National Scholar Updates

Rabbi Haim David Halevy (1924–1998) was one of the great rabbinic luminaries of his era. A prolific author and teacher, he was a gifted halakhic scholar, a devotee of Kabbalah, and a creative thinker who applied Torah wisdom to the dilemmas of modern times. From 1972 until his death, he served as the Sephardic Chief Rabbi of Tel Aviv.

Influenced by the profound and compassionate teachings of his mentor Rabbi Benzion Uziel, Rabbi Halevi—like Rabbi Uziel—represented the best in the Sephardic tradition of the Judeo-Spanish Sephardim. His monumental knowledge and keen insight were widely recognized. He won many prizes for his intellectual achievements, and in 1997 he was awarded the Israel Prize by the State of Israel in appreciation of his significant contributions to Torah scholarship.

One of Rabbi Halevy’s foremost concerns was education of youth in the ways of Torah. He emphatically believed that schools had the religious obligation to teach students honestly and correctly, and to inculcate proper religious behavior. He emphasized that parents bore the primary obligation of education, and schools were created to assist parents. Rabbi Halevy supported secular study, and advocated teaching Torah, including the Oral Law, to girls as well as boys. Rabbi Halevy struck a fine balance between reaching out to people from less observant homes while still preserving the integrity of the religious community. He addressed some delicate educational issues, such as opening the mail of a student suspected of misconduct, reading the diary of a student, and administering corporal punishment in class.

Schools Must Teach Everything Properly

Rabbi Halevy was emphatic and consistent in his argument that schools should always teach halakha fully and correctly, since the imprint made during childhood education was powerful.

He received a question from a school that accepted many students from less observant homes. The teachers wanted to know if they may omit teaching certain halakhot that they knew would not be observed by the majority of students. They invoked the rabbinic principle, “It is better that they act in error, than to violate the law willingly.” Rabbi Halevy explained that this rule applies only to those who publicly violated a halakha, and who likely would continue to violate it even if they were instructed properly. When educating children, though, it is the responsibility of every school to teach Judaism correctly and fully. Students need to have a clear and thorough knowledge of halakha, whether or not they come from observant homes (Asei Lekha Rav 1:75).

A school should not allow prayers requiring a minyan in younger classes where no minyan was present. It is inappropriate to do anything in school not in accordance with halakha, even for educational purposes. Rabbi Halevy recommended bringing a minyan of post-bar mitzvah students or adults to the class so that younger children could learn to pray properly with a minyan (Asei Lekha Rav 3:7).

One educator reported that due to students’ talking during the repetition of the amidah in morning prayers, he decided that the amidah should be read once aloud with kedushah (Asei Lekha Rav 4:13). The repetition would thus be omitted. Rabbi Halevy disagreed with this decision. The halakha does not permit routinely skipping the repetition of the amidah in the morning services. It is allowed, though not preferred, to omit the repetition during the afternoon prayer. Rabbi Halevy ruled that students should recite the morning amidah properly with repetition:

It is your obligation to educate the students to pay attention to the blessings of the hazzan and to respond “amen” as per the law; if you do not educate them now to fulfill the halakha according to its letter and spirit, when will they learn, and who will teach them?

As for the students talking during the repetition, a famous rabbi should be invited to address students on the importance of not talking during prayers.

In another instance, a school wanted to teach young children to count the omer with a
blessing. Yet, the blessing is recited only when counting the omer at night. Was it acceptable to let the students recite that blessing in the morning, for the purposes of education? Rabbi Halevy ruled negatively. Since the impressions from childhood education are lasting, students might grow up thinking that it was appropriate to count the omer with a blessing in the morning. Rabbi Halevy noted further that the primary obligation of Jewish education falls on the father, and not the school. Therefore, he should take his children to evening services all year long, and during the omer period they would be able to count with a blessing (Asei Lekha Rav 6:38).

Parents’ Obligation to Educate Their Children

Although schools bear responsibility to educate children, in fact parents have the foremost obligation in the educational process. Rabbi Halevy assiduously followed this principle in ruling on some difficult issues of educational policy.

A woman reported that her husband did not make an effort to provide religious education to their children (Asei Lekha Rav 1:41). Did this responsibility now devolve on her? Rabbi Halevy criticized the husband’s negligence. He then cited the Talmud (Nazir 29a) that indicates that a mother is not technically obligated to provide religious instruction to her children. However, Rashi included both parents in the obligation. Rabbi Halevy pointed out that many posekim have ruled that in cases where the father was not alive, the mother became obligated. In the case at hand, the husband was effectively non-existent. Even if the mother were technically exempt from this commandment, it obviously was a meritorious deed that she should perform.

A religious man had three observant sons, and one who no longer was observant (Asei Lekha Rav 1:64). He wanted to write the non-observant son out of his will. Rabbi Halevy cited the Shulhan Arukh (Hoshen Mishpat 282), that even if a son wrongs his father directly, he still should inherit with the other children. Rabbi Halevy proceeded to offer further reasons why the father should follow the halakha, rather than writing his non-observant son out of his will: (1) the non-observant son may yet repent one day, but most likely would not do so if he were cut out of the will; (2) that son, if disinherited, will deeply resent his siblings, causing permanent rifts in the family. Although Rabbi Halevy was saddened that the fourth son was non-observant, he tried to preserve family unity and to keep the door to repentance open.

During a lengthy teachers’ strike in Israel, many rabbis ruled that teachers were not allowed to disrupt their teaching of Torah to children. Rabbi Halevy considered the issue from a different perspective (Asei Lekha Rav 3:23; 5:23). Rabbi Halevy noted that the primary obligation for religious instruction devolves on the parents of the child, not the school (Kiddushin 29a; cf. Rambam Hil. Talmud Torah 1:1). He contended that all workers, including teachers, have the right to strike for better compensation. The parents must then fulfill their own primary obligation to teach their children Torah. It was unfair to accuse teachers of the sin of disrupting Torah study when the parents in fact bore the full responsibility for this sin by not paying the teachers adequately.
Rabbi Halevy noted, however, that the striking Torah teachers may not picket and prevent other willing teachers from entering the school. In this regard, the unique problem of bittul Torah created halakhic distinctions between a strike of Torah teachers and all other labor strikes. In a later responsum, he added that unless striking teachers had stipulated that they would not return to class unless they were paid for the lost time, they were not entitled to compensation for the period of the strike (Asei Lekha Rav 5:23).

Studying Secular Subjects

Rabbi Halevy, who quoted secular scholars and thinkers on occasion in his writings, recognized the value of secular study. A student asked if he may study on Shabbat for an upcoming secular examination. Rabbi Halevy wrote that Rambam prohibited such study on Shabbat, whereas Ramban and Rashba permitted it. In the Shulhan Arukh, Rabbi Yosef Karo first cited Rambam’s opinion, and only then referred to the permissive opinion with the preface “some say.” From this formulation, Rabbi Halevy concluded that, in general, one should not engage in secular study on Shabbat. However, with the pressure of a forthcoming test, a student may become overly worried and not enjoy Shabbat properly. Presumably, the Shulhan Arukh included the permissive ruling in order to allow leeway in such pressured situations. Therefore, Rabbi Halevy permitted the student to study for the examination on Shabbat (Asei Lekha Rav 1:36).

In a later responsum, Rabbi Halevy followed up on this decision with an explanation of why studying for a test was not considered preparation from Shabbat to a weekday, something generally prohibited. The forbidden variety of preparation was when one derived no benefit on Shabbat itself (e.g., setting a table for a meal that will take place on Saturday night). In the instance of studying, however, the knowledge gained on Shabbat was beneficial (Asei Lekha Rav 4:31).

Elsewhere, he addressed a high school student who did not wish to study for his comprehensive examinations (bagruyot) at all, since he believed this preparation would distract him from Torah study (Asei Lekha Rav 4:46). Rabbi Halevy began by praising the student: “I am exceedingly pleased by the nature of your question, which attests to the love of Torah in your heart. May God bless you, and may you merit becoming a great sage and a God-fearing Jew who will be a source of pride to your family and all of Israel!”

Rabbi Halevy then advised the student that since he had already reached this level of education, he should complete his degree by studying for the examinations. Rabbi Halevy added that there is great value in secular study, both for the education itself and for earning a living later on. He suggested that if the student genuinely was bothered by losing this time from Torah study, he should make a careful accounting of the time spent preparing for the exams, and make up this time with additional Torah study after the examinations.

Torah Education for Girls and Women

In his ruling prohibiting the teaching of Oral Law to girls, Rambam stated that a majority of them were incapable of understanding the concepts involved (Hil. Talmud Torah 1:13). Rabbi Halevy noted, though, that the success of women in so many academic fields militated against the premise of Rambam’s ruling. Already in the eighteenth century, Rabbi Hayyim Yosef David Azulai listed historical instances of learned women who gave halakhic rulings. Rabbi Halevy demonstrated that within Rambam’s own formulation, one could find permissibility for contemporary women to study Talmud. A woman who demonstrated a willingness and capacity to study the Oral Law was not part of the “incapable majority” described by Rambam. Rabbi Halevy concluded that very young girls should not study Talmud. Once they reached high school and showed motivation, they could be taught Talmud (Asei Lekha Rav 2:52). It is noteworthy that Rabbi Halevy did not argue that Rambam’s ruling was no longer applicable. He worked within the existing textual framework to reach a novel conclusion.

Rabbi Halevy’s commitment to that earlier source became more pronounced in a later discussion, where he responded to members of a religious kibbutz that had begun teaching Talmud to girls (Mayim Hayyim 2:89). The leaders of the kibbutz had complained that in light of the change in women’s status, rabbis should have addressed the issue of females studying Talmud. Rabbi Halevy responded that (1) he did address the matter in Asei Lekha Rav 2:52; and (2) his response had nothing to do with the current change in the social status of women. He had quoted Rabbi Azulai, who lived in the eighteenth century, to support his permissive ruling. “From here, we see that rabbis in all generations, including before there were changes in the social status of women, never rebuked women who studied Torah.” Rabbi Halevy criticized the kibbutz leaders for suggesting that halakhot may be eliminated on the basis of social change.
In the final analysis, Rabbi Halevy reached the same decision as the kibbutz leaders, permitting and encouraging women to study the Oral Law. However, they arrived at their conclusions from different starting points. Rabbi Halevy represented faithfulness to the precedents of the past, whereas the kibbutz had hoped to bypass the system as a result of a new social reality. At the end of his responsum, Rabbi Halevy exhorted the members of the kibbutz:

Our rabbis were great of spirit and deep of mind; would that we could even understand their words…. They were not only great in Torah and wisdom, but also in their holiness. Therefore, it is appropriate for a person to relate to their words with all respect due to them.

Rabbi Halevy demonstrated the same consistent balance between faithfulness to Rambam’s ruling and finding permissibility for women to study the Oral Law in his book, Mekor Hayyim Livnot Yisrael (pp. 205–208). In discussing the halakhic exemption for women to study Torah, Rabbi Halevy quoted Rambam’s ruling in full, that a father should not teach his daughters the Oral Law. In the footnote, he cited his responsum (which was subsequently published in Asei Lekha Rav 2:52) that explained the permissibility of women studying Oral Law within Rambam’s formulation. By citing Rambam’s restrictive ruling in the body of the text, and his own permissive responsum in a footnote, Rabbi Halevy presented a fine balance for his educational program: Anyone motivated enough to read his lengthy footnote was indeed qualified to study the Oral Law! One just reading his book with the rulings in the body of the text probably would not have sufficient motivation to study halakha from its roots, including its talmudic underpinnings.

A couple asked Rabbi Halevy if they needed to make significant financial sacrifices to keep their daughter in a religious high school. Rabbi Halevy responded that the greatest honor for parents is to support their children in Torah study. This principle applies to girls as well as boys, even though girls do not have the same technical obligation to study Torah as boys (Asei Lekha Rav 1:74).

Rabbi Halevy was asked whether a school could stop having afternoon prayers for girls in order to enable all the teachers to attend the boys’ minyan. Rabbi Halevy responded that a school always must teach what is correct. Since women also are obligated to pray minhah, the teachers must give equal attention to the prayers of their female students (Asei Lekha Rav 6, short answer 9).

Rabbi Halevy did not permit mixed education, where boys and girls sat together in the same classes. He even forbade teaching in a co-educational religious school. It was better to teach in a purely secular school, where it was clear that the teacher did not support the religious values of the institution (Asei Lekha Rav 2:60). In an adult education setting, however, Rabbi Halevy ruled that men and women may attend the same classes if men were in one room, women in an adjacent room, and the teacher stood in the middle. Women also could participate in the group discussions (Asei Lekha Rav 4:56).

