1):1-4.
[2]http://www.bmj.com/content/354/bmj.i3899
[3]The thesis of this article is that an unborn child is not a recognized entity in Halakha. As long as it is unborn, it is called a fetus; only once it has emerged is it a child. I have therefore been careful to avoid use of such terms as “fetus in the womb” as needlessly duplicative. If it is a fetus, it can only be in the womb and if it is a child it can only be out.
[4]http://www.nytimes.com/2016/06/28/us/supreme-court-texas-abortion.html?…
[5]Tehumin 2005. A (less-detailed) summary is available in English at http:/www.torahmusings.com/2013/08/abortions-that-are-kosher/
[6]http://www.nytimes.com/1998/10/25/nyregion/abortion-doctor-in-buffalo-s…
[7]The outcome of any given in vitro fertilization cycle is unpredictable. Embryos that are not transferred to the womb in the process of treatment are typically frozen for potential future use. However, those for whom IVF has been successful and who have finished growing their families may prefer not to keep their excess embryos in perpetual storage.
[8] http://www.nytimes.com/2016/08/13/us/politics/congress-embryo-ivf.html?…
[9]http://www.pbs.org/wgbh/americanexperience/features/general-article/bab…
[10]It is worth noting that the case was decided by a 7-2 majority, reflecting public sentiment. Americans still support legal abortion by a significant majority. See http://www.pewresearch.org/fact-tank/2016/06/27/5-facts-about-abortion/
[11]https://rewire.news/article/2014/01/09/feticide-laws-advance-personhood…
[12]http://www.nytimes.com/2016/03/25/us/indiana-governor-mike-pence-signs-…
[13]http://www.nytimes.com/2016/07/01/us/federal-judge-blocks-indiana-abort…
[14]Yevamot 69b
[15]Eliyahu M. Responsum to Richard Grazi.10 Shevat 5749 (Jan 10, 1989). Tehumin 1991; vol 11
[16]Halevi HD. Responsum to Richard Grazi.19 Tevet 5749 (Dec 27, 1988). 1990; 12:3-4; Assia nos 47-48
[17]Arachin 7a
[18]Sanhedrin 72b
[19]One can argue about this response, because of the oblique manner in which it was given. However, the intent and meaning of the response is clear.
[20]Iggrot Moshe H”M, 2: 69
[21]Lichtenstein A: Abortion: A halakhic perspective. Tradition. 25(4):11, 1991

The Value of an Explanatory Prayer Service

Rabbi Hayyim Angel

          This past Shabbat (April 30, 2022), I had the privilege to lead a newly-opened explanatory prayer service at Congregation Beth Aaron in Teaneck, New Jersey. The service is dedicated to the memory of Andy Dimond, who passed away last year. Raised in a largely secular Jewish family, Andy became observant in his adulthood and was deeply dedicated to inspiring others religiously.

          It is striking that in a highly observant community as Teaneck, there is a profound thirst for learning more about Torah and prayer. Some sixty people were in attendance, and we learned about the weekly Torah reading and prayer. It was inspiring to see so many people take the step to learn more about the services they attend regularly.

          Here is a summary of the main talk I gave, pertaining to the value of an explanatory service and the goals of prayer.

*

Prayer is hard! Even for those of us who attend synagogue services regularly, there are a number of fundamental impediments to prayer.

For many, the Hebrew language is a barrier. Despite the fact that Jewish law permits prayer in any language one understands, our public prayers are recited in Hebrew.

Although thanking God can be understood as an expression of good manners and gratitude, what do words of praise and petition actually achieve? Furthermore, we pray from a fixed text, and recite the same prayers whether at times of great joy or when we are beset by crisis.

For many, analysis is more stimulating than prayer, making Torah study a more meaningful religious encounter. The same holds true for acts of tzedakah and hesed toward others, where we immediately feel a sense of religious fulfillment.

While we may confront different challenges than did earlier generations, our struggle to attain religious devotion is hardly a uniquely modern problem. Let us consider one remarkable passage from the Jerusalem Talmud:

R. Hiyya said, “I never concentrated during prayer in all my days! Once I wanted to concentrate, but I thought about who will meet the king first: [a Persian high official] or the Exilarch.” Shemuel said, “I count chicks.” R. Bun b. Hiyya said, “I count bricks.” R. Matnaya said, “I am grateful to my head, because it bows by itself when I reach Modim (Berakhot 2:4, 16a).

One commentary entitled Toledot Yitzhak (by Rabbi Yitzhak Karo, the brother of Rabbi Yosef Karo) remarks that the Talmud teaches that even the greatest Sages struggled with the issue of proper intention and focus during prayer. Their struggles should inspire us to improve our focus, and not to despair when we find prayer difficult.

