National Scholar Updates

My father, of blessed memory, was born and raised in the Mellah of Marrakesh. All of the Moroccan traditions I practice on Sukkot are customs I learned and inherited from him.

Those special Moroccan traditions – which I grew up with and practice to this day – adorn Sukkot with an aesthetic beauty and mystical spirituality all its own.

In my Moroccan tradition, the Lulav is far more than the plain spine of a palm branch. Upon bringing it home from the store, the first thing we do is decorate the Lulav with golden threads or ribbons. This is based on a unique tradition dating back to the Mishnah, where it says “The People of Jerusalem bound their Lulavs with strands of gold” (Mishnah Sukkah 3:8). How did this Jerusalem tradition arrive in Morocco? The simple answer would be that someone from Jerusalem brought it there. I think otherwise. If you’ve ever been to a Moroccan Shabbat dinner and seen how we adorn our tables with a colorful array of foods, it makes sense that we’d be attracted to a tradition that decorates our Lulav! As a child, I loved watching my father decorate my Lulav, but that Moroccan custom now belongs to my Ashkenazi wife Peni, who does it with love and her unique creative flair. 

Fresh from decorating the Lulav, we enter the Sukkah, often with the spool of golden ribbons still in our hands. Bamboo sticks – not palm fronds – sit above our heads. My father taught me that in his family, the Sukkah was treated as more than a temporary dwelling place or dining room. It was a sacred space modeled after the Mishkan (Tabernacle), Judaism’s original portable sanctuary. In that spirit, the décor of our Moroccan Sukkah – a colorful assortment of fabrics and materials – was inspired by the Torah’s commandment to hang in the Mishkan “a curtain made of blue, purple and crimson cloths” (Exodus 26:31). It probably helped that my grandfather sold fabrics for a living! The colorful fabrics are fastened to the Sukkah’s walls with decorative hooks, and the golden ribbons left over from decorating the Lulav help line the fabric adorned walls. Moroccan lanterns made of bronze or copper hang as the Sukkah’s light fixtures. Upon entering my Moroccan Sukkah, I always feel the striking blend of colors and lights exuding a warmth that is at once physical and spiritual.

A special custom practiced by my father’s family was hanging a small “Elijah’s Chair” in the Sukkah. My father’s grandfather was Rabbi Yosef Pinto, a Kabbalist descended from a long line of mystics originally from Spain. Rabbi Pinto taught my father that the reason we hang Elijah’s Chair in the Sukkah is because Elijah the Prophet is the primary teacher of Kabbalah for saintly Moroccan Kabbalists, and on Sukkot, we hope that the spirit of Elijah’s sacred teachings permeates our Sukkah. Perhaps my great-grandfather learned this from Elijah himself?

Elijah’s Chair was decorated with colorful Moroccan pillows, and it was customary to place various special Sukkot-related books on those pillows.

One of these special books is “Hamad Elohim” (God’s Desire), a Sephardic liturgical book devoted entirely to Sukkot.  “Hamad Elohim” was the “official Sukkot book” for my father’s family, and it remains that for my family today. The book is divided into seven sets of Kabbalistic texts read each night, corresponding to the “Seven Ushpizin” – the seven “special guests” (Abraham, Isaac, Jacob, Moses, Aaron, Joseph and David) we invite to our Sukkah. My family welcomes each “special guest” by reading and chanting “Hamad Elohim’s” mystical texts in honor of that night’s guest.

I have fond memories of sitting with my father and reading from his “Hamad Elohim” every night of Sukkot. The pages radiated a unique aura of spirituality, and my father’s sweet chanting animated every sentence on the page. Reading “Hamad Elohim” with my father transported me back to the Sukkot of his upbringing in Marrakech, but it also helped bring the beautiful Moroccan customs from this book into my own Jewish life here in America.

One of those special customs is the “Tikkun Leil Hoshana Rabah,” the all-night Torah study and celebration on the last night of Sukkot. Inspired by the Talmudic description of Hoshana Rabah as an all-night celebration in the Temple in Jerusalem, the Kabbalists turned this last night of Sukkot into a beautiful all night event in the Sukkah. My father’s family hosted the “Tikkun Leil Hoshana Rabah” in their Sukkah for his community in Marrakesh. His description of the evening included a dazzling array of sweet pastries, fresh and dried fruits, and lots of Moroccan Mint Tea with Nana. Of course, there was the presence and Torah teachings of his grandfather, Rabbi Yosef Pinto.

While my upbringing in America and the Sukkah in my own family life lacked the presence of my saintly great-grandfather, we continue to study Torah and eat delicious Moroccan pastries in the Sukkah on Hoshana Rabah. 