Separatism vs. Inclusiveness

A non-religious man sought a religiously observant woman in marriage (Asei Lekha Rav 1:62). He promised her that he would become observant for the sake of the marriage. Rabbi Halevy noted that as long as the man had not adopted a Torah lifestyle, he had the status of a sinner. Although he promised to be observant, the woman should not be so confident that he would succeed. On the contrary, he might influence her to become less observant. Non-observance often prevailed because it was less demanding.

Enormous tensions could plague the marriage. If the husband wanted to go out on a Friday night, the wife either would feel pressured to join him, or remain home alone while he went out. Rabbi Halevy therefore discouraged the marriage. He tried to protect the woman’s religious observance, and pointed out how vastly different levels of religious commitment could be detrimental to a marriage.

A school’s policy of requiring all parents to affirm that they were Shabbat-observant offended one parent. Rabbi Halevy, though, was sympathetic to this policy, even though it would exclude taking children from less observant homes. Religious students might go to the homes of less observant students and be influenced negatively. Moreover, the likelihood of the school influencing children from the less observant families was mitigated by the fact that their parents did not model observance at home. He concluded that it was preferable to send children to a school with an all-observant population (Asei Lekha Rav 6:60).

In another responsum, Rabbi Halevy ruled that a synagogue should conduct a bar mitzvah ceremony for a family known to violate Shabbat. However, food brought by car to the synagogue on Shabbat may not be eaten, since Jews may not derive benefit from another Jew’s Shabbat violation (Asei Lekha Rav 3:16). In this decision, Rabbi Halevy again balanced outreach to the not fully observant with the necessity of remaining faithful to halakha.

Parents are obligated to seek the best possible religious education for their children. Therefore, if a distant school provides a better religious education than the local school, parents have the right to send their children there and need not feel obligated to support the local school (Asei Lekha Rav 4:52). However, one praying in a local minyan with less observant Jews should remain there if they would not have a minyan without him (Asei Lekha Rav 5:1–2).

These responsa are particularly telling as to Rabbi Halevy’s educational philosophy. While he emphasized that one always should encourage the possibility of repentance, he realistically considered the religious hazards in these instances to be greater than the potential benefits. It was preferable to protect one’s religious identity rather than attempting to bring others closer.

Difficult Questions in Educational Policy

An educator in a girl’s high school expressed concern that a student may have been involved in a correspondence with a boy. The school’s policy forbade such correspondence. The question was: May a school official open the student’s mail to ascertain the facts of the case? Rabbi Halevy noted that Rabbeinu Gershom (eleventh century) instituted the prohibition of opening the mail of another. The only possibility justifying opening another person’s mail was to prevent something sinful. Thus, it would be permissible to open the student’s mail. That having been said, Rabbi Halevy strongly discouraged the opening of her letters. Rather, the girl’s teachers should have a private discussion with her. If she did not appear forthright, then only her primary educator may open her mail, and may not discuss the matter with anyone else (Asei Lekha Rav 1:42).

In a related responsum, Rabbi Halevy ruled that teachers must not read a student’s diary, unless it could be verified that the child was violating religious conduct. The teacher also must make sure that this reading was done exclusively to correct the problem (Asei Lekha Rav 6, short answer 91).

Is lying permissible in an educational setting? For example, a father noticed that his children tended not to be punctual. He decided to switch the clocks ahead in his house, so that the children would think it was later than it really was. Rabbi Halevy responded that willful deception is a serious prohibition. Although the primary categories of forbidden deception were for personal benefit—either in business, or to project a better self-image—Rambam prohibited all deception, even for a good purpose (Hil. De’ot 2:6). In the end, Rabbi Halevy ruled that one may use deception only to prevent someone from violating halakha. Therefore, it would be permitted to change the clocks in the house to encourage the children to come to synagogue services on time.

Similarly, a teacher deceitfully told his students that they would have daily tests for two weeks, simply to frighten his students to see how they acted under pressure. Rabbi Halevy ruled in one word: prohibited. Even with the best educational intentions it is forbidden to be deceitful in education (Asei Lekha Rav 4:62). Likewise, students are not allowed to cheat on examinations, and Rabbi Halevy adduced many reasons to support his point (Asei Lekha Rav 8:59).

May a teacher physically strike a student who was misbehaving? Rabbi Halevy quoted Rambam and Meiri, who allowed hitting a child lightly in order to promote education. One who struck a child with cruelty, however, should be punished in court and then excommunicated. Rabbi Halevy cited the original talmudic source (Baba Batra 21a), which permitted a light slap if a child were overly lazy. But there was no reference to hitting a child for misbehavior. Rabbi Halevy concluded that it was forbidden to strike a misbehaving child. One who disrupted class on an ongoing basis should be expelled rather than struck, since the primary obligation to educate fell on the parents (Asei Lekha Rav 1:76). Although traditional sources permitted striking a student under certain circumstances, Rabbi Halevy interpreted the sources so as to curtail the practice.

A student asked if he had the right to report students or teachers who were acting against halakha. Rabbi Halevy sternly discouraged this type of reporting, since one’s motivations needed to be unusually pure. He quoted the Talmud (Pesahim 113b) that one seeing another person violate halakha must not report it, since one witness cannot do anything other than damage someone’s reputation. Yet, he may be wary of the sinner. Meiri limited this rule to apply specifically to court testimony. However, he may inform a teacher, or warn others who might trust the sinner. The Hafetz Hayyim in turn restricted Meiri’s permissive ruling to cases where five conditions were met: (1) the person reporting the sin must have witnessed the sin firsthand; (2) the sin must a be well-known prohibition, allowing the offender no excuse to say that he was unaware; (3) when reporting, no exaggeration is allowed; (4) this could be done only with the intent to keep people distant from the sinner until he repented; (5) one may not report the sinner, and then act flatteringly to him. Rabbi Halevy concluded that since it was so rare for one to meet all of these criteria, it was preferable to try to speak to the person privately, without publicizing the matter (Asei Lekha Rav 1:71).

On a related subject, Rabbi Halevy was asked whether students may conduct group discussions about teachers’ personalities (Asei Lekha Rav 1:72). Rabbi Halevy lamented that this question even was asked. Those who criticized the teachers were guilty of lashon hara, and those who defended the teachers still were guilty of secondary lashon hara, since they were defending them in the presence of those known to dislike them. Of course, one may debate ideas with teachers, or else truth cannot be clarified, but character evaluation is expressly prohibited. Rabbi Halevy concluded that if one needed actual protection from a teacher, then one may complain to the administration.

Given the significance of religious education, there is little wonder that Rabbi Halevy devoted so much attention to these matters. He was indeed an educator’s educator, providing guidance to individuals and schools in order to promote a society that imparts proper Torah education to all its constituents.

Esther the Jewess marries King Ahashverosh. Her Uncle Mordecai tells her not to reveal that she is Jewish. The Jews throughout the 127 provinces of the Empire know Esther is Jewish. But not one of them gives away the secret. Ahashverosh, Haman and the entire royal court are kept in the dark about the Queen’s true identity.

This, commented Rabbi Haim David Halevy (late Sephardic Chief Rabbi of Tel Aviv), was an amazing phenomenon, a veritable miracle. Not one Jew in the entire empire betrayed the secret. The Jewish people were united, discreet, and disciplined to an extraordinary degree.

Let us imagine how this story would play out if it occurred today.

Jewish reporters would fiercely try to outscoop each other to report about a Jewish Queen.

Wikileaks would put an image of Esther’s birth certificate on the internet, with the indication that she was born Jewish.

The Hareidim would demonstrate worldwide at the travesty of a Jewish woman marrying a non-Jewish king, a wicked one at that.

The Chief Rabbinate of Israel would issue a statement that Esther’s Jewishness was in question, and that she would need a “giyyur le-humra” (a conversion to be on the safe side) if she wanted to be considered Jewish for purposes of aliyah.

The Zionists would point to Esther and say: you see, the Jews of the diaspora are assimilating; they all should make aliyah before they totally disappear.

The zealous Litvaks would say: Esther is merely a Persian Jewess and doesn’t have our fine Ashkenazic pedigree. We wouldn’t want our sons to marry such a woman.

Chabad would send another shaliah to Shushan, to re-enforce the staff already there at the Chabad House. Cholent (Persian style) would be dished out each Shabbat morning along with prayers for the Queen’s prompt release from bondage in the palace.

The Sephardi Federations around the globe would glow with quiet satisfaction that one of their own made the big time.

The peaceniks would say: this whole crisis could have been avoided if Mordecai simply bowed to Haman and would not have been so stubborn. If Jews simply gave everything away, we wouldn’t have to worry about anti-Semitism.

The kabbalists would manufacture a new batch of red strings for bracelets, and sell them at a suitable price to those who wanted to provide mystical salvation to Esther and the Jewish people.

The secularists would blame the fanaticism of the religious community; the religious would blame the secularists for their innumerable sins which surely brought on God’s wrath.

Jewish newspapers would be filled with spicy attacks and accusations, op ed pieces and letters to the editor. Everyone would have an opinion, invariably wrong. All the commotion within the Jewish community would catch the attention of the non-Jewish media.

It would not take too long for Queen Esther’s hidden identity to be revealed. Esther would have then been ejected from the throne; Haman would have had full sway; the Jews would have had no powerful person to intercede on their behalf. The Purim story would have ended in disaster. The joyous holiday of Purim would never have come to be.

The Jews of the ancient Persian Empire demonstrated remarkable intelligence and restraint. They understood what was at stake and they rose to the occasion with admirable self-control. They surely had differing opinions and ideologies among themselves; but when faced with national crisis, they knew enough to set their differences aside, to refrain from destructive gossip and back biting.

While we modern Jews cannot hope to achieve the unity and self-control of the ancient Persian Jewish community, we can strive to act and speak with discretion, courtesy, and respect for the views of others. We can avoid vitriolic attacks on those with whom we disagree. We can focus on the really big issues which confront the Jewish people, and think how each of us can be constructive members of our community. We can know when to speak and when to remain silent. We can know when action is necessary and helpful, and when action is counter-productive and misguided.

Rabbi Halevy thought it was miraculous that the Jews of ancient Persia acted so wisely and so discreetly. Perhaps it is too much to expect such miraculous behavior from us. But perhaps—with intelligence, compassion, discretion and respectfulness—we can be part of a new Purim miracle for our generation.

I am often asked what was it that attracted me, a Dutch Calvinist Protestant, to Judaism.[1] There were many motivations for my eventual conversion to Judaism, such as the desire to experience a spiritual connection (for which many if not all religions could qualify), a belief in one God (limiting my options to the monotheistic faiths), the Torah (narrowing it down to Judaism), and a religiously inspired and committed lifestyle that permeates life in all its different realms (which left me with Orthodoxy). But although I highly appreciated these values, there were and are other things that I value as well, among them: A communal striving for responsible and ethical conduct, a path of challenging and deepening studies, open-mindedness and respect for people with different mindsets and opinions, innovational out-of-the-box thinking, intellectual honesty, creativity, and aesthetics.

When someone first becomes interested in Judaism without knowing it from up close, the first image that often comes to mind is a romanticized Fiddler-on-the-Roof kind of religion. An image of old, kind men and wise rabbis dressed in black hats and long robes, men sporting beards, shuckling [2] while bending over a Talmud page. I believe that this image is so powerful that in the minds of many a seeker the often subconscious conviction has been imprinted that (ultra)Orthodoxy is the only genuine kind of Judaism and anything more moderate, modern, or enlightened is a false spinoff from the real thing. I have seen more than a few converts readjust themselves to this image while donning black outfits and even adopting a pronunciation of Hebrew that reflects the influence of East-European Germanic and Slavic dialects. It is thus of no surprise that in some circles the term Modern Orthodoxy raises eyebrows. It sounds to them like an artificial adaptation of something ancient, like Mozart’s music put to a synthesizer beat.

The issue of Jewish authenticity surely is an important one. To answer the question of which group, denomination, or community is most worthy for fitting the label of authentic Judaism, of course depends on one’s subjective definitions and expectations. In my opinion, authentic Judaism is first and foremost traditional, meaning that it perpetuates ancient rituals and practices with serious dedication. This includes traditional ways to celebrate and sanctify the Sabbath and holidays, as well as prayer. In other words, my definition of authentic would exclude communities that practice these rituals only when it pleases them and give up on them when it becomes convenient. Keeping traditional rituals is perhaps the most powerful way to connect today’s generation with its ancestral lineage throughout the ages, to connect our present with our past. And most likely it is also the most effective way to pass on that rich heritage to the next generation, connecting the past with the future. Being traditional also implies a careful application of the Jewish precepts as formulated by the Sages. This does not mean that Judaism cannot or does not evolve, but in order to remain authentic, it cannot bear too radical changes, purely based on the fashion of the day.