In addition to our efforts, we need God’s help to pray. We begin each Amidah with the introductory petition: “O Lord, open my lips, that my mouth may declare Your praise” (Psalms 51:17). We pray to God to enable us to pray! Once we recognize some of the inherent challenges in prayer, we may begin to address those challenges and enhance our ability to pray.

*

One of the most incredible aspects of seeing a starry night is the concept of light years. We are looking at the stars right now, but we see one star as it appeared 20 years ago, another as it appeared 40 years ago, another as it appeared 100 years ago, and so on. It creates a staggering feeling of time-transcendence.

The prayer book offers a similar phenomenon. It is an anthology of sacred texts, which includes passages from the Torah, later books of the Bible incorporated in the Prophets and the Holy Writings, Mishnah, Talmud, the medieval period, sixteenth-century mystical traditions—all the way to prayers for the modern State of Israel. When we pray, we engage God in a relationship right now, but we also transcend time by seamlessly moving through the set order of prayers.

Engagement with the traditional prayer book connects us with communities everywhere and all time. Without this fixed text, we would have lost our shared identity long ago.

*

          The great mystic Rabbi Hayyim Vital (1542-1620), upon entering the synagogue, would say, “I now am ready to fulfill the commandment of loving my neighbor as myself.” Although the commandment “love your neighbor as yourself” (Leviticus 19:18) is a celebrated tenet of the Torah, it seems surprising that Rabbi Vital would call attention to this commandment in the particular context of prayer.

          Rabbi Vital teaches a profound lesson about prayer. Communal prayer creates shared lives, built around God, the Torah, education, and community service. Prayers express our greatest ideas and ideals. If we truly can pray, we truly can love others on the highest plane.

          A great measure of the success of a prayer service is how people behave outside of the synagogue in day-to-day life. Are we bringing religious values to every aspect of our lives? Are we more sensitive, better people?

          Learning to pray requires making ourselves vulnerable to accept that we need help praying. It inspires us to transcend ourselves and our time and connect to eternity. And it prods us to look beyond the walls of our synagogues to develop religious and communal engagement in all areas of our lives.

Above all the Torah is a story. It is our story. It is replete with heroes, villains, drama, and ethical dilemmas. The Torah devotes a good deal of time talking about these characters and their trials, but more often than not, when reading these stories we learn less about the characters and more about ourselves. That’s because we weigh ourselves against the actions of our forefathers and foremothers. We ask ourselves: “Would I have done the same thing had I been in his or her position?” “Did he or she do the right thing?”

No story in the Torah exemplifies this better than Akedat Yitzhak, the binding of Isaac.¹ On the surface, this story appears to be one of a conflict between obeying a divine commandment from God—“Take your son, your only son, whom you love, Yitzhak, and go to the land of Moriah and raise him up there as a sacrifice” (Genesis 22:2)—and a moral prohibition against murder and child sacrifice. In other words, Avraham is forced to decide between moral and divine considerations.

For 2,000 years, this story has plagued and intrigued Jews and non-Jews alike by drawing forth questions inside of us regarding Avraham’s actions: “Did Avraham do the right thing?” “Why was he rewarded?” “Would I have done the same?”

One common traditional interpretation is that Avraham “passed the test” by putting blind faith in God and by being willing to sacrifice his son to serve God. Avraham is held up as the paramount oved hashem, servant of God.

Another interpretation is that the Akedah was a punishment or reaction for Avraham’s actions. This interpretation is supported by Rabbi Yossi Ben Zimra in Sanhedrin 89b:

[To what does “after” refer?] Rabbi Yochanan said in the name of Rabbi Yossi ben Zimra: “After the words of Satan.” For it says (Gen 21:8), “And the child grew up and was weaned.” Satan said to the Almighty: “Sovereign of the universe! To this old man You graciously granted the fruit of the womb at the age of a hundred, yet of all that banquet which he prepared, he did not have one turtle-dove or pigeon to sacrifice before you!” God replied, “Yet were I to say to him, ‘Sacrifice your son before me,’ he would do so without hesitation.” Straightway, “God did test Abraham… And he said, ‘Take, I pray, your son’ [Gen 22:1].”

In Sanhedrin 89b, the Akedah is a reaction to Avraham’s failure to provide a sacrifice for God following the birth of Yitzhak. Rabbi Yossi ben Zimra imagines Satan questioning the depths of Avraham’s loyalty to God. Therefore, God seeks to prove Satan wrong by commanding Avraham to give the ultimate sacrifice: his own son, Yitzhak.

