National Scholar Updates

Rabbi Lord Jonathan Sacks’ Legacy

Rabbi Lord Jonathan Sacks, who was born in 1948 and died on November 7, 2020, was a British Orthodox rabbi, philosopher, theologian, award-winning author, an international religious leader, respected moral voice, and public figure. He served as the Chief Rabbi of the United Hebrew Congregations of the Commonwealth from 1991 to 2013. He held a number of professorships at several academic institutions including Yeshiva University, in New York, and King’s College in London. He was a frequent contributor to radio, television and the press around the world. Former British Prime Minister Tony Blair called him “an intellectual giant.” He was awarded the 2016 Templeton Prize for his “exceptional contributions to affirming life’s spiritual dimension.” He received 18 honorary doctorates. The Archbishop of Canterbury, Lord Carey, conferred him a Doctor of Divinity for his remarkable work. But it was not only politicians and intellectuals who read his brilliant writings. Average Jews and non-Jews read what he wrote and found them enjoyable, eye-opening, and inspiring. Therefore the 2021 publication of his book “Studies in Spirituality: A Weekly Reading of the Jewish Bible” by Maggid Books and OU Press will please many audiences.

Rabbi Sacks tells us that there is in Judaism an authoritative code of Jewish law, but no single spiritual dimension. Every individual can follow his and her own path to God. Maimonides says this in Mishna, Sanhedrin 10:3. There have been and always will be many Jewish philosophers with different views as to what is important in life. There have been Jewish rationalists in the past who disagreed strongly with fellow Jewish mystics, and vice versa, and this continues today. This is fine. Rabbi Sacks writes about his book: “I hope the very personal nature of these essays helps you find your own way to the Divine Presence, which is always there: the music beneath the noise, the call beneath the clamour, the voice of God within the human soul.”

There is much in Rabbi Sacks' essays to make us think. He tells us in his introduction that spirituality is not the same as religion, though the two are related. Spirituality happens when we open ourselves to something greater than ourselves. Different people find it in different places, the beauty of nature, art, music, prayer, doing a good deed, learning a sacred text, in helping people, in friendship, in love. He says that he decided to write about spirituality because he saw that so many people search for it but are unable to find it.

In his first essay he asks, what was the tree of knowledge of good and evil? Why was it forbidden? Don’t people need to know the difference between good and evil? Didn’t Adam have this knowledge before he ate the fruit of the tree since he was created in the image and likeness of God? He explains that the tale is about the kind of morality we are called upon to live, and he explains that it has to do with the requirement to learn to listen. He tells us that there is much in this world we must listen to.

In his second essay he speaks about Judaism’s teaching that we must exercise the power to pioneer, to do something new, to take the road less travelled, to venture out into the unknown.

Later he speaks about not crying out to God in anger or anguish, but, instead, hearing the still small voice saying, “The next step depends on you.”

When he spoke about the patriarch Isaac, he asked, didn’t he see that his son Esau was not a man of God? And he replies, “A father must love his son because he is his son…. Unconditional love is not uncritical, but it is unbreakable. This is how we should love our children – for it is how God loves us.”

He raises many other questions in other essays and answers them, many. Why are Jews defined as the descendants of Jacob, the children of Israel? Jacob is the man who has the deepest spiritual experiences alone, at night, in the face of danger and far from home. He gives us the remarkable, indeed brilliant, interpretation of Rashi’s grandson Rashbam about Jacob wrestling with a stranger. About having fear and overcoming it.

He advises us to have the courage to admit mistakes while telling us the observation of a politician who told him that politicians never admit their mistakes.

He repeats his lesson about listening near the end of his excellent book. The most important word in Judaism is shema, “hear,” “listen,” “pay attention.” It is the motif-word of the book of Deuteronomy. Time and time again in the last month of his life, Moses told his people shema. It appears in the book 92 times.

We will gain much by listening to Rabbi Sacks.

Benjamin Disraeli (1804-1881) was one of the most illustrious and powerful men in 19th century England (and the world), and yet he remains an enigma. Was he a proud Jew? Was he a sincere Christian? Was he a brilliant politician? Was he a buffoon? Was he a great and visionary leader of the British Empire? Was he a party hack who was mostly interested in advancing himself and his loyalists?

            The answer to all these questions seems to be: yes, no, perhaps, we are not sure.

            Disraeli’s family had been members of the Spanish and Portuguese Synagogue of London. His father, Isaac—for a variety of reasons—decided to have his children baptized and raised as Christians. In July 1817, shortly before Benjamin would have celebrated his Bar Mitzvah, the young boy was brought to church and was baptized.

            Now that he was a Christian, he could blend in better with English society, right? In a way yes, but in a way no. He was still identified as a Jew. His very name gave him away. His appearance was described as being “oriental,” not really a pure English Christian. Benjamin dressed flamboyantly and acted accordingly. After completing his studies, he spent a few years with a firm of solicitors in London, and then he tried his hand at journalism. He made some disastrous investments that put him in serious financial trouble. Heavily in debt, he tried to salvage the situation by writing popular novels that would pay him decent royalties.

            He turned to politics but lost his first several attempts to get elected to Parliament. At last, in 1837 he won an election and became a member of Parliament. In 1839, he married a prosperous widow (although not as wealthy as he had expected), and went on to live a happy married life with her until her passing in 1872. Benjamin Disraeli was a gifted orator and a very able debater. He came to lead the “Young England Party” in Parliament. He rose to various high positions in government, and became Prime Minister in 1868 for a short spell. He again rose to become Prime Minister in 1874 and served in that position into 1880. He held the title of Earl of Beaconsfield.