Authentic Judaism is also, in my opinion, cherishing and cultivating a connection with God as our Creator and the Instigator of the Jewish people and religion. This implies a central role for Torah, both in liturgy and lifestyle. This does not mean blindly proceeding in the trodden path of tradition and following our rules and rituals without a critical mind. On the contrary, being authentic means thinking analytically and identifying the possible effects of our conduct on families, society, and the world at large. Assuming that Judaism is meant to be an enriching, liberating, and wholesome influence in the world, then if our lifestyle, or any aspect of our practice would—God forbid— cause pain, suffering, or grief to others, then surely we have misinterpreted the precepts of our religion and should rethink them. For that reason alone, we need to train ourselves and each other in critical, independent thinking. The biggest chance for something to go terribly wrong in a community or in a society is when its members do not notice a detrimental development soon enough. So if we can’t think analytically, how will we ever be able to identify possible harmful or unjust developments before it is too late? Free thinking is therefore part and parcel of being authentic. Looking at it from another angle: God (the same God who gave us the Torah) gave us a brain and an amazing capacity for innovative thought, discovery, and problem-solving. It only makes sense that we have to cherish this human capacity.

Of course there are many more aspects of authenticity besides the ones I mentioned here. No doubt one could compose a long list, but basically what it comes down to is that authentic Judaism should both be loyal to its hallowed history and traditions and also be a force for good in the world at large, encouraging peaceful and wholesome innovations, or at the very least not frustrating them.

Before my eventual Orthodox conversion, I reflected on Reform Judaism,[3] and found that it did not meet my search criteria. Of course there are different levels within Reform Judaism, and I have the utmost appreciation for any level of observance that people feel they are able to apply in their lives. In the end, however, I found that people within the Reform movement are encouraged to observe on the level that they are personally most comfortable with. In essence, nothing becomes completely binding, partially because traditions may be seen as something culturally instead of divinely inspired. Fearing to be ethno-centric and particularistic, Reform Jews often tend to put a relatively high emphasis on universal values, which is in itself a good thing, but if you sacrifice too much of your own unique identity for the sake of universalism, and you end up too close to the general culture, then sooner or later the question comes up: What is the use of being a practicing Jew at all?

In other words, why would anyone sacrifice his or her time and efforts to participate in services and celebrations if people who reject these practices are just as good and meritorious? In my own spiritual journey I wanted to honor and integrate the Torah into my life, as a way to serve my Creator while growing towards a more complete, enriched, and responsible personality. But in my own experiences, what I saw among Reform Jews was often an attitude that halakha is largely archaic, kashruth is outdated, and strict adherence to the rules of Shabbat is for extremists.

Based on the above, the commitment that the Orthodox world shows for Jewish traditions would seem to more align with my beliefs. That was my own first impression as well. Torah-commandments are actually practiced with consistency. But then again, apart from a stricter adherence to Jewish laws, sometimes the spirit behind these laws seemed to be in jeopardy. If a woman sticks out her hand in order to greet an observant man, and he refuses her hand in an unkind manner, he may be keeping with traditional law, but at the same time embarrassing or insulting a fellow human being who is unaware of his religious practice.[4] There is a rule that people should dress modestly and not expose body parts that may arouse the other sex, a practice that I believe enhances the person’s dignity. But is it really dignifying if this is taken to such an extreme that a woman after her wedding is supposed to shave off all her hair so no one will ever see any of it, not even her own husband, and she has to compensate this with a wig? And is it really liberating if the pre-Pessah cleaning becomes so thorough that every single spot in the house has to be cleaned, including places such as behind the radiators or the electrical outlets, with the result that family members (often in this case the women) may enter the holiday in a frazzled state?

Perhaps as a result of the insular character of certain Jewish communities, some followers seem to lack attention or empathy for outsiders. Besides encountering many warm and wonderful people before my conversion, I also have experienced at times when I greeted someone that my outstretched hand was refused or that people looked the other way when I wished them “Shabbat Shalom.” I have personally heard about a rabbi who bluntly sent away a woman who tried to enroll her child into her local Jewish Day School. The reason given was that she had no proof of being Jewish. Even though her entire family was killed in Auschwitz, this rabbi wouldn’t talk to her. Does that jive with the many teachings in Torah and Talmud of dealing with people kindly and respectfully?

Judaism should be a positive force in the world, working toward peace and reconciliation. That implies accepting people even if you disagree with them. Besides, there will always be people who choose different levels of observance. Not everybody will be happy in the one denomination that we may deem the best. So Reform Judaism, even if I may disagree with a number of their teachings, still fulfills a role for a number of people. We can try to boycott and utterly defeat them, but even assuming such an effort would have a chance of success, let’s first stop and think what the alternative would be if there were no Reform or Conservative synagogues where less observant people would feel comfortable. From an Orthodox perspective, at least they congregate on a regular basis to pray to God and celebrate Shabbat and holidays. They recite the Shema, proclaiming the oneness of God. Would we rather have them not go anywhere and not practice anything? Isn’t any level of observance better than none, and valuable in itself? My impression is that a number of Hareidi rabbis are so opposed to non-Orthodox communities that they would prefer people to be 100 percent secular rather than identify with these denominations.

Critical, independent thinking is a problem as well in some circles. Reinterpreting parts of Genesis in metaphoric ways,[5] in light of overwhelming proof for a much older history of our planet than formerly assumed, may place someone in the category of a heretic. Even though it seems that Orthodox Jews, through Talmud study, are trained in critical thinking and asking inquisitive questions, this notion may need to be reevaluated. The questions that are asked (and tolerated) in yeshiva circles are typically only those that fall within the framework of accepted teachings, in other words, not critical, out-of-the-box questions, to which there is no conventional or straight forward answer.

I will give you one personal example of what happened to me shortly after my conversion. It was right before Shabuoth, and I had recently started a part-time job as a religion teacher at a Jewish Day School. The three days before Shabuoth are sometimes called “sheloshet yemei hagbala” (the three days of fencing off). This refers to the story in the Torah: [6] “And the LORD said to Moses, “Go to the people and consecrate them today and tomorrow. Have them wash their clothes and be ready by the third day, because on that day the LORD will come down on Mount Sinai in the sight of all the people.” Many communities have specific traditions connected to these days. I raised the following question to another teacher: “We count the three days before Shabuoth as the sheloshet yemei hagbala. However according to Scripture, the giving of the Torah (which we celebrate on Shavuot) took place not after the three days, but on the third day. So if we would keep that narrative consistently, we would count the sheloshet yemei hagbala from two days before Shabuoth and consider the holiday itself as the third day.” Although I meant to raise this only as an interesting point of discussion, I was accused of rejecting the teachings of our Sages. A few days later I was told that my position had been terminated because I did not fully subscribe to the traditional teachings of Judaism.

After reading about some of my disappointing impressions of the Jewish community, one may ask what in the world made me follow through with an Orthodox-Jewish conversion. The reason is, I always believed in the beautiful ideals that the Torah and Judaism potentially embody. Having grown up in a completely non-Jewish environment, I had started out exploring and gradually practicing a Jewish lifestyle based on studying the Bible and other books that inspired me greatly and showed me a spiritual richness that is preserved and activated through the rituals, celebrations, and life-cycle events as experienced in Judaism. My tantalizing search started before I encountered any Jewish community, and true, the encounter may initially have been a test, rather than an encouragement.

If Judaism had only consisted of Hareidi-style Orthodoxy and Reform, then I might never have pushed through to where I am now; perhaps I would never have eventually converted. I might have continued in the same vein as I lived before: leading a quasi-Jewish lifestyle, more or less on my own. But that would not have been an ideal situation, to say the least. After all, Judaism is not just a religion. What makes it unique and different from other religious entities, is that it is first and foremost a nation; a people with its own religion, its own special way to connect to God. But somewhat uniquely to Judaism, a Jew who abandons his or her faith is still a Jew.[7] And likewise, the Torah as a way of life that includes prayer, Shabbat, holidays, and so forth, can never be fully experienced outside the community. Having said all that, how did I overcome my obstacles and find my place within the Jewish people?

The answer is that I found my way into Judaism through the Sephardic community. Even though people come in all kinds and flavors in every community,[8] here I felt accepted for who I was. Nowadays not all Sephardic communities truly reflect all their principles-of-old anymore, but the classical Sephardic mindset (that can still be found in many places) was exactly what I was looking for: loyalty to Torah and tradition and at the same time open-mindedness toward modernity, sciences, and secular learning.

Being a linguist, an attractive point for me was that Sephardim have traditionally emphasized proper pronunciation of the Hebrew and the study of grammar. And very importantly, true Sephardic Judaism doesn’t have the same compartmentalization as the Ashkenazic world, where the severely observant join Hareidi communities, the moderately Orthodox congregate in less strict synagogues, the less strict go to Conservative synagogues, and the least practicing to Reform temples. Within a compartmentalized Judaism, if you worship within a community of a different level of observance than yours, chances are that you won’t feel at home. Typically in traditional Sephardic houses of worship the hakham and a number of individual members would be observant, while overall the congregants display different levels of adherence. And what is important: people tolerate each other. In other words, Sephardic synagogues are traditionally inclusive and open-minded.

Of course, Sephardic communities are going through their own issues and struggles as well. Firstly, a growing part of the Sephardic communities are falling into the “compartmentalization trap”: Reform Sephardic temples, Hareidi Sephardi synagogues, and so forth. I consider this a very unfortunate trend. On a relevant side note, in my opinion we should ask ourselves if we want Modern Orthodoxy to be yet another segment in this compartmentalization process within Judaism. Does Modern Orthodoxy want to be another sub-denomination that caters to like-minded, kindred souls? Or should Modern Orthodoxy learn from the Sephardic model and create an environment of inclusiveness: traditional style services paired with open-mindedness in thinking, in which a broad range of people feel comfortable?

Another issue, in my opinion, is that throughout the centuries, Sephardim have tried to create and facilitate unity with other Jews, often at the expense of giving up its own special identity. It seems like a natural thing in our days, but does anyone ever think about why Sephardim study the Talmud just like Ashkenazim, with the Ashkenazic commentaries of Rashi and Tosafot instead of their own commentators such as Moses Maimonides or Moses Nahmanides ? [9] Another effort to create unity was the embracing of the Shulhan Arukh as the authoritative guideline, the famous halakhic codex by Joseph Karo that comprises a mixture of Sephardic and Ashkenazic halakhic approaches and interpretations. It seemed like a good idea: Both communities make a number of compromises and end up with something that everybody agrees on. However, these compromises were to no avail for the Sephardim. Soon enough the Ashkenazim went their own sweet way by adding and following the commentaries of the Rama, often based on their own local customs. Sephardim gave up parts of their own traditions and halakhic insights for unity, but unity was not achieved. Since then Sephardim, especially the more religious ones, have moved over even further to the Ashkenazic side. Students in yeshivot follow Ashkenazic methodology, wear European-style suits and black hats, and speak in Ashkenazic lingo—so-called “yeshivish.”

I personally never understood the idealization of Eastern European culture. I don’t understand why Hungarian folk-style music became Jewish music, and why the Eastern European eighteenth-century dress code got to be considered “Jewish clothing.” Hebrew is considered more religious, more “frum” (to use one of many German terms that are in vogue in the Jewish world) when it is pronounced according to the rules of Eastern European dialects. On a personal note, these ways of pronunciation remind me of the peasant dialects I grew up around in Europe. Not that I don’t find this endearing; in a way I still do. But I never thought it appropriate to use it in prayer or liturgy. In my opinion, when someone stands before a king, would he address him in a cockney accent, or would he make an effort to express himself in grammatically correct, proper English?

When one believes that the sources of Judaism have to be understood in their historical context, then an orientation toward the cultures of the Middle East seems more appropriate, especially in understanding the Scripture and its languages. And if at the same time one holds that Judaism has an important message that can enrich different cultures, then there is no need to imitate exotic cultures in dress or behavior. If there is an affinity, then no harm is done, but dressing up or using foreign terminology doesn’t make anyone more religious.

I am sharing my thoughts on Sephardism for a reason. Authentic Sephardic Judaism, just like Modern Orthodoxy, is highly challenged by the tide of Hareidi influence. And that is not the only commonality. I believe there is much that Modern Orthodoxy can learn from the original attitudes and approaches within Sephardic heritage. Not disregarding the fact that the reality of any movement is generally less desirable than the ideals behind it, I believe that at least the original ideals of Sephardism can help Modern Orthodoxy define its aims and goals: Solid in teaching and at the same time inclusive of the less committed. A traditional definition of life’s guidelines paired with open-mindedness to modernity, participation in intellectual thinking, and willingness to contribute to society at large. When necessary, redefining halakha within the limitations and perimeters of the essential sources.