A second interpretation that views the Akedah as a punishment comes from Rashbam, who views the Akedah as a response to Avraham’s problematic treaty with Gerar in Genesis 21:22–32.

Both of these interpretations rely on the curious line, “And it was after these things” (Genesis 22:1). Rabbi Yossi ben Zimra and Rashbam read their peirushim into these four words.

Other interpretations also hinge on these four words. The Targum Pseudo-Jonathan imagines a conversation between Yishmael and Yitzhak:

Ishmael answered and said: “I am more righteous than you, because I was circumcised when thirteen years old; and if it had been my wish to refuse, I would not have handed myself over to be circumcised.” Isaac answered and said: “Am I not now thirty-seven years old? If the Holy One, blessed be He, demanded all my members I would not hesitate.” Immediately, these words were heard before the Lord of the universe, and immediately, the word of the Lord tested Abraham, and said unto him, “Abraham,” and he said, “Here I am.”²

Finally, Rambam (and other Rishonim) viewed the Akedah as the prooftext for the reliability of prophecy on the same level as a logical deduction. It teaches us that prophecy should be heeded just as any empirical experience of the world.

Now, turning to the contemporary world, we have several interpretations from Yeshayahu Leibowitz, Rav Kook, Rabbi Shimon Gershon Rosenberg (Rav Shagar), and Rabbi Dr. Walter Wurzburger.

For Yeshayahu Leibowitz, the Akedah is primarily about obedience to a divine command that stands contradictory to ethics.³

Rav Kook and Rav Shagar have similar interpretations of the Akedah that are based on a Midrash of the Akedah. The Midrash goes,

As [Abraham and Isaac] were walking, Satan appeared to Abraham and said to him, “Old man, are you out of your mind? You’re going to slaughter the son God gave you at the age of one hundred?! It was I who deceived you and said to you, ‘Take now [your son]….’”⁴

In this scenario, Satan approaches Avraham and attempts to convince him that it was not God who asked Avraham to sacrifice his son, but rather Satan himself. This is Satan’s attempt to dissuade Avraham from sacrificing Yitzhak. Rav Kook explains that Satan here is actually Avraham’s conscience.⁵

Rav Shagar goes a bit further. He concedes that it is possible that Satan represents Avraham’s conscience. Rav Shagar then states that this argument, this doubt is the central message of the Akedah. He argues that Avraham was unsure of whether he truly was commanded by God to sacrifice his son, but that he persevered through doubt to serve God. Rav Shagar concludes,

The lesson is clear: A conceited, all-knowing religious stance renders the trial, and with it the entire religious endeavor, a sham. The trial, along with a religious lifestyle and a connection to God, can exist only in the context of a humble personality that is content in not knowing. A conceited stance stems from pride, and it is the voice of Satan. The trial will forever be associated with a subject who by nature is in the dark.⁶

Action despite doubt is the essence of faith and the true victory of Avraham.

As well, Rabbi Dr. Walter Wurzburger argues that human morality is limited and that the act of the Akedah was not immoral. He critiques the Kantian categorical imperative that Kant describes as, “objective, rationally necessary and unconditional principle that we must always follow despite any natural desires or inclinations we may have to the contrary.”⁷ In other words, ethics are governed by rationally constructed, mutually recognized norms. Rabbi Wurzburger sees this view on ethics as limiting. He argues that humans have a “covenantal imperative” that is ethically correct even if we can’t rationalize it. Human morality is limited. Divine morality is not.⁸

Rabbi Wurzburger argues with Ramban’s interpretation of Devarim 6:18, “Do what is right and good in the sight of Hashem,” as a divine commandment to act morally, but qualifies this commandment by saying that there are times when human understanding of morality is insufficient to fulfill the “covenantal imperative.”

Finally, there are several contemporary non-rabbinic interpretations of the Akedah that are worth addressing.

The first comes from Jon D. Levenson, the Albert A. List Professor of Jewish Studies at the Harvard Divinity School. Levenson argues that child sacrifice was not morally problematic during the time of Avraham. Levenson believes that the purpose of the Akedah was to show us that child sacrifice was not acceptable.⁹

Aaron Koller in his work Unbinding Isaac understands the Akedah to be a moment in which God not only demands but desires the sacrifice of Isaac as a testament to Abraham’s ultimate faith in God’s promise of progeny. However, God values the individual human life more than he desires Abraham’s sacrificial act. Koller relates, “Consider a health-conscious person looking at a piece of cake. He may want the cake, although in the end, he won’t eat it. The rejection of the cake is a statement not of its despicability or fundamental abhorrence, but of a desire for health that is even more powerful than the desire for the confection.”¹⁰