            Although Disraeli was a Christian, a member of Parliament, a popular author, a confidant of Queen Victoria…his detractors never stopped seeing him as a Jew, an outsider, an interloper. He had to struggle against unceasing political malice and anti-Jewish malevolence. He climbed to the top of the “slippery pole” of political power by dint of his genius, his political prowess, and his ability to outshine all his rivals.

            Instead of denying or de-emphasizing his Jewish roots, Disraeli flaunted his Jewishness. His public posture was that Christianity was an outgrowth and broader expression of Judaism. “Everything gentle and sublime in the religious code of the New Testament is a mere transcript from the so-called oral law of the Jews” (Weintraub, p. 453). In his novel, Tancred, one of his Jewish characters taunts the English nobleman by pointing out that “half Christendom worships a Jewess, and the other half a Jew….Which is the superior race, the worshipped or the worshippers?” The Christian world owed the Jews an immense debt.

            In his novel, Coningsby, Disraeli idealized a wise man by name of Sidonia. “All of us encounter, at least once in our life, some individual who utters words that make us think forever. There are men whose phrases are oracles; who condense in a sentence the secrets of life; who blurt out an aphorism that forms a character or illustrates an existence. A great thing is a great book; but greater than all is the talk of a great man” (Coningsby, p.149). Sidonia the Jew was such a man, one who had “exhausted all the sources of human knowledge.” Sidonia propounded the greatness of the Jews.  “And at this moment, in spite of centuries, of tens of centuries, of degradation, the Jewish mind exercises a vast influence on the affairs of Europe. I speak not of their laws, which you still obey; of their literature, with which your minds are saturated; but of the living Hebrew intellect. You never observe a great intellectual movement in Europe in which the Jews do not greatly participate” (p. 271). Sidonia reminds Coningsby that Europe owes the Jews “the best part of its laws, a fine portion of its literature, all its religion” (p. 273).

Anti-Semites never forgave Disraeli’s Jewishness and constantly identified him as a Jew in spite of his conversion to Anglicanism. In response to a vicious anti-Semitic comment made in the British parliament, Disraeli famously retorted: “Yes, I am a Jew, and when the ancestors of the Right Honourable Gentleman were brutal savages in an unknown island, mine were priests in the Temple of Solomon.”

Disraeli’s novel, Tancred, originally published in 1847, tells of a young British nobleman who had a spiritual longing to visit the Holy Land. When he arrived, he spent time with a Jewish family and became acquainted with Jewish religious life. His visit coincided with Succoth, and he was told that this is a great national festival celebrating the harvest. He was shown the lulav and etrog, symbols of the autumn harvest. Tancred was deeply impressed.

Disraeli writes: “The vineyards of Israel have ceased to exist, but the eternal law enjoins the children of Israel still to celebrate the vintage. A race that persist in celebrating their vintage, although they have no fruits to gather, will regain their vineyards. What sublime inexorability in the law! But what indomitable spirit in the people!”

Disraeli notes that it is easier for “the happier Sephardim, the Hebrews who have never quitted the sunny regions that are laved by the Midland Ocean,” to observe the festival, since they can identify with the climate and setting of the early generations of Israelites who celebrated Succoth. “But picture to yourself the child of Israel in the dingy suburb or the squalid quarter of some bleak northern town, where there is never a sun that can at any rate ripen grapes. Yet he must celebrate the vintage of purple Palestine! The law has told him, though a denizen in an icy clime, that he must dwell for seven days in a bower….”

He continues with a description of the ignominies which Jews suffer in their ghettos in Europe “living amid fogs and filth, never treated with kindness, seldom with justice....Conceive such a being, an object to you of prejudice, dislike, disgust, perhaps hatred. The season arrives, and the mind and heart of that being are filled with images and passions that have been ranked in all ages among the most beautiful and the most genial of human experience; filled with a subject the most vivid, the most graceful, the most joyous, and the most exuberant…the harvest of the grape in the native regions of the vine.”

The downtrodden Jews, in observance of Succoth, find real joy in life. They decorate their Succahs as beautifully as they can; their families gather together to eat festive meals in the Succah. The outside world may be cruel and ugly; but their inner life is joyous and noble. Their external conditions may not seem too happy, but their internal happiness is real. The Jews, while remembering the glories of the Israelite past, also dream of the future glories of the Israelites when their people will be restored to their ancient greatness.

            Was Disraeli a Zionist before there was an official Zionist movement? Yes…and no. Like so much about Disraeli, there is ambiguity. On the one hand, he spoke and wrote emotionally about the Jewish attachment to the holy land, and to their ultimate return to Israel. But on the other hand, he did not actively initiate or pursue any policies that would lead to a Jewish return to the land of Israel.

In his novel, Alroy, the Jewish hero states: “You ask me what I wish: my answer is, a national existence, which we have not. You ask me what I wish: my answer is, the Land of Promise. You ask me what I wish: my answer is, Jerusalem. You ask me what I wish: my answer is, the Temple, all we forfeited, all we have yearned after, all for which we have fought, our beauteous country, our holy creed, our simple manners, and our ancient customs.”

One of Disraeli’s political associates, Lord Stanley, wrote in his diary that on one occasion Disraeli spoke to him “with great apparent earnestness on the subject of restoring the Jews to their own land….The country, he said, had ample natural capabilities; all it wanted was labour, and protection for the labourer; the ownership of the soil might be bought from Turkey: money would be forthcoming: the Rothschilds and leading Hebrew capitalists would all help.” These words were spoken a half century before Herzl’s The Jewish State (1897). Yet, Stanley went on to note that Disraeli “never recurred to it again. I have heard of no practical step taken or attempted to be taken by him in the matter” (Kirsch pp.909-91).