What these sources are is a point of discussion, the importance of which cannot be underestimated. The term sources can mean many things to many people. Within Rabbinical Judaism there may be some to whom a source is only absolutely binding if it is a Mishnah, Tosefta or Baraita, to others a twentieth-century Responsum may be a binding source. The discussion of this is beyond the scope of this article but if Modern Orthodoxy is to be more than a diluted form of Hareidism, some crucial questions will have to be answered, such as: Within Modern Orthodoxy’s orientation, what exactly is the hierarchy in authority among the writings of Tannaim, Amoraim, Geonim, Rishonim and others? Which practices can be redefined, largely depends on the answers given.

One relevant observation between Sephardic and traditional Ashkenazic attitudes is a somewhat different approach to local customs (minhagim). No doubt, the Talmud gives importance and authority to minhagim, but the scope and definition of this principle, in my perception, is not entirely the same within the two traditions. Of course Sephardim are just as proud as others of their own liturgy, including tunes and piyyutim, [10] their specific way of putting on tefillin, or their special haroset recipes. Nonetheless they have displayed a somewhat different attitude towards the binding character of customs. If changing circumstances, communal needs, or even insights necessitated it, Sephardic hakhamim on occasion have changed even well-established customs in favor of the application of other halakhic interpretations. This seems to reflect an underlying belief that not every custom automatically has the halakhic status of minhag. In contrast, many Ashkenazim consider any established custom a halakhically binding practice. This has far reaching consequences. In Ashkenazic circles there can be in-depth discussions on certain halakhic questions, going over the Mishna, Gemara, Geonim, Rishonim, Aharonim, commentaries on commentaries, looking at it from all directions and perspectives, and a halakhically satisfactory answer to the problem may emerge, but in the end the result can be wiped off the table with the remark: “But our minhag is different.” I would like to illustrate this with an example related to the tzitzith.[11] According to Torah law, a man is obliged to fulfill the requirement of wearing tzitzith if he has a four cornered garment. [12] He does not need to buy such a garment (i.e., a tallith [13] ) in order to attach tzitzith to it and fulfill the commandment. However, from several authoritative halakhic writings it is clear that one should make an effort to own a tallith (with tzitzith), and wear it, especially during prayer. [14] In Eastern Europe, where people used to be poor and could not easily afford to buy a tallith, it became the practice for a groom to be gifted a tallith as a wedding present. Thus in those communities men customarily did not pray with a tallith before marriage. At a certain point this was perceived as an official minhag, endowed with halakhic power, and even though nowadays most descendants of Eastern European Jews can afford to buy a tallith, many unmarried men will not fulfill their halakhic requirement of donning a tallith during prayer because “it is not my minhag.” From here we can see the important role that the concept of minhag plays to the extent that it can override (pure) halakhic considerations. As a side effect, minhag has become such a determining factor in halakha, that it makes any chance for renewal or change impossible. Even if there are good ethical and halakhic reasons to change a practice, if the concept of minhag renders a practice “law,” change will be blocked.

However, within the classic Sephardic approach, this has been quite different. A clear example can be found with Maimonides in his halakhic codex Mishneh Torah. It is clear that Maimonides intended to unite all of Judaism through this codex by deciding once and for all on the most correct interpretations of Jewish law. The concept of minhag played little to no role in his project. Thus it seems that in Maimonides’ view customs can exist and develop around halakha, but they don’t have halakhic power in themselves and thus can never overrule halakhic rules or push them away.[15] I believe a revision of the concept of minhag in congruency with this classical Sephardi approach, is essential for Modern Orthodoxy in defining an authentic model for future reconsideration of halakhic practice, when necessary.

What is Modern Orthodoxy’s position among the other currents of Judaism? Throughout his body of work, Rodney Stark, professor of Sociology and Comparative Religion,[16] distinguishes between—on the one hand—religious movements with relatively intense levels of commitment. Such movements require of their adherents high levels of compliancy and investments in terms of devoted time, lifestyle and dedication, while at the same time offering high spiritual and often social rewards. However, these movements tend to exist in relatively sharp tension with their cultural environment. On the opposite end of the spectrum are low intensity religious movements that require very modest investments and dedication. Such movements exist in relative harmony with their environment, but they also give little in return in terms of community life and spiritual rewards. One of the challenges of high tension ideologies is that, while there is certainly a considerable group of people that find satisfaction in such movements, every next generation of people that grow up in such high-demanding communities tends to gravitate towards lower levels of commitment and towards less tension with the general culture. Therefore, over time, high intensity movements tend to become less intense. However, people are not all the same, and often this process is interrupted when a group of people from within the movement stand up to turn the tide, demanding higher intensity commitments (and rewards). This is how revival movements and sects originate.

In the first place this distinction can help explain why many who look for spirituality and meaning in Judaism, are attracted to Hareidism. I am talking about those non-Jews who turn to Judaism for religious and spiritual reasons, in contrast to those who are moved by social motivations. The mere fact that these people search for meaning and truth beyond their ancestral horizon already puts them in the category of “big investors,” high intensity devotees. Furthermore these movements attract their attention simply because in general, the most outspoken expressions define a religion’s reputation in the world.

It is tempting to look at the different currents of Judaism in the above described manner: Hareidi Orthodoxy as a high intensity community, Conservative and Reform Judaism as relatively low intensity movements, and somewhere in the middle Modern Orthodoxy with a medium intensity level. Professor Stark describes a general phenomenon in religion, and Judaism has the same pulls-and-pushes as other faiths. But Modern Orthodoxy is not just a haven for people who long for a certain, moderate level of commitment, not too extreme, not too liberal. It should be much more…

The future of Modern Orthodoxy depends on how it will define and profile itself. This may prove to be no small challenge. At present one can find communities that define themselves as Modern Orthodox with the only difference from the Hareidi world being that, working for a living alongside Torah study is not considered a second choice. Others who are called Modern Orthodox have made more radical changes towards egalitarian services and women clergy. Modern Orthodoxy needs to find its own position between the worlds of innovation without fixed tradition and fixed tradition without innovation. In order to be successful and offer a credible alternative to either of the extremes, it needs to develop its own religious philosophy and its own halakhic scholarship. In order to offer more than a moderate version of Hareidi orthodoxy, Modern Orthodox scholars need to know halakha at least as good, preferably better than Hareidi scholars, which is a huge task but not impossible. In too many yeshivot much time is spent on detailed studies of marginal topics and on creating artificial reconciliations of contradicting opinions that cannot be genuinely reconciled for the simple reason that they are contradicting opinions. In the process, a real overall understanding of halakha often gets lost in studying minute details. Modern Orthodoxy should not just delve into the study of halakha, but grasp its structures and underlying principles as well.

In the process we need to educate our children in the spirit of Modern Orthodoxy, which is more than just a weakened form of Orthodox Yeshivish schooling. This means exposing our youth to authentic, primary sources that support an approach of Judaism as described above, solid in halakha, innovative in thinking. If we fail, our children will soon pick up on the notion that the more serious you are about Judaism, the more yeshivish you become. And before you know it, Modern Orthodoxy will fall in the same trap as the multitudes of Sephardim who surrendered to a mindset of Lithuanian yeshivot.

Modern Orthodoxy is walking a fine line, on a tightrope between a total surrender to modern, secular thinking on the one side, and on the other side totally immersing in religiosity while giving up participation in the modern world of science, philosophy, etc. The only chance we have in fulfilling the Jewish ideal of impregnating the material world and general society with spirituality, is if we can be exactly where we are: in the middle, where we can integrate both worlds. But it is no easy place to be and there is no easy solution. We cannot design a new, prescribed way of life, no matter how modern or moderate it might be, and follow it blindly. That would be betraying the ideals of Modern Orthodoxy. We always need to look at the way we do things and ask ourselves if we are loyal to our heritage and at the same time what the effects are of our practice on the people and the world around us. What are the possible negative side effects of our conduct? Should we rephrase, reframe and rethink our teaching and practice? In order to answer those questions, we have to know clearly what we stand for and what we have to offer that is so special and that we world is in need of. This implies that we need to know the secular world real well and at the same time excel in our knowledge of Jewish heritage, spirituality and ethics. We need to offer high quality education for young people and enable new, inspiring leadership to emerge. The demands on them will be enormous. But then again, it is hard to be a (Modern Orthodox) Jew.

[1] I wrote about my spiritual quest in Rabbi M.D. Angel’s: Choosing to be Jewish. Hoboken, 2005, pp. 25–35.
[2] Ritual swaying of worshippers during prayer.
[3] While my native country, the Netherlands, has no Conservative Jewish community, the existing Reform congregations there are in my opinion closer to the Conservative than to the American Reform movement, both in philosophy and ritual observance.
[4] Of course if this person would make an alternative gesture, such as a friendly bow, then this would not be rude.
[5] In line with Maimonides’ approach that whatever in the Torah conflicts with science, should be interpreted as metaphorical.
[6] Exodus 19, 10–11.
[7] In contrast, a Christian who rejects his/her Christian creed is not considered a Christian any more.
[8] Of course there are many wonderful Ashkenazim and needless to say, not every Sephardi is a lovable person either.
[9] In fact, Maimonides only wrote a commentary on the Mishnah (be it an extensive one) but not on the Gemara, while Nahmanides is considered by some to be influenced already by Ashkenazic thinking. So in all honestly, classic Sephardic Talmud commentaries just happen to be less available than Ashkenazic ones.
[10] Liturgical poems
[11] Ritual fringes
[12] Numbers 15, 37–41.
[13] Usually translated as “prayer shawl”
[14] Mishneh Torah, Sefer Ahava, Hilkhot Tefilla, Chapter 5, Halakha 5; Hilkhot Tzitzith, Chapter 3, Halakha 11; Shulhan Arukh, Orah Hayyim, Chapter 2, 24:1.
[15] This approach to minhag seems to me more authentic. I have never heard of a Babylonian Amora who travelled to Eretz Yisra’el and kept two days of Yom Tov while there, because it was his custom.
[16] See: e.g. For the Glory of God, pp. 17–20, 25–27.

Torah Is Freedom

By Rabbi Hayyim Angel

National Scholar

And it says, “And the tablets were the work of God, and the writing was the writing of God, graven upon the tablets” (Exodus 32:16). Read not harut [‘graven’] but herut [‘freedom’]. For there is no free man but one that occupies himself with the study of the Torah (Mishnah Avot 6:2).

This midrashic re-reading of God’s engraved tablets has intrigued me for years. The image of God’s words engraved in stone sounds rather permanent and unchanging. Yet, the Sages find an opening to promote one of their cornerstone values, namely, the Torah brings to its adherents true inner freedom and nobility.

In his classic commentary on the Mishnah, Rabbi Yisrael Lifshitz (1782-1860, Tiferet Yisrael) suggests that the Torah offers freedom from enslavement to one’s bodily desires. Offering a more expansive definition of this freedom, Rabbi Marc D. Angel comments that “God did not impose mitzvot in order to crush freedom and autonomy, but to give divine guidance on how best to live one’s life” (Koren Pirkei Avot, 156).

Anyone who engages meaningfully with the sacred texts of our tradition is immediately transported into a millennia-old dialogue and debate regarding the meaning of God’s word. It is precisely this pursuit of divine truth that brings the Torah to life, and makes its learners active recipients of God’s engraved words.

When Torah instead becomes about control and uniformity, its spirit is eviscerated. Authoritarian interpreters who stifle or willfully ignore valid alternatives within tradition veer from the very idea of Torah, even when such individuals speak in the name of Torah.

Since its founding in 2007, the Institute for Jewish Ideas and Ideals has been motivated to fight for these inherent Torah freedoms. We have been animated in particular by two unsettling trends in our community: (1) A right-wing authoritarian voice that tends to stifle and ignore many valid alternatives, proclaiming that it alone has the truth. (2) A widespread tendency within many aspects of Yeshiva education that tends to ignore Sephardic and other non-Ashkenazic voices of the previous 500 years.

Through our writings, website, classes, programs, and teacher trainings, we reach tens of thousands of people annually, including hundreds of rabbis and educators. We promote diversity and inclusion, and the freedom of an authentic encounter with the wholeness of Torah.

One additional threat that requires immediate attention is an equally disturbing trend of tyranny from the left—both in our broader society and especially within the Jewish world. A growing number of voices subscribe to the repugnant idea of “cancel culture,” in which any dissent or questioning can result in people losing their jobs, reputations, and even ability to publicly “exist.”

Over the years, I have attended rabbinic meetings of more “right-wing” and “left-wing” orientations. While each meeting had its own distinct agenda, votes often ended up “unanimous,” at least in the sense of nobody publicly disagreeing. This shocking unanimity over legitimately debatable points is extremely unlikely to occur among large numbers of diverse, thoughtful, and learned people. Nevertheless, a prevailing culture has emerged: dissent, questioning, critical thinking, or challenging would not be tolerated. We live in a world where such intellectual timidity and cowardice grows exponentially and aggressively. We have an extra obligation to provide meaningful discourse so that the entire panoply of Jewish opinion shines forth.