My father’s favorite Sukkot song was “Sukkah Ve-Lulav,” a Kabbalistic poem composed in Meknes, Morocco by Rabbi Moshe Adahan in the 18th century. With its rhythmic stanzas and joyous tunes, “Sukkah Ve-Lulav” expresses our ultimate state of happiness in observing this beautiful holiday. “Let Israel rejoice in the shade of God’s Sukkah,” we sing, and “Happy are the pure of heart who set their intentions on the secret essence of the Lulav and its accompanying species.” 

In January 1993, one week after Peni and I got married, my father gave us a special gift – his “Hamad Elohim” Sukkot book from Morocco. In the personal inscription, written in a beautiful Hebrew, my father wrote to us: “This copy of Hamad Elohim belonged to my beloved father Shalom Bouskila of blessed memory. I’ve held onto this book for forty years, and I now hope that you will hold onto it for many more years, using it every year on Sukkot. May the Seven Ushpizin always protect you.” 

Our kids grew up with my father’s “Hamad Elohim” in our Sukkah, along with all of his family’s beautiful Moroccan Sukkot traditions. 

I’m proud that we’ve kept these beautiful traditions alive, and look forward to the day when we will inscribe something in our “Hamad Elohim” and pass it on to our kids.

In the spirit of Sukkot, that brings me tremendous joy.

A Special Memorial Tribute to Rabbi ben Zion Meir Hai Uziel z"l (teacher and Rabbi Abraham Shalem z"l (student)

(in observance of their anios/memorials)

Angel for Shabbat

Thoughts on Parashat Haazinu

by Rabbi Marc D. Angel

The Haazinu poem is Moses' admonition to the people of Israel, recited to them shortly before his death. In the second verse, he uses the imagery of rain to symbolize his hope that his teachings will sink into the people and be beneficial to them.

Rabbi Haim David Halevy, late Sephardic Chief Rabbi of Tel-Aviv, commented on the significance of rain in religious imagery. Rain is vital for the growth of crops and vegetation. Yet, for the rain to be most effective, it is necessary for the soil first to be cultivated and that seeds be planted. In such a field, the rain leads to abundant produce. When rain falls on fallow, uncultivated fields, it does not result in optimal results. Likewise, wrote Rabbi Halevy, with "spiritual rain". Those who are most receptive and spiritually cultivated derive far more benefit from Torah than those who remain "fallow". For us to derive maximum spiritual satisfaction, we need to study Torah, observe the mitzvoth, and thereby attain higher levels of spirituality. If we don't prepare ourselves to receive the spirit of Torah, its "rain" may produce weeds and thistles. Nonetheless, the power of Torah is such that it can provide blessing even to the uncultivated.

The 19th century Hassidic Rebbe Simha Bunim observed that the holy words of Torah are compared to rain. The effects of rain may not be immediately evident since it may take weeks for the crops and vegetation to grow. Likewise, the words of Torah may not seem to make an immediate impact on the listener. Yet, like rain, it seeps in and does its beneficial work. Even if it seems that the words of Torah have little or no influence, yet in the course of time these words sink in and help one attain greater spiritual insight and happiness.

On Shemini Hag Atsereth, which we will be observing very soon, we have a special prayer for rain, asking God to grant blessed rainfall so that there will be abundance and prosperity in our world. Just as we pray for the physical rain to sustain our physical lives, so we should keep in mind to pray for the "spiritual rain" that will sustain our spiritual lives.

Thoughts on Parashat Haazinu

by Max Nussbaum

(Max Nussbaum is a Shana Bet student at Yeshivat Reishit in Beit Shemesh, Israel. He plans to continue his studies at Baruch College upon his return to New York City.)

The third Pasuk of Ha’azinu states “When I call out the name of the Lord, ascribe greatness to our God.” In Masekhet Berakhot, on Daf 21a, this Pasuk is brought as a source for Birkat HaTorah, the blessing we say everyday shortly after we wake up, before we learn Torah. The Gemara lists Birkat HaTorah as one of the two blessings that are obligatory by Torah law; the other one is Birkat HaMazon. (The other blessings are obligatory by rabbinic law.)

We know that Birkat HaTorah is said before we actually learn, but with Birkat HaMazon, the blessing is said after we eat. Why aren’t they both said before or both said after-- shouldn’t they be the same?

Before we eat, we are overwhelmed with gratitude to Hashem because we are hungry and want to eat. It’s obvious that we should ask permission and thank Hashem before we eat. After eating, it’s more likely that we forget to thank Hashem for the food we just had. That’s why we say Birkat HaMazon after we eat. Birkat HaTorah is the opposite; it’s very easy to thank Hashem after we learn because it is such an enjoyable experience. It’s very hard to get the motivation to start learning, that’s why we say the blessing before. It’s supposed to get us excited to start learning.