This motif is recorded in rabbinic literature, as Koller cites,

R. El’azar b. ‘Azariah says: How do I know that a person should not say, “I don’t want to wear sha’atnez [the forbidden mixture of wool and linen],” or “I don’t want to eat pork,” or “I don’t want to have that illicit sexual relationship,” but rather, “I do want to! But what can I do? My Father in heaven decreed against it.” This is what is taught, “I separated you from the nations, to be Mine.” Thus one distances oneself from a sin and therefore accepts the yoke of heaven.¹¹

Lastly, we have the interpretation of the Danish Christian philosopher, Søren Kierkegaard.¹² In his seminal work, “Fear and Trembling” (1843), Kierkegaard offers his explanation. In his mind, Avraham’s actions were morally wrong, yet they were meritorious because of Avraham’s absolute subservience to God, what Kierkegaard terms “the teleological suspension of the ethical.” Avraham pushes ethical considerations to the side for the purpose of serving God.

All of the aforementioned peirushim are interesting and offer much insight into the troubling story of the Akedah. But none of them resonates with me. I take issue with both their incongruity with Avraham’s character as well as my own moral sensibilities. I will discuss each of these critiques in turn.

I find it hard to believe that Avraham would not know that child sacrifice is wrong. Avraham has a highly developed moral conscience. The entire Parashat Vayera is designed to show this fact. Avraham’s generous welcoming of the three messengers and his intercession on behalf of Sodom and Gomorrah serve as key examples to Avraham’s keen moral sense.¹³ Avraham’s compassion and generosity are highlighted in numerous Midrashim.¹⁴ To think that he would suddenly accept child sacrifice as morally acceptable is simply not likely.

Instead, I argue that not only did God not intend Avraham to sacrifice Yitzhak but that Avraham intuited this and went along with it as a testament to his devotion to God. At no point during the story of the Akedah did Avraham truly believe that he was going to sacrifice his son. There is some indication of this interpretation in the text.

Firstly, it is not clear in the text that God asked Avraham to sacrifice Yitzhak. Rather, it is possible that God commanded Avraham to raise Yitzhak as an offering but never intended to kill him. We can derive a proof of this interpretation from the text itself.

The original command was to “raise him up as a sacrifice,” but was never explicitly to sacrifice Yitzhak.¹⁵

Furthermore, when asked by Yitzhak where the animal was that they would sacrifice, Avraham responded, “God will see to the sheep for His burnt offering, my son” (Genesis 22:8). Avraham indicated that he was not worried about the eventual sacrifice, since God would attend to it. In my opinion, this is Avraham tacitly revealing his belief that God would not make him sacrifice his son and that Avraham believes that there will be some force that will intercede and prevent the final action.

Also, Avraham never even began the downward stroke of the blade that would kill his son. He only raises the knife, “And Abraham picked up the knife to slay his son.” (Genesis 22:10).

But he never brought it down. He never began the act that he knew he would not have to do. Yes, an angel interceded, but this was Avraham’s belief all along.

Avraham’s reward at the end of the Akedah was not for his blind faith in God and sacrifice of moral considerations, but rather Avraham’s commitment to both his faith in God and his own moral judgment. In Avraham’s eyes, God was morally perfect and would never command Avraham to commit a morally abhorrent act. His faith in God was the faith that God was morally perfect. This, I believe, is the message of the Akedah.

The idea that God never intended Avraham to sacrifice Yitzhak is not my original thought. The suggestion that God never intended Avraham to sacrifice Yitzhak is found in a Midrash in Taanit 4a: “And never entered my mind” – this refers to Isaac the son of Abraham.”

Another source for this interpretation comes from Rabbi Acha’s reading of Genesis Rabbah 56:8:

“When I said to you ‘take your son’ I never said to slaughter him. I merely said to ‘raise him up.’ I said this to you to demonstrate your belovedness, and you did my bidding. Now take him down.”

And finally, from Tanchuma 17:2,

“Abraham’s ram was created at twilight,” meaning from the beginning of creation God never intended Avraham to sacrifice Yitzhak for the ram that took Yitzhak’s place had already been created.