At the Institute, we are proud to present a wide diversity of voices in our journal, Conversations; our website; and all of our programs and writings. These teachings educate and inspire Jews of all backgrounds to find avenues of entry to tradition that resonate most with them. Thank you for promoting and supporting this noble endeavor.

Haham Solomon Gaon passed away on 19 Tevet 5755 (December 22, 1994). During the course of his lifetime, he impacted on many thousands of people. He served for many years as the Haham of the Spanish and Portuguese community in London; and was the founder and director of the Sephardic Studies Program at Yeshiva University in New York.

As one of Haham Gaon’s first students at Yeshiva University in 1963, I want to share a few thoughts about a man who was not merely a teacher, but a mentor and friend. Had I not studied with Haham Gaon, I almost surely would not have become a rabbi; had he not been a constant guide and friend, I almost surely would not have had a rabbinic career spanning five decades.

Solomon Gaon was born in Travnik, Yugoslavia in 1912 and studied at the yeshiva in Sarajevo. Both his parents died in the Holocaust. He received his rabbinic ordination from Jews' College in London. In 1949 he became Haham (Chief Rabbi) of the Sephardic congregations of the British Commonwealth. With Alan Mocatta, he is credited with revivifying a declining community. Beginning in 1963 he became involved (initially on a part-time basis) with Yeshiva University in New York, and was integral in the founding of its Sephardic Studies Program. While in New York, Haham Gaon was closely identified with Congregation Shearith Israel where he attended services regularly.

Haham Gaon had an uncanny understanding of human nature. He seemed to know what was on your mind without your ever having to tell him. He was one of those rare rabbis and teachers who actually cared about others with a fullness of concern. He held impressive titles and received many honors; but he was among the humblest people I have ever known. Whatever he achieved was not directed at self-glory, but was for the glory of God. He spoke to all people with respect and kindness. He was as non-judgmental a rabbi as I have ever met. His motivating emotion was love; his compassion and empathy seemed to know no bounds.

Haham Gaon seemed to have boundless energy. He traveled extensively; he visited many Sephardic communities around the world. He spoke at many conferences and scholarly gatherings. As busy as he was, he always seemed to have time for family, friends, and students. He and Mrs. Gaon were gracious hosts; they enjoyed being with people, sharing happy times.

Haham Gaon had a lively sense of humor. He also had gravitas. He knew how to carry himself with great dignity while still not becoming aloof.

Haham Gaon, like the classic rabbis of Sephardic tradition, placed great emphasis on prayer. He seemed to have a remarkable spiritual intimacy with the Almighty. When Haham Gaon prayed, all of us in his presence felt an extra spiritual energy in the room.

In an article I wrote on Sephardic models of rabbinic leadership, I referred to Haham Gaon: “As a young rabbi, I learned much from my teacher Haham Solomon Gaon, with whom I studied at Yeshiva University, and to whom I turned for guidance for many years thereafter. I once complained to Haham Gaon that I was called upon by various organizations and committees to attend their events and meetings. I felt I should be exempt from these communal responsibilities, so that I could devote more time to my studies. I thought the Haham would support my request. Instead, he gently rebuked me. He said: the people who devote their time and effort on behalf of the community need to know that the rabbi is with them. They need to see the rabbi, to hear the rabbi’s suggestions, to know that the rabbi appreciates and participates in their work. Yes, you need time to study; but you also need to devote time to working with members of the community. Haham Gaon was a Haver ha-Ir, a friend of the community.”

I went on to write that the classic Sephardic rabbinic model personified by Haham Gaon has been on the decline. “For a variety of sociological and psychological reasons, there has been a sea change in Orthodox rabbinic leadership in general—and an even more profound change in Sephardic rabbinic leadership. The upsurge in the influence of extreme Hareidi religious authorities has dragged much of Orthodoxy to the right.”

Haham Gaon represented a balanced religiosity, deeply faithful to tradition while deeply sensitive to the needs and feelings of modern men and women. Haham Gaon was a model of dignity, compassion, and total commitment to the People of Israel and the State of Israel. He did not attempt to validate his religiosity by adopting “Hareidi” style rabbinic garb; on the contrary, as a proud Sephardic rabbi, he refused to compromise his own traditions in order to curry favor among others. He respected Ashkenazic rabbis who were faithful to their traditions, and he expected them to be respectful of his traditions.

As we mark the anniversary of the passing of Haham Gaon, we may well also be marking the end of an era of Sephardic rabbinic leadership. The broadness of vision, tolerance, spirituality and humanism of the Sephardic rabbinic tradition is on the brink of extinction. At the very moment when the Jewish world needs exactly this kind of spiritual leadership, we miss Haham more than ever.

Haham Gaon was an optimist. He believed that the tradition he embodied would be a source of strength to the Jewish People in the generations to come. Those of us who were his students and friends must also be optimists. We must be worthy heirs to the spiritual legacy he has left us.

Orthodox Jews like to claim that they adhere to an unchanging tradition of laws and beliefs. Based on this understanding, it becomes possible to decide who "is in" and who "is out;" that is, who is part of the Orthodox camp and who must be placed in a different denomination. The term "Orthodox" itself, which is not part of traditional Jewish vocabulary but actually comes from the Christian lexicon, was adopted in order to distinguish different types of Jews. Yet what exactly defines so-called Orthodoxy is not so easy to pin down.

To illustrate the problem, let me give a few examples. When I was younger everyone knew that according to Orthodoxy, Jews were not permitted to ascend the Temple mount. Yet today many Orthodox Jews do precisely that, encouraged by great rabbis. A generation ago, the notion that women could read the Torah or get aliyot in an Orthodox synagogue would have been laughed at. In fact, it was precisely because of this that some women came up with the idea of a women's prayer group, at which women would be permitted to read the Torah. Yet today we have Orthodox minyanim in which women are, in fact, called to the Torah. When I was younger it was axiomatic that Orthodoxy could not accept women rabbis. Every Orthodox Jew knew that this was an impossibility. Seeing all the changes that have occurred in my lifetime, I don't think that I am going out on too much of a limb to predict that it will not be long before we have Orthodox women rabbis.

The reality is that Orthodoxy is not so much a concept as a social construct. With this understanding, it should not be surprising that what the Torah-true population regard as unacceptable in one era, could very well be regarded differently among at least some of this population at another time. It is vital to bear this in mind when considering the works of R. Joseph Messas (1892-1974). Messas served as a rabbi in Tlemcen, Algeria and Meknes, Morocco, and at the end of his life as Sephardic chief rabbi of Haifa. Although well known in the North African community, this very original thinker has only recently begun to catch the interest of both the broader Orthodox world as well as the scholarly community. Moshe Bar-Asher, Zvi Zohar, Avinoam Rosenack, David Biton, and Iti Moreyosef are among those who have written on different aspects of Messas' writings and worldview. From the rabbinic world, R. Zekhariah Zermati has recently published a collection of Messas' halakhic rulings, what he terms a Kitzur Shulhan Arukh. Even the Orthodox feminists have found what to be attracted to in Messas, as he provides the first testimony to women's prayer groups, complete with Torah reading and the donning of tefillin (Nahalat Avot, vol. 5, part 2, p. 268). He also shows great appreciation for women's learning, going so far as to sympathetically recount the stories of two women who declined marriage so that that they could devote themselves to Torah study.[1]

In order not to repeat what others have said, let me focus on the area of halakha, which is where I think one finds Messas' greatest significance. While Messas showed originality in every area he dealt with-and I don't think there was another North African rabbi who came close to his intellectual versatility-to apply this originality in matters of practical halakha required both a clear vision as well as an enormous amount of self-confidence. Messas was blessed with both of these qualities.

Some of his rulings are so far removed from the mainstream of halakhic thought that many might be tempted to regard him as outside the realm of Orthodoxy. Yet Messas was a central figure in the Moroccan Torah world and, as noted above, later served as chief rabbi of Haifa. His responsa are found in the writings of a number of his contemporaries, and his works continue to be widely cited by Sephardic halakhists. He is a good example of just how diverse Torah-true Judaism can be, especially when it is not confronted by non-Orthodox movements and thus not required to create artificial boundaries through denominational labels.

Messas grew up in Morocco where he absorbed the best of the Moroccan rabbinic tradition. This meant that he devoted himself not only to Talmud and halakha, but was also at home in philosophy, Jewish history (in particular the history of Moroccan Jewry), parshanut, and anything else that can be regarded as part of the traditional Jewish library. His three volume Otzar ha-Mikhtavim, recently reprinted, shows his great breadth of knowledge. In many ways, Messas is the Sephardic counterpart to R. Hayyim Hirschensohn. Both were incredibly original in their halakhic writings. They were also willing to investigate how much halakha could be adapted in order to take into account the realities of the modern world, when commitment to Jewish law is not absolute, even among those who identify with traditional Jewish values.

An example of this is seen in Messas' experience in Tlemcen. He arrived in the city in 1924 and found that although there was proper shehitah, the kosher butcher shops were all open on the Sabbath. At this time, there wasn't yet a system of mashgihim who would testify to the kashrut of an establishment. Instead, all of Morocco followed the old approach of relying on the personal religious observance of the butchers. This practice was based on the assumption that if you could eat in someone's house without questioning if the food was kosher, you could also purchase from his shop. Yet this principle only applies to observant Jews, and in this case the butchers were all public Sabbath violators. According to Jewish law, these people simply did not have the religious credibility that observant Jews need from their butchers.

At first glance, there appears to be no avoiding the conclusion that since the butchers were not religiously reliable, observant Jews were obligated to give up meat. (As Messas explains, it proved impossible to open a shomer Shabbat store to sell the meat.) Yet was this the only possible conclusion? Messas recognized the many problems that would arise if he declared the butchers not kosher, not least of which would be that many people would simply ignore his declaration, thus destroying any communal standards of kashrut observance. He was also concerned for the honor of his community, which was, as he tells us, being portrayed as a place where everyone ate non-kosher. He therefore offered a radical halakhic justification for the status quo. He argued that since, according to one approach in the medieval authorities, the butchers were not violating any biblical commands which in Temple days would be regarded as a capital offense, they could still be regarded as trustworthy with regard to the meat they prepared and sold. He also offered other reasons why the local butchers, despite being Sabbath violators, could be believed in matters of kashrut. Messas surely knew that he was going out on a limb with this ruling, but under the circumstances he believed that it was the only proper halakhic answer, one that dealt with the reality he was confronted with (Mayim Hayyim 1:143).

While in earlier times it was obvious that one must avoid patronizing non-shomer Shabbat butchers, Messas felt that in his era, when so many were not observant, it was important to find a leniency. This is just one of many examples where Messas shows how dynamic halakhic decision-making can be, and how it can lead to some surprising conclusions. In this particular case it was very hard for those outside of his community to agree with his conclusions. Yet as R. Nathan Neta Leiter wrote to Messas, after expressing his disagreement: "I can find one justification for you, and that is what our Sages said, ‘Don't judge your fellow until you are in his place,' and I do not know the nature of your country" (Tziyun le-Nefesh Hayah, no. 29).
This trend of Messas is seen in other responsa as well. His most famous halakhic ruling is that in an era when women generally go about with uncovered hair, it is no longer regarded as nakedness. As such, it is entirely permissible today for married women not to cover their hair (Otzar ha-Mikhtavim, vol. 3, no. 1884, Mayim Hayyim, vol. 2, Orah Hayyim no. 110). He defended this opinion at length, and a well-known Moroccan halakhist from the subsequent generation, R. Moshe Malka, later chief rabbi of Petah Tikvah, expressed complete agreement with Messas' view (Ve-Heshiv Moshe, nos. 33-34).

The approach of limud zekhut, that is, of finding justification for the practices of the masses, has a long history in Judaism. It is this approach that Messas adopts in his responsa on women uncovering their hair. Since, as he tells us, the wives of pious people do this, there was a great motivation to find it halakhically permissible.

There has always been a tension between the desire to follow the halakha as found in the books, and the competing desire to justify widespread behavior. I am not talking about justifying those who have abandoned Tradition. Rather, I am referring to the practices of the traditional community, which in the Sephardic world encompassed a much wider range of observance in modern times than that of the Ashkenazic world. In much of the Ashkenazic world those who didn't choose to be observant moved over to one of the other denominations. Lacking such denominations in the Sephardic world, the less observant found their place in the traditional community. As such, rabbis like Messas felt a sense of responsibility for these Jews. They would often bend over backwards in attempting to justify their practices, all in order that others not see them, and they not see themselves, as rejecting Jewish tradition. Some would say that Messas bent so much that he even fell backwards. This is what R. Matzliah Mazuz and R. Ovadiah Yosef had in mind when they wrote that one cannot rely on the rulings of Messas (Ish Matzliah, vol. 1, Orah Hayyim, nos. 3, 32; Yabia Omer, vol. 7, Orah Hayyim no. 44:3). Yet R. Moshe Malka states that anyone who speaks this way "will have to render an account." In other words, he has sinned against a learned and righteous man (Ve-Heshiv Moshe, no. 49).