Disraeli described himself as the blank page between the Old and New Testaments. He belonged to both Testaments in part, and to neither in full. He was born a Sephardic Jew and remained very proud of his Jewish roots. He was a member of the Anglican Church, and expressed loyalty to its teachings. But in spite of his being baptized as a child, he was still thought of as a Jew. Winston Churchill put it very well:  “I always believed in Dizzy, that old Jew. He saw into the future.”

                                         *     *     *

            Benjamin Disraeli’s family were members of the Spanish and Portuguese Synagogue of London, a sister Congregation of the Spanish and Portuguese Synagogue of New York—where I’ve been associated as rabbi since 1969. The two congregations share the Western Sephardic traditions and religious worldview. When I think of Benjamin Disraeli, I somehow imagine him as one of my own congregants…even though our lives are separated by many decades, and our actual religious commitments are very far apart.

            It is difficult for me to be “proud” of Disraeli, since he was, after all, a Jewish apostate who lived his entire adult life as a Christian. Yet, it is also difficult not to be “proud” of him.  He was, in spite of his being a Christian, very visible as a Jew, very identified as being a Jew. He spoke with tremendous pride of his Jewish antecedents and believed the Christian world owed an immense debt to Judaism and the Jewish people.

            If his father had not had Benjamin baptized, it would have been impossible for him to have risen within the British political system, and he never would have become Prime Minister. His entire success as a statesman was contingent on his being a Christian. Yet, this Christian political figure never stopped being a Jew. However hard his anti-Jewish detractors strove to undermine him, he outmaneuvered, outsmarted, and outlasted them.

            Fortunately, it is not our responsibility or right to judge Disraeli. That is entirely left up to the Almighty. But I admit, without apology, that I still regard this wayward son of the Spanish and Portuguese Synagogue as one of our own.

References

Disraeli, Benjamin, Coningsby, Penguin Books, New York, 1989.

_______________, Tancred, CreateSpace Publishing, Scotts Valley Ca., 2015.

Kirsch, Adam, Benjamin Disraeli, Schocken Books, New York, 2008.

Levine, Richard, Benjamin Disraeli, Twayne Publishers Inc., New York, 1968.

Weintraub, Stanley, Disraeli: A Biography, Truman Talley Books, New York, 1998.

Is it proper to tell someone you forgive them if you don't mean it?

In his “Laws of Repentance,” (2:10), Rambam writes: “When a sinner asks forgiveness, one should grant it with a full heart and willing soul. Even if the other has sinned greatly against him and caused him much anguish, he should not take revenge or bear a grudge.”

Rambam expects a lot of us! How can we forgive someone with a full heart when that person has wronged us grievously? How can we be expected to act in such a lofty, saintly manner?

The answer is: when we harbor grudges, we infect ourselves with negative emotions. We are expected to offer forgiveness not only for the sake of the sinner—but for our own sakes. If a person has the courage to apologize to us and admit past sins against us, we now have an opportunity to rid ourselves of negative, self-destructive feelings.

What if we cannot reach this high level of forgiving? Then we should forgive anyway, even if not sincerely. At least this is a step toward reconciliation with the offender. And it is also a step toward self-purification.

Is it good to fill one's sentences with "baruch Hashem," 'iyH," and "bli neder." How about when talking with non Jews?

Genuinely religious people feel the presence of Hashem. They naturally and spontaneously offer blessings. They know that future plans are contingent on the will of Hashem.  They often use such phrases as barukh Hashem or im yirtseh Hashem…and these are sincere expressions of a religiously sensitive person.

If these phrases are used “for show” or to impress others with one’s religiosity, then these phrases are counterfeit. Instead of reflecting genuine piety, they reflect hypocrisy.

Whether speaking with a Jew or non-Jew, one should use such phrases carefully and appropriately. One should neither flaunt one’s piety nor be ashamed to mention blessing and gratitude to the Almighty.

We learn from religious role models. My grandfather Marco Romey, of blessed memory, used to say “bendicho el Dio” (Ladino for barukh Hashem) on many occasions. When he said it, though, he tended to pause a moment so that the words were said with concentration, not merely mumbled as a formula. He set a good example that all of us would do well to follow.

Should parents encourage children to be tolerant of opposing political opinions?

Parents “encourage” their children to be tolerant and respectful by setting the example themselves. Children learn more from their parents’ behavior than from their preachments.

Unfortunately, we face growing divisions within society. The level of vitriol and outright hatred has risen dramatically in recent years. There is a tendency to stick to one’s own views, political or otherwise, and not give careful attention to those who differ. Instead of thoughtful discussion and dialogue, we too often are confronted with hostile shouting and name-calling.

Those who foster extreme divisiveness are part of the problem; we should strive for ourselves and our children to be part of the solution. The issue isn’t merely tolerance of opposing opinions, but actually listening to what the opponents are saying. If they have any truth on their side, admit it. If they are wrong, then refute their positions respectfully.

Some people are so opinionated, it’s not possible to discuss things with them in a calm way. So it’s best to articulate one’s own views without wasting time in useless arguing.

We want our children and grandchildren to grow into responsible, thinking and respectful citizens. Don’t preach at them: set the proper example.

    Elias Canetti (1905-1994), a Bulgarian-born Sephardic Jew, won the Nobel Prize for Literature in 1981. He spent part of his youth in Manchester, England, but after the untimely death of his father, his mother took her three sons to Vienna. In 1938, Canetti escaped Europe and Nazi persecution and settled in England. Known as a modernist novelist, playwright, and memoirist, he was a keen observer of human behavior.

In his memoir, The Torch in My Ear, he reflected on an insight that came to him as a young man: “I realized that there is such a thing as a crowd instinct, which is always in conflict with the personality instinct, and that the struggle between the two of them can explain the course of human history” (The Memoirs of Elias Canetti, p. 387).This idea became central to Canetti’s life, ultimately resulting in his classic book Crowds and Power.