A final, striking insight comes from Israeli philosopher Yoram Hazony, who argues that the name that Avraham gives to the site of his ordeal is indicative of his understanding. Hazony comments,

As it turns out, Abraham does not leave the terrible scene at Moria without comment. He gives the place a name, and in so doing, tells us precisely what he believes is significant about what happened there. The name he gives the place is “The Lord Will See [adonai yireh],” this being a reference to his own words, reported a few lines earlier, when he tells Isaac that “God will see [elohim yireh] to the sheep for an offering himself.” The meaning here is unmistakable. For Abraham, there is one and only one thing that is worthy of remembering here and passing to future generations: That is the fact that he had held fast to the conviction that God would provide the ram so that there would be no human sacrifice — and that God had indeed come through for him, providing a ram in place of his son, as Abraham had believed he would.¹⁶

My hiddush, reinterpretation, is that Avraham, due to his acute knowledge of God and highly developed moral conscience, intuited that this was God’s plan. His “willingness” to sacrifice Yitzhak was not an expression of his willingness to blindly follow God’s commandments especially when they transgress Avraham’s moral code. Instead, it is an expression of Avraham’s willingness to follow God’s commandments knowing that they are in line with moral correctness.¹⁷

Two final points: The first is that human morality resembles divine morality. We can asymptotically approach divine morality by honing our own moral sensibilities much as Avraham did. In this way, we can better live our lives in accordance with divine morality and save ourselves from the error of human subjectivity. Avraham’s morality very closely approximated God’s morality because Avraham had worked hard on developing his moral conscience (See Sotah 14a).

Lastly, this is my interpretation. It speaks to me as I believe that human understanding of morality is central to Jewish, ethical life. Any interpretation of the Akedah that asks me to believe that Avraham desires or attempts to commit a morally abhorrent act is one that I cannot accept. Others may disagree with me and that is both expected and welcomed. The legacy and marvel of Judaism is its openness to multiple opinions. This, too, is a message of the Akedah.

As Rav Soloveitchik said, “The drama of the Akedah is multi-semantic, lending itself to many interpretations. God demands that man bring the supreme sacrifice, but the fashion in which the challenge is met is for man to determine.”¹⁸

I hope that all can find an interpretation of the Akedah that speaks to them, and I hope that in the process of listening to the words of Torah, we can hear ourselves and our souls whisper who we truly are.

Notes

1 One should not overlook the irony that the story is known as Akedat Yitzhak, the Binding of Isaac, when Isaac is almost a completely passive character. See Aaron Koller Unbinding Isaac “The Erasure of Isaac” and Stolle, “Levinas and the Akedah,” 137–139 cited in Koller.

2 Targum Pseudo Jonathan on Genesis 22:1–19.

3 “[Leibowitz’s] glorification of the Akedah—the binding of Isaac—which is the heart of the existential moment of true worship of God for its own sake, comes into focus as an alternative theology of redemption. The Akedah is understood as the ultimate redemptive act. The rational and the ethical, therefore, are suspended and, finally, transcended when one fully accepts the yoke of Torah and Mitzvot.” See also Rechnitzer, Haim O. “Redemptive Theology in the Thought of Yeshayahu Leibowitz.” Israel Studies, vol. 13, no. 3, 2008, p.138-139. JSTOR, www.jstor.org/stable/30245835. Accessed 6 Sept. 2020. Note that this is also part of the Malbim’s understanding. See Malbim on Breishit 22:5.

4 Solomon Buber, ed., Midrash Aggada (Vienna 1894), Vayera 22. Cited in “Faith Shattered and Restored” Magid Books. Translated by Elie Leshem.

5 Riskin, Shlomo. “Parashat Veyera: Listening to the right voice.” Jerusalem Post. 17 Oct 2013. https://www.jpost.com/opinion/columnists/parashat-veyera-listening-to-the-right-voice-328994

Accessed 6 Sep 2020.

6 Rosenberg, Shimon Gerson. “Uncertainty as the Trial of the Akeda” Faith Shattered and Restored. Maggid 15 July 2017.

7 “Kant’s Moral Philosophy” Stanford Encyclopedia of Philosophy. 7 July 2016. Accessed 21 May 2020 https://plato.stanford.edu/entries/kant-moral/

8 See Wurzburger, Walter S. Covenantal Imperatives. Edited by Eliezer L. Jacobs and Shalom Carmy. Urim Publications 1 Sep 2008.

9 Levenson, Jon D. Inheriting Abraham: The Legacy of the Patriarch in Judaism, Christianity, and Islam. Princeton University Press. 2012 p. 59.

10 Koller, Aaron. Unbinding Isaac: The Significance of the Akedah for Modern Jewish Thought. Jewish Publication Society: 2020 p. 139.

11 Ibid.

12 For a more comprehensive explanation of Kierkegaard’s view and modern Jewish thinkers who were deeply affected by his writings on the Akedah see Unbinding Isaac by Aaron Koller.