The most radical of Messas' attempts at limud zekhut also relates to Sabbath observance. This time, however, the issue was that people were carrying on the Sabbath. This was not something new, even for otherwise traditional Jews. At that time, most cities in the world did not have an eruv, and plenty of people would carry, especially small items such as keys, as well as push baby carriages. In their minds, this was very different from driving a car or opening their stores.

Rather than regard the carrying as just another sin, Messas attempts an amazing justification, which he tells us was also shared by R. Hayyim Beliah (1832-1919), who had also served as rabbi of Tlemcen. He argued that there is no need for an eruv in order to be able to carry on Shabbat. To say that this is a radical position is an understatement, since the laws of eruv are found in all the standard codes from medieval times until Messas' day, and no one had ever suggested such a thing. In the words of R. Shalom Messas, R. Joseph Messas' younger cousin, this view is nothing less than "bal yeraeh u-val yematze" (Tevuot Shemesh, Orah Hayyim, p. 167).

Yet Messas was not one to be frightened by originality, and was thus willing to offer an incredible justification of the masses' carrying on the Sabbath. He pointed out that our cities do not have the status of a public thoroughfare (reshut ha-rabim), in which carrying is biblically forbidden. Rather, they are to be regarded as a karmelit, whose status is between that of a private dwelling and a public thoroughfare. The rabbis forbid carrying in a karmelit because of fear that one would be led to also carry in a reshut ha-rabim. But today, when we don't have such large areas that qualify as reshut ha-rabim, the decree against carrying in a karmelit is no longer applicable.

While the logic makes good sense, one must agree with R. Shalom Messas that this opinion is without any real basis. After all, beginning in medieval times, many halakhists agreed that there are almost no places that are to be regarded as reshut ha-rabim, yet they all assumed that there is still a prohibition to carry in a karmelit. Yet as a limud zekhut, Messas thought that his approach was compelling. (Prof. Moshe Bar Asher has a copy of Messas' manuscript responsum which he hopes to publish. Messas' arguments can be seen in R. Shalom Messas, Tevuot Shemesh, Orah Hayyim, no. 65).

In another responsum, Messas did not go so far as advocating complete abolishment of the restrictions against carrying on the Sabbath. However, using the same logic we have seen, he declared that there is no longer any need to be concerned with an eruv hatzerot, which allows one to carry in a jointly owned courtyard. The only reason carrying is forbidden in such a courtyard is due to a rabbinic decree designed to prevent people from mistakenly concluding that just as it is permitted to carry from their home into the joint courtyard, so too they can carry into a reshut ha-rabim. It is the eruv hatzerot that changes the status of a joint courtyard to a single domain, allowing one to carry in it. Messas argued that since we no longer have any real reshut ha-rabim, the reason for the decree of an eruv hatzerot is no longer applicable, and thus one is permitted to carry on Shabbat in a joint courtyard (Mayim Hayyim, vol. 2, Orah Hayyim, no. 110).

Another example of a rabbinic decree that he thought was no longer relevant today, and which could therefore be ignored, was that of bishul akum (food cooked by non-Jews). This was a decree in order to prevent assimilation, but (reflecting his time and place) Messas argued that there is very little assimilation, and what there is does not come about because of eating non-Jewish cooking. Based upon the reason given for this decree by the early authorities, he infers that there is no reason for the rabbis to continue to insist upon it. Along the same lines, he defends drinking alcohol which contains wine that had been handled by Muslims. He quotes a responsum by an earlier Moroccan rabbi who even permitted drinking the wine itself-Messas didn't go this far-and who had justified this decision as follows: "There is no unity [of God] like the unity found in Islam, therefore one who forbids them to handle [wine] turns holy into profane by regarding worshippers of God as worshippers of idols, God forbid" (Otzar ha-Mikhtavim, vol. 1, nos. 454, 462, Mayim Hayyim, vol. 2, Yoreh Deah, no. 66).

Normally the rule is that even if the reason for a rabbinic decree is no longer applicable, the decree still stands. This would seem to undermine Messas' approach with regard to non-Jews' cooking and wine. Yet Messas' view was that this principle only applies where there is a fear that the original reason could be relevant in the future. Yet since there is no reason to think that idolatry will once again return to the civilized world, therefore this issue is no different from the talmudic prohibition against drinking from uncovered water. Since there is no longer a fear of poisonous snakes leaving their venom in this water, there is no prohibition to drink from it. Messas cites this example and applies its logic to the cases he deals with (Otzar ha-Mikhtavim, vol. 1, no. 454).

Often Messas' halakhic decisions can find support in earlier sources, but will be incomprehensible to many because of the meta-halakhic concerns that have affected the halakhic process. For example, he permits having a cemetery for all religions if the Jewish graves are kept separate by 4 cubits (Mayim Hayyim, vol. 2, Yoreh Deah, no. 106:1). He was asked if it is permitted to view the dead and to put flowers on the coffin. A posek in Europe would not even consider such questions, because it is obvious that viewing the dead and placing flowers on a coffin are non-Jewish practices. Yet was this always the case? Messas notes that in ancient days the dead were viewed, and the reasons why this was banned are no longer applicable. Therefore, he holds that there is no problem with having an open casket. Similarly, the custom of putting flowers on the coffin is also an ancient Jewish practice, and Messas adds that the flowers help in instilling belief in the resurrection of the dead (Mayim Hayyim, vol. 2, Yoreh Deah, no. 106:3-4).

Based upon what I have written, some readers might conclude that Messas was not a serious halakhist. Yet nothing could be further from the truth. His commitment to the halakhic process in all of its parameters was no different from any of his more "conventional" colleagues, and he was a venerated member of the Moroccan rabbinic elite. It is just that he saw halakha as able to respond to the contemporary reality in a way that others did not. It is true that he came to many lenient, even radical conclusions. Not for naught was he known as Yosef ha-Matir (Joseph the lenient), a play on the expression Yosef ha-Mashbir.[2] Yet the majority of his responsa show nothing out of the ordinary, and are exactly what one would expect from a posek. In fact, in a number of responsa Messas even rules le-humra in cases where other poskim were able to find grounds for leniency. For example, when asked about a mehitsah, he states that it should be constructed so that the men cannot see the women at all (Mayim Hayyim, vol. 2 Orah Hayyim, no. 140).

From our standpoint, the halakhic rulings of Messas are not of much practical significance. As has been the fate of many other poskim, the rabbinic community did not accord him the sort of significance that allows his rulings to exercise much influence after his passing. Yet the life and works of R. Joseph Messas remain of great importance for another reason. He showed that traditional Judaism can encompass a great diversity of thought, and that even in matters of halakha, often thought to be the most "closed" of all Jewish disciplines, there is a myriad of interpretive possibilities to which we can avail ourselves.

[1] See Zvi Zohar, "Kol haOseket beTorah liShmah Zokhah liDvarim Harbeh," Peamim 82 (2000), pp. 150-162.

[2] See Harvey E. Goldberg, "Sephardi Rabbinic Openness in 19th Century Tripoli", in Jack Wertheimer, ed., "Jewish Religious Leadership: Image and Reality" (New York, 2004), p. 699.

She’elah: Is there a halakhic obligation of Western Orthodox Jewry to engage in Jewish-Christian dialogue with their fellow citizens?

Teshuvah: This question involves many components, but the short answer is yes. Western Orthodox Jewry is halakhically obligated to engage in dialogue with Western Christians. The necessity of our participation in dialogue with Christians is clear from any objective—even from a secular—perspective. The Western Jewish narrative demonstrates the utility of this dialogue. Our halakhic obligation to the Christians amongst whom we live includes social justice-related behavior that requires dialogue. Further, just as Christians approach their relationship with Jews as individuals who follow the will of God, Jews must approach this dialogue as fulfilling their halakhic obligation. As God’s Providence shapes Jewish History, halakha guides Jewish actions in accordance with the will of God. The Jewish relationship with Christians in the West falls squarely under the rubric of building a better world in the service of God.

From talmudic times it was well established that none of the biblical or talmudic restrictions with regard to dealing with idolaters apply to Christians because Christians are monotheists who believe in the God of the Jewish people. Despite varying talmudic opinions, both pagans and Christians in talmudic days were already treated differently from heathens of previous times. For example, Jews are obligated with respect to both pagans and Christians to visit their sick, bury their dead and help their poor (see Gittin 61a; also see Rambam Hilkhot Melakhim 10:12). It was also explicitly determined that outside of the land of Israel Gentiles are not considered idolaters (see R. Khiya bar Abba in the name of R. Johanan, Hullin 13b).

During the Middle Ages the halakha was established that Christians are not classified as idolaters. Rabbeinu Tam, for example, categorizes Christians as Noahides, not pagans. He accepts their oaths as being given in the name of God (Tosafot Behorot 2b). This is particularly noteworthy because of the period of Jewish history in which Rabbeinu Tam lived. In the twelfth century, he was caught in the anti-Jewish riots that accompanied the Second Crusade. He witnessed the utter destruction of the Jewish community of Blois, France, by a murderous mob. During the massacre, which occurred on Shavuot of 1147, Rabbeinu Tam’s home was plundered, and he was severely wounded. He only narrowly escaped death. Still, he held that when Christians give an oath, they have the Creator in mind.

Rabbi Menahem Meiri, one of the sages of Provence who lived in the thirteenth and into the fourteenth century, further developed the halakha with regard to Jewish dealings with Christians. He states that Christians who live by the discipline of their religion should be treated as we treat our fellow Jews in our social and economic dealings (Bet haBehirah to A. Z. 20a).

Rabbi Joseph Caro, who lived through the expulsion from Spain as a child, accepts the view developed in the Middle Ages. In his Shulhan Arukh (Yoreh Deah 148.12; and more strongly by Mosheh Rifkes in the Beer haGolah to the Shulhan Arukh, Hoshen Mishpat, 425 at the end) he states that Christians are not considered idolaters.

Rambam goes further than just stating that Christians are not idolaters. Rambam adds an important element by stating that Christians assist in the preparation for the Messianic Era (Rambam L’am, Hilkhot Melakhim 11.4, the non-censored version). This was a particularly bold ruling by Rambam due to importance that both Christians and Jews place on the Messiah. However, Rambam does not otherwise view Christians favorably. He is not a Western Jew and his rulings on this topic reflect conditions of Jews in Muslim, not Christian, lands.

Just as Jewish law cannot be decided without a clear understanding of the current facts on the ground, the development of halakha over the centuries cannot be understood without an understanding of the historical narrative surrounding the legal rulings.

Between the expulsion of Jews from Spain in 1492 and the acceptance of Freedom of Religion enshrined in the American Constitution, there was a slow positive development in the relationship of Jews to their Christian fellow citizens in the West. Jews and Protestants were often grouped together as heretics and burned at the stake, side by side. The 1648 Treaty of Osnabruck, part of the Peace of Westphalia at the end of the Thirty Years' War, expanded religious tolerance by legalizing Jewish religious worship in “clandestine churches”—as long as that worship was discrete.

The first important halakhic development after this turning point was by Rabbi Jacob Emden. He attributes to Christians the possibility of greater participation in fulfilling the commandments of God than just following the seven commandments of Noah: by assisting the Jews in the fulfillment of mitzvoth.

He states that one who helps others to observe is greater than one who observes but does not help others to do so—even though he only observes the seven Noahide Commandments; and the non-Jew who does not observe the 613 commandments, but supports it, is considered among the blessed. R. Emden states that the founders of Christianity correctly demonstrated the Christian view that the Jews are still bound by God’s Torah—and that the children of Israel who remain loyal to God are worthy of Christian love (Seder Olam Rabbah veZuta).

This ruling is of particular importance within the Jewish historical narrative. In R. Emden’s lifetime Western Christendom opened to the possibility of not just tolerating Jews, but offering greater freedoms. The notion of a social contract between citizens and their government, which would include freedom to worship, was new in R. Emden’s time. This new conceptualization of the state would allow the Jewish people living in Western lands to openly serve God—and therefore better follow the tenets of Jewish Law.

R. Emden states, with reference to Christians, that Jews should consider them instruments for the fulfillment of the prophecy that the knowledge of God will one day spread throughout the earth. Whereas the nations before them worshipped idols, denied God's existence, and did not recognize God's power of retribution, the rise of Christianity served to spread among the nations the knowledge that there is One God who rules the world, who rewards and punishes and reveals Himself to humanity (Seder Olam Rabbah veZuta). This is perhaps not as strong as Rambam’s statement that Christians assist in the preparation for the Messianic Era, but it does offer the opportunity that Christians might participate more fully in service to God.