     What is the “crowd instinct?” It is the desire to blend into a crowd, to dissolve one’s personality into a large mass of people. The crowd instinct can be witnessed in sports’ arenas, where fans become one with each other and with the players on the field. It can be experienced in mass rallies where fiery orators fire up the crowd, or at rock concerts where fans lose themselves in their wild admiration of the singers and their music. People have a deep desire to be part of such crowds.

     Yet, crowds can become dangerous. When individuals succumb to crowds, demagogues can control them, can drive them to do terrible things, can turn them into lynch mobs or murderous gangs, and can push them into terrorism and war.

     So we also have a “personality instinct,” a deep desire to retain our own ideas and values, to resist the mesmerizing power of crowds.  Although we at times want to share in the enthusiasms and griefs of crowds, we simultaneously want to maintain our inner freedom from the crowds. We want to blend in…but not to blend in.

     Leadership entails working with crowds, striving to create consensus among various factions. Nations demand patriotism, national symbols that inspire citizens to feel united with each other. But nations can become dangerous crowds. Demagogues can manipulate the crowd’s emotions and can control information that they share with the masses.

     How can one resist the power of crowds? For this we need the personality instinct. Each person needs to understand the crowd, but keep enough independence not to totally succumb to the power of the crowd. Each person literally has to be a hero, has to be willing to stand up and stand out…and possibly take terrible risks in order to maintain personal integrity.

     Throughout human history, there has been an ongoing tension between the crowd instinct and the personality instinct.  Too often, the crowd instinct has prevailed. Masses of people have been whipped up to commit the worst atrocities, to murder innocents, to vent hatred.

     In our time, like throughout history, there are those who seek to manipulate crowds in dangerous, murderous and hateful ways. There are those who play on the fears and gullibility of the masses, who dissolve individuality and turn people into frenzied sheep.

     But there are also those who refuse to become part of such crowds, who resist the crowd instinct and maintain the personality instinct. These are the stars who will form a new kind of crowd, a crowd that will bring human beings together in harmony and mutual respect.

     An ever-present problem for people is putting on symbolic masks, pretending to be what they are not. In their desire to blend in or to control, they take on artificial poses in order to manipulate others.

     In describing the impact of a mask on its wearer, Canetti notes: “As long as he wears it he is two things, himself and the mask…Because it can be torn away, its wearer is bound to fear for it. He must take care that he does not lose it; it must never be dropped and must never open. He feels every kind of anxiety about what may happen to it….He must manipulate it, remaining his everyday self, and, at the same time, must change into it as a performer. While he wears the mask he is thus two people and must remain two during the whole of his performance” (Crowds and Power, p. 377).

     One wearing a mask wishes to preserve the illusion of being someone else. Being unmasked would ruin everything. So the mask wearer tries to protect the illusion by staying in control of the mask. No one must be allowed to get past the mask.

     But what happens if the mask wearer comes to identify totally with the mask? Much human tragedy is the result of people forgetting who they are at root; they don various masks and personae. They may imagine that they can only be successful or happy if they adopt a certain persona, if they betray their selves for the sake of winning the approval of others.

     People, in their desire to be popular, often end up play-acting. They dress, speak, laugh, socialize—the way they expect that others want them to dress, speak, laugh and socialize. To gain approval, they will wear whatever mask they think will advance them. The mask-wearers are terrified by those who would unmask them.

     The great challenge for each human being is to be authentic, to resist wearing masks, and resist those who attempt to manipulate us by donning masks of their own. The great challenge to society are those whom Canetti terms “survivors.” These are individuals who cut down or out- maneuver all opponents; they survive the climb to the top of the social ladder ruthlessly. They are thirsty to rule, to control, to command. They demand total obeisance; they feel threatened by anyone who sees through their schemes.

     Canetti writes:  “What has radically changed in our time, however, is the situation of the survivor. …He has been glorified as a hero and obeyed as a ruler but fundamentally he is always the same. His most fantastic triumphs have taken place in our own time, among people who set great store by the idea of humanity. He is not yet extinct, nor ever will be until we have the strength to see him clearly, whatever disguise he assumes and whatever his halo of glory. The survivor is mankind’s worst evil, its curse and perhaps its doom. Is it possible for us to escape him, even now at this last moment?” (Ibid., p. 468).

     Even an observer less gifted than Canetti would have noticed the rise of Nazism and Fascism sweeping through Europe. The mobs were incited by ruthless megalomaniac leaders; ugly crowds were forming; almost unlimited power was granted to a few leaders. The recipe for society’s destruction was in place. Canetti identified the problem, but could do nothing to prevent the inevitable catastrophe. He fled to England where he survived the war.

     Although anti-Semites spoke about “the Jews” as if all Jews were cut of the same cloth, Canetti emphasized the tremendous diversity among Jews.  In recounting his visit to the Jewish Quarter in Marrakesh, Morocco, he wrote:  “ I walked past as slowly as possible and looked at the faces. Their heterogeneity was astonishing. There were faces that in other clothing I would have taken for Arab. There were luminous old Rembrandt Jews. There were Catholic priests of wily quietness and humility. There were Wandering Jews whose restlessness was written in every lineament. There were Frenchmen. There were Spaniards. There were ruddy-complexioned Russians. There was one you felt like hailing as the patriarch Abraham; he was haughtily addressing Napoleon, and a hot-tempered know-all who looked like Goebbels was trying to butt in.  I thought of the transmigration of souls. Perhaps, I wondered, every human soul has to be a Jew once, and here they all are: none remembers what he was before, and even when this is so clearly revealed in his features that I, a foreigner, can recognize it, every one of these people still firmly believes he stands in direct line of descent from the people of the Bible” (The Voices of Marrakesh, p. 40).