Although not a halakhic source, it is important to continue the Jewish narrative with Moses Mendelssohn. As part of the Haskalah, Mendelssohn confirmed this status of the non-Jew in relation to the Jew—but from a secular point of view (Jerusalem, section 4, Judaism and Christianity).

Mendelssohn contended that respect can only exist in a realm of secular modernity and tolerance based on universal truths. Mendelssohn played an important part in the Jewish narrative. In his lifetime, his views were accepted and implemented in the religious freedoms granted by the Virginia Declaration of Rights which accompanied its State Constitution. Soon thereafter, these religious freedoms and equal protection under the law were granted to all U.S. citizens with the ratification of the U.S. Bill of Rights. Then Napoleon similarly emancipated much of the Jews of Europe.

Moses Mendelssohn was an observant Jew who considered himself a disciple of Jacob Emden, and they had a friendly relationship. However, by disregarding the authority of halakha and secularizing the foundations of Jewish-Christian dialogue and cooperation, the shared project is weakened.

For R. Emden, respect is based on our shared commitment to God, divine commands, and divine providence (Seder Olam Rabbah veZuta). This, for R. Emden, is greater than being co-equal citizens of a secular state.

Perhaps Mendelssohn’s way was the only way, given the situation in his particular time. He did not develop halakha, yet we do not ignore him as part of the Jewish narrative, which, in its own way, impacts Jewish Law. [1] Just as the effect of the Providence of God on Jewish history is real, so too are the Torah's narrative and laws reflections of God's will. Only halakha is binding as precedent, yet we appreciate the role Mendelssohn played in Western Jewish emancipation and history. And as we do not ignore Mendelssohn, we cannot ignore what is going on around us today—in what will become part of Jewish history. The facts on the ground today are critical in determining the halakha with regard to Christian-Jewish dialogue.

When I came to Stamford in 1948 I involved myself in interfaith work, among other things. I felt a few areas were important to build my community: Youth work (including a basketball team in the Church league), hospital visits every day, and involvement in the interfaith religious community.

I joined the Stamford Clergy Association, which gave me close contact with the various church leaders in town, including Protestant, Black Baptist, and Methodist ministers. I ultimately became the President of this association toward the end of the 1950s. Of the “out of towners,” that is, the Yeshiva University rabbinical graduates who received posts outside of New York City, many involved themselves in interfaith organizations in their local communities.

This fact was well known. We, as YU graduates, saw no halakhic barrier to prevent our involvements in such organizations. Rabbi Joseph Soloveitchik knew of our involvement and gave it tacit approval—mipenei darkei shalom: All the paths of Judaism lead to peace (Gittin 29b). We learned this from the Rav, and I took it to heart. I felt that visiting the sick and having a positive influence on the non-Jews in the community was important for me as a local congregational rabbi. It also had positive results for the Jews in my community.

By 1963 we had outgrown our synagogue building and purchased land to build a new one. One of my colleagues from the Black Baptist congregation expressed an interest in our current building. It was clear that we would receive the highest sale price from a buyer who would build a residential high-rise. But I felt that the non-monetary benefits of selling our building to the Baptist congregation would outweigh the monetary benefits of selling to a developer.

However, as there are halakhic ramifications to selling a synagogue, I felt that it was necessary to seek the advice and approval from the Rav. Rabbi Soloveitchik found no problem with the sale to the Church but said that with the sale of any synagogue building it must be shown that the new building is an improvement over the old. Implicit in the approval of the Rav is that the Christian group we were selling the synagogue to was not practicing idolatry (Avodah Zara, 2a). With the Rav’s approval, the sale of our synagogue building was made to our Baptist neighbors.

Soon after Rabbi Soloveitchik approved the sale of our synagogue to the Baptist congregation, he published the essay “Confrontation” (Tradition: A Journal of Orthodox Thought, 1964 volume 6, #2), which addressed head-on the issue of Christian-Jewish dialogue. The Rav added important nuance to our evolving understanding of the halakha. (It is important to note that the “Confrontation” the Rav speaks of in this essay is not a confrontation between Jews and Christians. In fact, Jews and Christians are on the same side of the confrontation the Rav presents.)

Jews, the Rav says in “Confrontation,” stand shoulder to shoulder with Christians as part of Western Civilization. We Jews are halakhically obligated to advance the general welfare and progress of humankind, to alleviating human suffering, to protecting human rights, to helping the needy, et cetera.

The Rav explicitly recognized that Western civilization has absorbed both Judaic and Christian elements—and that we may speak of a Judeo-Hellenistic-Christian tradition within the cultural framework of Western civilization. But the Rav clearly expresses that Jews are an independent Covenantal Community, and must remain so.

The Rav therefore requires one fundamental condition to Jewish-Christian dialogue to safeguard Jewish individuality and religious independence: No Jewish or Christian theological claims may be included in the dialogue. [2] To engage in interfaith theological dialogue would be counter to the reverence we are obligated to show to God. The Rav does not deny the right of the Christian community to address itself to the Jews in Christian eschatological terms.
The Rav’s allowance of including eschatology within the scope of Christian-Jewish dialogue has echoes of Rambam’s earlier ruling. And, like R. Emden, he offers the possibility for Christians to participate more fully in God’s work.

Including the topic of eschatology in the dialogue suggests that the dialogue presents an opportunity to take part in building the World to Come or bring the Messianic Age—that is, to build a better world according to God’s will.

A few months later that same year was the march on Washington in support of the Civil Rights Act, which would benefit both Jews and African Americans. I headed a delegation from Congregation Agudath Sholom to participate in what we knew would be an historic event.

At 3 a.m., the train to Washington D.C. stopped in Stamford. I boarded with many congregants—including young people. I marched in the front row with Martin Luther King, Jr., and then watched him as he delivered his “I have a Dream” speech. It was an important moment not only in Black and U.S. history, but also in Jewish history. The next year, when Congress passed the Civil Rights Act of 1964, the Jews were beneficiaries of newfound rights, along with African Americans.

A few years later, Dr. King was assassinated. Neighborhoods erupted with destructive anger in many cities across the United States. Immediately after the news broke, I was contacted by one of my African American colleagues from the Clergy Association. We organized a peaceful march through Stamford to convey a message of peace and unity. We marched down West Main Street in Stamford, singing songs of peace and ballads of the Civil Rights Movement. We were successful in Stamford. The atmosphere remained calm. As a comparison, Newark, New Jersey, the city in which I grew up as the son of a congregational rabbi, suffered a great loss to people’s property and their livelihoods.

In the years that followed, I was invited to speak often, especially on Martin Luther King Day, at the Baptist congregation that resided in our former Synagogue building—with its big Star of David above the door.

The Rav is correct in his ruling that the scope of the dialogue should be limited; and we as Jews should always be vigilant that Christians with whom we dialogue have no hidden agenda to proselytize to us. However, my experiences have demonstrated that facts on the ground have improved in fundamental ways during my lifetime. Christians who are currently engaged in dialogue with Jews have sincere intentions and engage in the dialogue out of what they see as a shared commitment to follow the will of God.

The year after the Rav published “Confrontation,” the Catholic Church made a major theological change in their relation to the Jews in Vatican II, with their Nostra Aetate. The Catholic Church made clear that there is no ancestral or collective Jewish guilt for the death of Jesus. They made clear that the Jewish religion is not “extrinsic,” but “intrinsic” to the Catholic religion. And, although it claimed that the Church is the new people of God, it also insisted that Jews should not be presented as rejected or accursed by God. In this declaration, the Church affirmed the continued validity of God's covenant with Israel. In the wake of Nostra Aetate Christian-Jewish dialogue flourished. In my dealings with Christians during this time I have found them to be sincere in their motives and beliefs.

In 1990, on the Wednesday before Thanksgiving, I received a call from the chairman of the Rabbinical Council of America. He wanted to know if I would go to the Vatican that Sunday for the 25th anniversary of Nostra Aetate. One of the two Orthodox rabbis who were members of IJCIC (the International Jewish Committee for Inter-religious Consultations) had taken ill at the last minute and could not be part of a group that was headed to the Vatican. I was honored to accept this invitation.

Twenty Jews and twenty Catholics met in the Vatican. At the end of the conference, the Jews and the Catholics each wrote a paper and presented it to Pope John Paul II. The Pope read the papers and addressed us as a group. After the address, the Catholics were dismissed and the Pope told us that he wanted to meet each of us Jews personally. I situated myself at the end so my meeting wouldn’t be under time pressure.

When my turn came, I told the Pope we are Landsmen, explaining that Landsman is the Yiddish term for people from the same country or area. The Pope was from Poland where my parents had lived until they arrived in the United States just before my birth. I told him that my father had memories of the Polish people being anti-Semitic—yet it seems that the Jewish people have never had a greater friend in the leadership of the Church than this Polish-born Pope.

Pope John Paul II replied that he would explain with a story. He said that when he was young he attended a small school in Warsaw where he studied drama. He aspired to be an actor and a playwright. When the Nazis came, they gathered the entire student body into the courtyard. They brought down the faculty—many of whom were Jewish—and proceeded to kill them all in front him and the other students. This had a traumatic effect on him. He was not embarrassed to tell me that he was one of the best students in the school and he loved his teachers as they loved him. He said he walked away from that incident knowing that he did not want to live in such a world. He decided that he would enter a seminary and study for the priesthood. Soon thereafter he made a pledge to God. Pope John Paul II paused and said he had never told anyone before—but that he pledged to himself that whenever he is in a position of influence he would do what he can for the Jewish people. He never dreamed of being Pope—he was not yet even a priest—but now he is in exactly such a position of influence.
A bit overwhelmed, I must have shocked him as I breached protocol and leaned over and gave him a hug.

Three years later, as I was transitioning from rabbi of my congregation to rabbi emeritus, I co-founded and then became CEO of the Center for Jewish-Christian Understanding at Sacred Heart University in Fairfield Connecticut—a Catholic institution. I subsequently met with Pope John Paul II seven more times. I found him to be completely sincere in his dealing with the Jews. I also had the opportunity to meet Pope Benedict XVI—several times before he was Pope and twice after. As Cardinal Ratzinger, he was a major theologian and influential confidant of Pope John Paul II before becoming Pope himself.

Although my experience with Catholics has been on a more intense level, I see a similar sincerity from many Protestant groups. I spent ten years teaching a Sunday adult education Torah class at local Protestant churches in New Canaan, from 1995 to 2005, and found them to be warm and sincere. Evangelical leaders I have dealt with, such as Marcus Braybrooke, have made great theological strides in aligning Jews and Christians in their relation to each other and, mutually, to God. The dual covenant theory has even become commonplace in Protestant communities, allowing Jews to be seen as achieving salvation through Torah observance. The commitment extends to more practical realms, as several Protestant communities have recently become major financial contributors to Jewish organizations such as Keren Hayesod.

The Christian leaders who are our partners today have demonstrated that their main goal in dialogue is joint service to God. Building a better world is their focus. Christians involved in Jewish-Christian dialogue by definition have faith in God; it is only appropriate that the Jews involved in Jewish-Christian dialogue be similarly motivated by religious convictions. If Orthodox Jews do not participate in this dialogue, the Jewish side will continue to be represented by secular Jewish organizations whose world view does not match their religious Christian counterparts, and who fundamentally see their actions as universalist and not bound by God’s will.

It is essential for Christian-Jewish dialogue to occur within the framework of Jewish law so it continues to be part of our halakhic understanding and our normative Jewish behavior. It is essentials because it is a part of both Jewish and Christian service to God. Christian-Jewish dialogue must not be left to Jews who do not feel bound by God’s Law.

If Jews build this dialogue with Christians based on secular underpinnings our commitment is subject to change based on utilitarian or political calculations. But if both parties enter into dialogue as people who understand themselves to be in a covenant with God, we have a better chance of building a true and lasting relationship to alleviate suffering, advance social justice and build a brighter world in the service of God.

We, as Jews, do have certain halakhic obligations to the Christians among whom we live. These obligations can be thought of under the heading of social justice, including to bury their dead, to visit their sick, and to help their poor. Christians see the same obligation and are our partners in this, God’s work. The necessary dialogue required for the fulfillment of these mitzvoth is likewise a halakhic requirement. All the more so, we must dialogue with our Christian neighbors to help establish the Messianic Era and create a better world to come.

Community leaders are obligated to ensure that there is proper inter-communal dialogue between Jews and Christians. It is clearly not incumbent upon—nor desirable for—every individual Jew to initiate such dialogue.

To conclude, most Jews currently engaged in Jewish-Christian dialogue still believe that proper interfaith respect and dialogue can only exist in a realm of secular modernity and tolerance based on secular universalism. However, our partners, as faithful Christians, respect our shared commitment to God, God’s Law, and God’s Providence. We do a disservice to the Christian faith Community and to ourselves as Jews, by disregarding this fact.

Further, without the constraint of Jewish Law, any individuals or groups may feel free to dialogue and form alliances for whatever purposes. However, it is exactly God’s Law that is important, and necessary, within Christian-Jewish dialogue.

It is time to re-contextualize our relationship with those Christians with whom we dialogue. It is time to accept that we and our Christian counterparts are engaged in God’s work, mandated by halakha, to bring about a better world.
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[1] Please note that I leave Spinoza out of our narrative.

[2] However, even on this point, Dr. David Berger has stated in his article “Revisiting ‘Confrontation’ After Forty Years: A Response to Rabbi Eugene Korn” that a rabbi close to Rabbi Soloveitchik has stated that the Rav told him he trusted Rabbi Walter Wurzburger to deal with theological issues in conversations with Christians.

Book Review

Dennis Prager, The Rational Bible: Genesis (Regnery Faith, 2019)

Rabbi Hayyim Angel

          Dennis Prager is far better known as a political commentator than a Bible Scholar. Nonetheless, he is animated by his belief in the Torah and its enduring moral messages for humanity. His commentary, as the book’s title suggests, is rooted in a rationalist approach to the Bible.

          Whether or not one agrees with all of his politics or individual interpretations of the verses, Prager’s commentary is strikingly relevant when he emphasizes the moral revolution of the Torah and the vitality of its moral teachings to today’s overly secularized Western world. Rather than serving as bastions of moral teachings and American values, universities are increasingly at the vanguard of attacks against God, the Bible, family values, Israel, and the very notion of an objective morality. Prager pinpoints several of the major differences between the Torah’s morality and the dangerous shortcomings of today’s secular West.

          Throughout his commentary, Prager makes his case for belief in God, providence, the divine origins of the Torah, and the eternal power of the Torah’s morality. He also offers a running commentary on the Torah, bringing insights from a wide variety of scholars and thinkers, as well as from his personal experiences. In this review, we will focus exclusively on the former, as it is here that the commentary makes its greatest contributions.

God’s creation of the world teaches that there is ultimate purpose to human existence. Atheists reject God’s existence. If all existence is random happenstance, however, there is no ultimate purpose. Additionally, the Torah posits that God is completely separate from nature. God gave human beings a special role, and the moral God demands morality from humanity. Science teaches science, but it cannot teach right from wrong, or even if there is a right or a wrong. Science cannot provide ultimate purpose, since it studies only the physical universe (7-8).

          The world began as chaotic (tohu va-vohu, Genesis 1:2), and God created order through a process of distinctions. According to the Torah, the primary responsibility of humanity is to preserve God’s order and distinctions. The creation narrative in Genesis distinguishes between God and the universe, humans and animals, and sacred and profane. Elsewhere in the Torah, God distinguishes between people and God, good and evil, life and death, and many others. The battle for higher civilization essentially is the struggle between biblical distinctions and the human desire to undo many of those distinctions. Prager concludes with a chilling assertion about the contemporary West: “As Western society abandons the Bible and the God of the Bible, it is also abandoning these distinctions. I fear for its future because Western civilization rests on these distinctions” (14).

          Pagans believed that the gods inhere in nature. This belief led to the need for people to propitiate the gods and offer sacrifices. By stressing that God is outside of nature, the Torah revolutionizes the role of humanity vis a vis the world. People must rule and conquer the earth, meaning that the world was created for human use (1:28). People must not abuse nature or inflict unnecessary suffering on animals, but people rule the world. Among other things, this belief led to the invention of modern medicine to fight diseases. Prager warns of a relapse to the pagan worldview: “Many secular people in our time romanticize nature, perhaps not realizing—or not wanting to realize—that either humans rule over nature or nature will destroy humans” (27).

Without the values of the Bible, people lose their uniqueness as being created in God’s image (1:26), and instead become insignificant parts of nature. British physicist and atheist Stephen Hawking said, “We humans [are] mere collections of fundamental particles of nature.” When God is diminished and nature is elevated, human worth is reduced (104). Finally, without God, people are simply another part of nature. There cannot be any good or evil behavior for humanity, just as we would not call an earthquake evil. “Therefore, as ironic as it may sound to a secular individual, only a God-based understanding of human life allows for free will” (505-506).

          It is not good for man to be alone (2:18). People ideally were meant to marry and to live together in a community. In the secular West, there has been a dramatic decrease in marriage rates, and more people live by themselves than at any time in recorded history. Consequently, loneliness has become a major social pathology. A meta-analysis of 70 studies covering over three million people published in the journal ‘Perspectives on Psychological Science’ concludes that “loneliness is now a major public health issue and represents a greater health risk than obesity and is as destructive to your health as smoking 15 cigarettes a day.” Prager also quotes the moral benefits of participating in a religious community. Rabbi Jonathan Sacks summarizes the research of Robert Putnam: “Regular attendees at a place of worship were more likely than others to give money to charity, engage in volunteer work, donate blood, spend time with someone who is depressed, offer a seat to a stranger, help someone find a job…Regular attendance at a house of worship is the most accurate predictor of altruism, more so than any other factor, including gender, education, income, race, region, marital status, ideology and age” (39-41).

          God expressed grave concern over Adam and Eve’s eating from the Tree of Knowledge, lamenting that “man has become like one of us, knowing good and evil” (Genesis 3:22). Prager frames the sin in Eden as the struggle over who determines morality. The Torah teaches that God does, but human sin is when people determine good and evil. When people usurp that right, people become god. “And it is precisely what has happened in the West since the French Enlightenment. Man has displaced God as the source of right and wrong. As Karl Marx wrote, ‘Man is God.’ And as Lenin, the father of modern totalitarianism, said, ‘We repudiate all morality derived from non-human (i.e., God) and non-class concepts’” (59).

Human conscience alone cannot bring about a just society. Conscience can be easily manipulated when serving a cause. Conscience can be dulled when people do more and more bad. Conscience also is not usually as powerful as the natural drives—greed, envy, sex, alcohol and others can overpower the conscience. And finally, conscience does not always guide someone properly to do what is right. We need God to teach objective moral values (108-109). “Even Voltaire (1694-1778), a passionate atheist and the godfather of the aggressively secular French Enlightenment, acknowledged: ‘I want my lawyer, my tailor, my servants, and even my wife to believe in God because it means that I shall be cheated, and robbed, and cuckolded less often. If God did not exist, it would be necessary to invent him’” (239).

          Those who admire the achievements of successful people likely will strive to emulate them. Those who are jealous and resentful of the success of others become destructive. Rather than improving his offering, Cain instead envied Abel’s successful sacrifice and murdered him. The Philistines envied Abraham and Isaac, and therefore destructively filled up Abraham’s wells and persecuted Isaac (Genesis 26). Economist George Gilder (a non-Jew) wrote about this phenomenon in his book, The Israel Factor. He demonstrates that a society’s reaction to Israel’s successes is a predictor of their success or failure. Those who resent the outsized achievements of Israel are likely to fail morally, economically, and socially. Those who admire Israel and seek to emulate its achievements are likely to create their own free and prosperous societies (65). Prager draws a lesson for contemporary America: “The most notable exception to this unfortunate rule of human nature has been the American people. Until almost the present day, Americans tended to react to people who had attained material success not by resenting them but by wanting to know how they could emulate them. This seems to be changing as more Americans join others in resenting the economic success of other people” (308).

          The Torah describes Noah as “a righteous man, blameless in his age.” The Sages of the Talmud debate whether the Torah’s addition of “in his age” diminishes his objective righteousness, or whether it makes Noah all the more impressive for standing above his wicked society. Although both positions are valid, Prager supports the latter view, observing that few people have the moral courage to reject their environment. Prager adds a more important point: Many are tempted to judge people of the past by our contemporary moral standards, rather than in the context of their time. As a result, we would conclude that virtually nobody who lived before us was a good person. For example, many of the founding fathers of America owned slaves, and America allowed slavery at the time of its founding. Since slavery is indeed evil, we may conclude that America’s founders were bad men and America itself was a bad place. However, it is vital to judge America in 1776 “in its age,” and not by the standards of our time. At that time, virtually every society practiced slavery. It was the values of America’s founders and Western Bible-based civilization that led to the abolition of slavery, and the thriving of freedom-loving and freedom-spreading society (91-93).

          After the flood, God concludes that He never again will destroy humanity, “since the devisings of man’s mind are evil from his youth” (8:21). Prager uses this verse as a springboard to attack a modern Western belief, that people are basically good and corrupted by society. The belief emerges from the West’s abandonment of the Bible, and is associated with philosophers of the French Enlightenment such as Jean-Jacques Rousseau (1712-1778). No rational person can believe that people are basically good. All children need moral teachings to learn the most basic decency. The unjust wars, slavery, child abuse, and so many other horrors of world history down to the present should be ample evidence that people must actively build a good society. The wrongful belief that people are basically good also is dangerous. Parents and schools will not invest time and energy teaching goodness if they assume that children are naturally good. God and religion become irrelevant to teaching goodness. Society, not the individual, is blamed for evil. Those who blame society try to change society, rather than teaching individuals to be better. “The Torah teaches that, especially in a free society, the battle for a good world is not between the individual and society but between the individual and his or her nature” (109-115).    

          Making good people is the single most important thing parents can do. Loving children without teaching them moral responsibility turns children into narcissists. Parents must constantly emphasize goodness, integrity, and honesty, and praise these traits as most important. Parents also must morally discipline their children, rather than ignoring that responsibility. Teaching the Bible only can help, both because the Bible is unparalleled in its moral wisdom, and it is valuable for children (and their parents) to recognize God as the source of morality (132-133).

          Through these and so many other religious-moral teachings, the Torah was a revolution in world history, and continues to bring relevant teaching to the modern world.

Angel for Shabbat, Parashat Vayikra

By Rabbi Marc D. Angel

We are witnessing a tragic war in the Ukraine. Hundreds of lives are lost; hundreds of thousands are fleeing the country in search of safety. The human and financial costs are staggering. It all seems so senseless. Even if Russia totally conquers and suppresses Ukrainian forces, how will it be able to govern a nation that hates it passionately? How will it be able to rebuild Ukraine? How will it be able to salvage the damage to its own economy and the suffering of its own people? Whatever little it may gain from this war will be massively offset by the losses it will endure.

But doesn’t the leader of Russia see this? Don’t his advisors realize the futility of this war?

Apparently, once the decision has been made to invade and conquer there is no backing down regardless of consequences.

In her powerful book, “The March of Folly,” Barbara Tuchman studied the destructive behavior of leaders from antiquity to the Vietnam War. She notes: “A phenomenon noticeable throughout history regardless of place or period is the pursuit by government of policies contrary to their own interests.” She points out: “Government remains the paramount area of folly because it is there that men seek power over others—only to lose it over themselves.”

But why should people with political power succumb to policies that are wrong-headed and dangerous? Tuchman suggests that the lust for power is one ingredient in this folly. Another ingredient is an unwillingness to admit that one has made a misjudgment. Leaders keep pursuing bad policies and bad wars because they do not want to admit to the public that they’ve been wrong. So more people are hurt, and more generations are lost—all because the leaders won’t brook dissent, won’t consider other and better options, won’t yield any of their power, won’t admit that they might be wrong. These leaders are able to march into folly because the public at large allows them to get away with it. Until a vocal and fearless opposition arises, the “leaders” trample on the heads of the public. They are more concerned with their own power politics, than the needs and wellbeing of their constituents.

The march of folly is not restricted to political power. It is evident in all types of organizational life. The leader or leaders make a decision; the decision is flawed; it causes dissension; it is based on the wrong factors. Yet, when confronted with their mistake, they will not back down. They have invested their own egos in their decision and will not admit that they were wrong. Damage—sometimes irreparable damage—ensues, causing the organization or institution to diminish or to become unfaithful to its original mission. The leader/s march deeper and deeper into folly; they refuse to see the light.

Parashat Vayikra lists various sacrifices that are offered in the Tabernacle, each relating to specific individuals and sins. The Torah discusses “asher nasi yeheta”, if the leader shall sin! Happy are those whose leaders are able to admit their own sins and errors in judgment. Impressive is that leader who is able to say: I have sinned, I have done wrong, I am bringing an offering to the Lord in admission of my shortcomings. I will do better in the future.

The Torah envisions leadership that avoids the march of folly by recognizing their responsibility to their people and to God. Such leaders are not ashamed to admit their shortcomings. Such leaders have the courage to change direction—to march not to folly but to real greatness.