     In Crowds and Power, he made the same point. “No people is more difficult to understand than the Jews. Debarred from their country of origin, they have spread over the whole of the inhabited earth. Their talent for adaptation is well known, but the degree of their adaptation is immensely variable….Jews are different from other people, but, in reality, they are most different from each other” (Crowds and Power, pp. 178-9). Canetti points out that Jews are not a “racial” or monolithic group, but rather are united by a shared memory of the Exodus from Egypt of the ancient Israelites. That sense of being a crowd, a wandering crowd yearning for the Promised Land, has been the unifying symbol that binds Jews together.

     The victimization of Jews is an example of how tyranny can prevail in whipping up masses of people to commit horrific crimes against targeted individuals or groups. As long as there are such tyrants, and as long as the masses are willing to go along with them, that is how long it will be until humanity can be redeemed from its own evils.

                                                   *     *    *

     When I learned in 1981 that the Nobel Prize for Literature was awarded to a Sephardic Jew of Judeo-Spanish-speaking background, I was very pleased. Being myself of Judeo-Spanish background, I felt an immediate kinship with Canetti.  But after reading his various writings, I felt a huge distance between us. The “ethnic” link was shaken.

     Canetti wrote in German, the language of culture that his mother instilled in him in Vienna. His major writings are on general human themes, not with any particular “Sephardic” flavor. Even his memoirs left me feeling that his    Sephardic upbringing was far from traditional or representative of Sephardic civilization. But as the years have passed, I find myself feeling much closer to Canetti. I appreciate his keen insights into human motives and behaviors. I admire his close observation of people and places. With prophet-like clarity, he foresaw how humanity could destroy itself…or save itself from the brink.

References

Auto-da-Fe, Continuum, New York, 1974.

Crowds and Power, Seabury Press, NY, 1978.

Kafka’s Other Trial, Schocken Books, New York, 1974

The Memoirs of Elias Canetti, (The Tongue Set Free, The Torch in My Ear, The Play of the Eyes), Farrar, Straus and Giroux, New York, 1999.

The Voices of Marrakesh, Continuum, New York, 1981

The Institute for Jewish Ideas and Ideals has published numerous articles and blogs relating to the Sephardic/pan-Sephardic experience. Here are links to some of them. For others, please use the Search feature on our website's homepage,  jewishideas.org

https://www.jewishideas.org/article/models-sephardic-rabbinic-leadership

https://www.jewishideas.org/article/minhagim-divinity-and-diversity

https://www.jewishideas.org/article/voices-western-sephardic-tradition-nineteenth-and-twentieth-century-america

https://www.jewishideas.org/article/did-you-hear-one-about-sephardic-boy-who-walks-orthodox-yeshiva

https://www.jewishideas.org/article/going-out-limb-joha

https://www.jewishideas.org/article/study-sephardic-and-ashkenazic-liturgy-rabbi-hayyim-angel

https://www.jewishideas.org/article/moroccan-rabbinic-conferences-0

https://www.jewishideas.org/article/broadening-our-vision-introduction-seven-interesting-middle-eastern-rabbis

https://www.jewishideas.org/article/leadership-and-traditions-sephardi-sages-modern-era

https://www.jewishideas.org/article/jewish-unity-vs-sephardic-particularism-rav-uziel%E2%80%99s-sephardic-vision-jewish-people

Please also visit youtube.com/jewishideasorg where you will find a number of lectures/shiurim dealing with Sephardic themes.

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About the Institute

The Institute for Jewish Ideas and Ideals was founded in October 2007 by Rabbi Dr. Marc D. Angel. Since 1969, Rabbi Angel has served Congregation Shearith Israel, the historic Spanish and Portuguese Synagogue of New York City, and has been Rabbi Emeritus since 2007. He is now devoting himself full time to the work of the Institute, serving as its Director.

Rabbi Angel has a long career of service to his congregation and community. He has served as President of the Rabbinical Council of America, the Rabbinic Alumni of RIETS, Sephardic House, and various other organizations. He is co-founder of the International Rabbinic Fellowship and its first President. He has served as an officer and board member of UJA-Federation of New York, the HealthCare Chaplaincy, American Sephardi Federation, Cancer Care and other agencies. He has won national rabbinic awards from the Union of Orthodox Jewish Congregations and the United Jewish Communities, and the Finkle Award of the New York Board of Rabbis. Author and editor of 38 books and hundreds of articles, he has won a National Jewish Book Award in the category of Jewish Thought for his book,The Orphaned Adult, published by Human Sciences Press; and a National Jewish Book Finalist Award in the field of Sephardic Studies for his book, Foundations of Sephardic Spirituality: The Inner Life of Jews of the Ottoman Empire; and another National Jewish Book Finalist Award for Jewish Scholarship for his book Maimonides, Spinoza and Us: Toward an Intellectually Vibrant Judaism. The latter two books were published by Jewish Lights Publishers.

Rabbi Hayyim Angel joined the Institute's team in 2013 as our National Scholar. He teaches classes, serves as scholar-in-residence in many communities, arranges symposia on a wide range of topics, runs teacher training seminars, and offers many online shiurim on our website jewishideas.org. He teaches advanced Tanakh classes at Yeshiva University. He is author or editor of 19 books, and has published numerous articles. He lectures widely in synagogues and schools throughout North America, and consults with yeshivot worldwide to improve their Tanakh curricula. His most recent book, Cornerstones: The Bible and Jewish Ideology (Kodesh Press, 2020), contains a number of programmatic essays that reflect the ideology of our Institute.

The Institute for Jewish Ideas and Ideals serves the community through its active and informative website; publication of our journal, Conversations; public lectures and symposia; publication and distribution of books and educational materials; our youtube channel; zoom classes; University Network; Sephardic Initiative; online learning; workshops for rabbis, educators and laity; cooperation with like-minded individuals and organizations to advance the ideals of the Institute; resource for questions relating to Jewish law, worldview, communal policy...and more.

About our website

The Website provides articles, blogs and links to online classes and youtube programs, as well as an online store where you may order books of interest. The section Min haMuvhar includes selections from the writings of Rabbi Marc D. Angel, Founder and Director of the Institute. The Online Learning section includes many of the classes and lectures of Rabbi Hayyim Angel. The website includes articles, blogs, as well as Rabbi Marc Angel's weekly "Angel for Shabbat" column. We hope you will join us in advancing the important goals of the Institute. Your membership in the Institute for Jewish Ideas and Ideals makes you a partner in fostering a more intelligent, compassionate, creative and diverse Orthodox Judaism. Thanks for your partnership in our work.

Rabbi Abraham Joshua Heschel (1907-1972) was one of the major voices in Jewish thought and philosophy during the 20th century. Born in Poland, he received a traditional yeshiva education and rabbinic ordination. He then pursued his doctoral work at the University of Berlin, and also studied at the Hochschule fur die Wissenschaft des Judentums. In October 1938 he was deported to Poland by the Germans. He was able to escape the Nazi onslaught by obtaining a visa to teach in the United States where he arrived in 1940. His mother and two sisters were among the millions of Jews who perished during the Holocaust.

Heschel taught for five years at the Hebrew Union College; in 1946 he joined the faculty of the Jewish Theological Seminary of America, in New York City. Along with his academic work, he devoted himself to activism on behalf of social justice. On January 14, 1963, he gave a speech, “Religion and Race,” at a conference in Chicago. There he met Rev. Dr. Martin Luther King and the two became friends. Rabbi Heschel marched with Dr. King at a demonstration in Selma, Alabama in 1965.

Heschel was a descendant of Hassidic masters; he was thoroughly trained as a rabbi and a modern scholar. While drawing on the spiritual foundations of Hassidism and Jewish mysticism, he sought to engage modern day Jews with a vibrant spirituality and a sophisticated religious worldview. When he reminisced about the warm religious life in which he was raised, he contrasted it with the often cold and barren religious experience of many modern Jews.

Why was religion losing its hold among moderns? Heschel pointed to a number of problems. “It is customary to blame secular science and antireligious philosophy for the eclipse of religion in modern society. It would be more honest to blame religion for its own defeats. Religion declined not because it was refuted, but because it became irrelevant, dull, oppressive, insipid.  When faith is completely replaced by creed, worship by discipline, love by habit; when the crisis of today is ignored because of the splendor of the past; when faith becomes an heirloom rather than a living fountain; when religion speaks only in the name of authority rather than with the voice of compassion—its message becomes meaningless” (A. J. Heschel: Essential Writings, p. 49).

            For some Jews, religion became a matter of rote. People followed the rules by habit, not by inner spiritual connection. For others, Judaism was honored for its past, but not granted a serious role in life today. And yet for others, religion became disconnected from the ongoing crises of everyday living, the challenges facing society at large.

One of Heschel’s recurring themes was that moderns have lost the sense of awe, wonder, radical amazement, confrontation with the Eternal. “Awe is an intuition for the creaturely dignity of all things and their preciousness to God; a realization that things not only are what they are but also stand, however remotely, for something absolute. Awe is a sense for the transcendence, for the reference everywhere to Him who is beyond all things” (God in Search of Man, p. 75). And again: “It is not utility that we seek in religion, but eternity. The criterion of religion is not in its being in agreement with our common sense but in its being compatible with our sense of the ineffable. The purpose of religion is not to satisfy the needs we feel but to create in us the need of serving ends, of which we otherwise remain oblivious” (Ibid., p. 351).

In an address to the Rabbinical Assembly in 1953, Rabbi Heschel lamented the diminishing spiritual experience in modern synagogues. “Of course, people still attend services—but what does this attendance mean to them? Outpouring of the soul? Worship? Prayer? Synagogue attendance has become a benefaction to the synagogue, a service to the community rather than service of God….Spiritual issues cannot be solved by administrative techniques. The issue is not how to fill buildings but how to inspire hearts. The issue is not synagogue attendance but one of spiritual attendance. The issue is not how to attract bodies to enter the space of a temple but how to inspire souls to enter an hour of spiritual concentration in the presence of God.”

Do moderns feel the presence of God? Has our secularized world robbed us of the gift of spiritual insight, radical amazement? “God is not an explanation of the world’s enigmas or a guarantee for our salvation. He is an eternal challenge, an urgent demand. He is not a problem to be solved but a question addressed to us as individuals, as nations, as mankind. God is of no importance unless He is of supreme importance, which means a deep certainty that it is better to be defeated with Him than be victorious without Him” (Man is Not Alone, p. 92).

In a trenchant critique of the modern dilemma, Rabbi Heschel notes: “The joys of inner living are denied to most of us. Sensitivity is a luxury, but entertainment is becoming a compulsion…The Greeks learned in order to comprehend. The Hebrews learned in order to revere. The modern man learns in order to use” (The Insecurity of Freedom, pp. 40-41). Utilitarianism and hedonism obstruct the path to the Almighty.

One of R. Heschel’s religious heroes was the Hassidic master, Rabbi Menachem Mendel Morgensztern (1787-1859) of Kotzk. In his book about the Kotzker Rebbe, Heschel highlights the struggle for integrity. The Kotzker was famous for his clear-headed thinking and for his abhorrence of sham, of pseudo-piety. He stressed that each individual had to find his and her own road to God, and that the religious quest demanded an open mind and a receptive heart. There were no short cuts. The Kotzker commented on the biblical passage in Genesis: “And God appeared to him (Abraham) and he was sitting at the entrance to the tent.” Why does the verse mention that our forefather Abraham was sitting at the entrance to his tent when God appeared to him? This teaches that even in the presence of God, Abraham felt as though he were sitting at the door and not within the center of the tent.  He—as all truly religious people—understood that he was always standing at the beginning, at a starting point, still outside the center. Religious feeling requires humility and a sense of tentativeness (Kotzk, p. 113).

Rabbi Heschel wrote a book about the Hebrew prophets in which his own prophetic voice found expression. “The prophet disdains those for whom God’s presence is comfort and security; to him it is a challenge, an incessant demand. God is compassion, not compromise; justice, though not inclemency. …The prophet’s word is a scream in the night. While the world is at ease and asleep, the prophet feels the blast from heaven” (A. J. Heschel: Essential Writings, p. 63).

Rabbi Heschel believed that spirituality was not simply an ethereal experience of the transcendence. Rather, it is a power that makes claims on us. It expects us to work for righteousness. In his essay “What is Sin?” he offers these words:  “There is an evil which most of us condone and are even guilty of: indifference to evil. We remain neutral, impartial, and not easily moved by the wrongs done unto other people. Indifference to evil is more insidious than evil itself; it is more universal, more contagious, more dangerous” (Ibid., p. 86).

                                          *     *     *

            During my student days at Yeshiva College and then later in Yeshiva’s rabbinical school (1963-1970) I was attracted to the writings of Rabbi Abraham Joshua Heschel. I bought his books and read them eagerly. He articulated ideas that resonated strongly with me, as with so many others.

            But I never actually met him in person, nor did I hear him lecture. Indeed, I read his books and was an avid member of his reading audience…but he was, in some sense, considered “off limits” to students at our Yeshiva. After all, we were an Orthodox institution, and our spiritual guides were expected to be fully identified with Orthodoxy. Rabbi Heschel taught at the Jewish Theological Seminary, the rabbinical school of the Conservative movement.

            We students at Yeshiva lost an amazing opportunity to be in the presence of Rabbi Heschel. And he was deprived of the opportunity to interact directly with Orthodox rabbinical students. I believe he knew that his words, through his writings, were reaching us along with a much larger general readership. The breath of his voice continues to resonate.

References:

Abraham Joshua Heschel: Essential Writings, ed. Susannah Heschel, Orbis Books, Maryknoll, 2011.

God in Search of Man, Harper Torchbooks, New York, 1955.

Kotzk: The Struggle for Integrity, Maggid Press, Jerusalem, 2015 (Hebrew).

Man is Not Alone, Jewish Publication Society of America, Philadelphia, 1951.

The Insecurity of Freedom: Essays on Human Existence, Farrar, Straus And Giroux, New York, 1967.

nce, Farrar, Straus And Giroux, New York, 1967.

Is it proper to have drinks in a bar?

People will decide for themselves if it’s proper to have drinks in a bar, and under what circumstances they may decide to do so.

But speaking for myself, I think one should avoid entering a bar to have drinks. Bars, by definition, are places where people gather to drink alcoholic beverages…a classic place for idle chatter, gossip, excessive frivolity. There are better, finer places for socializing.

The popularity of bars is a reflection of prevalent hedonism in general society. By patronizing bars, we would be endorsing a set of values very much at odds with Torah values.

Drinking strong liquor, while perhaps appropriate in small quantities on Shabbat or special occasions, is something that should not be encouraged…not only in bars, but at home, in shul or anywhere else.

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

It’s fine to drink in moderation and on special occasions. It’s not fine to drink excessively or in a hedonistic environment.

Is it proper to give children expensive presents for Chanukah? What about just gelt?

Why do we give presents on birthdays, anniversaries, holidays, and other special occasions? Ideally, our gifts stem from the desire to express good feelings toward the recipients: we are thinking of you, we love you, we want you to be happy.

Giving gifts on Hanukkah, as on other special occasions, is a way of enhancing excitement and happiness. Children internalize the joyous spirit of the day. The holiday is forever linked in their minds with happiness.

The value of gifts isn’t to be measured in dollars. An inexpensive present that the child really enjoys is better than an expensive present that the child will seldom or never use.

 For our children and older grandchildren, we give checks. They know best what they want. With our younger grandchildren, we generally give their parents money to buy each of them a present that they would really like.

“Expensive” is a relative term. For wealthy people it means one thing; for less wealthy or poor people it means something else. It also depends on how many children and grandchildren will be receiving gifts. The goal should be to find the right level of giving based on one’s own financial situation. Giving overly expensive gifts may not only be a financial burden on the givers; this may also lead to spoiling the recipients so that they keep expecting more and more with each passing holiday.

Rambam taught the importance of following the “middle path” that strives for a balanced approach to life. This lesson is important also in the realm of gift-giving.  Happy Hanukkah!

Is it proper to be less than forthcoming about your vaccination status to avoid machloket or harassment?

I hope that all our readers are fully vaccinated and have also received booster shots. Given the seriousness of the covid 19 pandemic, it is essential for all of us to protect ourselves to the extent possible. Vaccinations are important not only for our personal health, but for the health of our family and associates. How tragic it is to learn about unvaccinated or under-vaccinated people who contract covid, who suffer, who die, who transmit the virus to their loved ones…all of which could have been prevented by having gotten vaccinated.

Everyone should know if the people near them are properly vaccinated. This is not merely a matter of idle curiosity, but could be a matter of life and death. A person who is asked about vaccination status should answer promptly and accurately. Truthfulness enables others to make responsible decisions.

Unfortunately, a great deal of contradictory information is available about the necessity of vaccinations. In spite of the recommendations of the leading medical experts, there are “anti-vaxxers” who vocally resist getting shots and who urge others not to get vaccinated. If they choose not to vaccinate, they should let the rest of us know. Life is dangerous enough without us having to be in close contact with people who choose not to protect themselves via the available vaccines.

A righteous person dies and the soul is brought before the Heavenly tribunal. The Almighty, seeing that this person had lived an exemplary life, gives options.

“In light of your righteousness, you may choose the section of heaven in which to spend eternity. You may opt for your soul to dwell among the great sages of Israel, the finest Torah scholars of all generations.

“I do not choose this.”

Somewhat surprised, the Almighty then offers: “Your soul may dwell among the righteous rulers of the world, those who led their people with honesty and humility.”

“I do not choose this.”

A third offer: “Your soul may dwell among the famous philanthropists who piously shared their wealth with the poor, who financed great institutions for the betterment of humanity.”

“I do not choose this.”

A fourth offer: “Your soul may dwell among famous, brilliant, respected people of all nations who lived righteously.”

“I do not choose this.”

The Almighty then said: “I have offered you wonderful choices and you have rejected them. Where then would you like your soul to dwell for eternity?”

“I would like my soul to be with my parents and grandparents.”

“But they were simple people. They were not scholars; they were not powerful; they were not rich; they were not famous. They were quiet souls who lived quiet lives. I am offering your soul to be in the presence of the souls of much greater people.”

“I would like my soul to be with my parents and grandparents. They lived pure and good lives. They maintained Torah in the face of many obstacles. They did not hurt anyone. They sacrificed greatly to live as pious Jews. They were abused and cheated and disdained; but their faith was strong. Without my parents and grandparents and the millions of other anonymous quiet souls who kept the flame of Judaism alive over all the generations, I would not have been able to live my life as I did. I would like my soul to be with them.”

The Almighty smiled. “You have chosen wisely. It is precisely their section of heaven that is the highest and most blessed. It is precisely due to your parents and grandparents and the millions of other quiet pious souls that I have not given up entirely on humanity.”

And the soul of the righteous person was bound up in eternal life, along with the souls of parents, grandparents and the millions of other quiet pious souls who sustain God’s hope for humanity.

In Parashat Mikketz, Joseph rises to national prominence by interpreting Pharaoh’s dreams and rescuing the country and the surrounding areas from starvation.

            It is odd, though: Pharaoh had a court filled with wise men, educated in the finest institutions of the ancient world. They had offered their own interpretations, but Pharaoh rejected them, opening the path for Joseph: “Next morning, his spirit was agitated, and he sent for all the magicians of Egypt, and all its wise men; and Pharaoh told them his dreams, but none could interpret them for Pharaoh” (Genesis 41:8).

Commentators wonder: How could Pharaoh have known that the interpretations of his wise men were incorrect?

Perhaps Pharaoh simply intuited that their interpretations were lacking. Upon hearing Joseph’s interpretation, the truth resonated with Pharaoh. The Sages refer to this phenomenon as nikkarin divrei emet, truth is evident (Sotah 9b).

Several commentators, including Ramban and Abarbanel, submit that Pharaoh was certain that the two dreams really were manifestations of the same dream. Pharaoh’s wise men erroneously understood them as two separate dreams, whereas only Joseph perceived that they were one (Genesis 41:25, 26, 32).

Rashi suggests that the wise men proposed negative interpretations that Pharaoh did not want to accept. He wanted to hear a more optimistic outlook.

            I would like to offer an alternative possibility that is the opposite of Rashi’s interpretation. Pharaoh’s wise men were on Pharaoh’s payroll, and no doubt benefited substantially for their services. As they needed to please their employer, they always were sure to interpret Pharaoh’s dreams in the most positive possible manner.

            This time, however, Pharaoh believed that his dreams carried an ominous note. He suddenly needed someone with vision and integrity, who would speak the truth. He could not trust his well-paid employees who always said just the right thing.

            Enter Joseph, summoned from prison. To garner the Pharaoh’s favor, he too could have constructed a positive meaning of the dreams, hoping Pharaoh would release him from prison. Instead, he humbly speaks in God’s name, with complete integrity.

            Pharaoh was thunderstruck. He was so used to hearing the same flattering drivel from those who benefited from the royal payroll, that he never encountered a person like Joseph who was humble and filled with vision and integrity. Joseph was a strikingly refreshing voice in Pharaoh’s court: “And Pharaoh said to his courtiers, ‘Could we find another like him, a man in whom is the spirit of God?’” (Genesis 41:38).

            If this interpretation is correct, the episode resembles a later narrative in the Book of Kings. The wicked King Ahab of the Northern Kingdom wanted to go to war against Aram. He consulted his 400 court prophets, who all knew exactly what the king wanted to hear: “‘March,’ they said, ‘and the Lord will deliver [Aram] into Your Majesty’s hands’” (I Kings 22:6).

The righteous King Jehoshaphat of the South, however, was not deceived by the groupthink of these so-called prophets. Instead, he insisted on finding an independent prophet of God who would speak a true vision. Ahab begrudgingly conceded that there was one true prophet, Micaiah—but Ahab hated him because he always prophesied negatively.

            Sure enough, Micaiah prophesied that Ahab would perish were he to go to war. But the king had a choice—he could heed the prophet and opt not to go to war! Sadly for the wicked King Ahab, he followed his court prophets and perished in that battle.

In our Genesis narrative, Pharaoh was wiser than that. Through his listening to Joseph’s challenging interpretation, Pharaoh rescued his kingdom. Well-paid wise men on Pharaoh’s payroll were unreliable interpreters of critical events. The visionary Joseph, willing to speak a potentially unpopular truth to an all-powerful ruler, prevailed.