There is an important comparison to be made between these two blessings. Torah and food are both a major part of daily life and they share the same result in that they both satisfy us. Food satisfies us physically, and Torah satisfies us spiritually. We can’t have too much of one without the other or else we wouldn’t be able to function properly. If we learn too much without eating, we will lose strength. If we eat too much without learning, we might forget that everything comes from Hashem.

Both of these berakhot are important, recognizing that we are grateful to Hashem for the physical and spiritual blessings with which He endows us.

Is it proper for one to be overly familiar and casual with his/her parents?

 Jewish law and tradition emphasize the honor and respect due to parents. Being overly familiar and casual with parents e.g. calling them by their first names, is a breach in proper conduct.

When I grew up among the Sephardim of Seattle, it was expected that children would not only act respectfully to parents, but that we would be deferential to elders and teachers.  The traditional societal structure encouraged a hierarchical system, where the younger generations were imbued with a sense of respect for the older generations. We were not “equals.”

As time has moved on, there has been an increasing societal pressure toward “egalitarianism,” where the traditional hierarchies have been challenged. We now find children addressing parents, teachers and elders by their first names. This isn’t only about names; it’s about an attitude: we are all basically equal, and no one has to defer to anyone else.  While some loosening of the old hierarchical system has positive value, too much loosening leads to an erosion of respect for authority in general.

For a family—and society—to function optimally, it is vital for children and parents to enjoy positive and warm relationships. Austere and authoritarian parenting is not in the best interest of either parents or children. But neither is overly casual and informal parenting to be desired.

Maintaining a proper balance is not always easy…but it is the best way of fostering healthy families and a healthy society.

Is it proper for a husband/father or wife/mother to leave their family for an extended period of time (say, over a month)?

Ideally, parents and children should live happily and peacefully in harmonious households. Extended separations from family are generally not in the best interest of the parties involved.

But we don’t live in an ideal world, and various non-ideal situations arise that may necessitate separations from the family unit. It sometimes happens that one must travel on extended business trips in order to maintain family financial health. While it would be nice to earn a living without having to travel, not everyone can manage this.

In unfortunate cases of physical or emotional abuse, it may be necessary for the victim to separate from the abuser until the situation can be ameliorated. Separation in extreme cases is not only proper, but absolutely necessary.

It is best to follow the advice of Hillel, as recorded in the Pirkei Avot: Don’t judge others until you find yourself in their same situation.

Is it proper to give an aliya to one who has a seiruv issued against them by a reputable beit din?

And generally how should one interact with such a person?

When issued a summons by a reputable beth din, one is obligated to show up. If the beth din ultimately issues a seiruv, the person should face communal disapproval unless there is good reason behind the refusal to appear. Each case needs to be evaluated on its own merits.

When it comes to the area of gittin, a “get” should never be used as a bargaining chip. Once a marriage has broken up, both husband and wife must arrange for a “get” promptly. Their issues of contention over children or property should be settled in a beth din or civil court.

A man who is summoned by a reputable beth din to issue a “get” must comply. If he refuses and the beth din issues a “seiruv,” the man should be treated as though in “herem.” He certainly should not be given an Aliyah or any communal honor. In my view, he should not even be allowed into a synagogue. He should be shunned in business and avoided socially.

It is especially painful to learn of men who attempt to extort money from their wife or her family before agreeing to give a “get.” Such reprehensible behavior not only reflects on the corrupt nature of the man, but casts discredit on the halakhic system that allows or tolerates such corruption.

The “agunah” problem could be ameliorated if all couples are required to sign a binding pre-nuptial agreement that stipulates that both parties will agree to a “get” if, Heaven forbid, the marriage ends in divorce. A recalcitrant party will face heavy and expensive penalties. There are halakhically approved pre-nuptial agreements available from the Rabbinical Council of America and other responsible rabbinic groups.

If you have children of marriageable age, please make sure they insist on a pre-nuptial agreement before their wedding. Much suffering could be avoided if proper precautions are taken early.

 Is it proper to spend time on social media?

Assuming we live to age 90 and sleep an average of 8 hours per night, we spend 30 years of our lives asleep. We spend many additional years at work; and other years on our basic bodily needs, waiting on lines, shopping, going to the doctor and dentist, dealing with illness etc. If we spend one hour a day watching television or on social media, that’s another 1/24th of our lives gone.

Time is our most precious commodity. It is limited and irreplaceable. If we keep this in mind, we will be very careful in how we utilize the time that the Almighty grants us.

Having said this, it is important for each person to decide for him/herself how much time to devote to social media. In many cases, people use social media to stay in touch with family and friends who live far from each other. Without this means of communication, these relationships would suffer. In other cases, people turn to social media to keep up with news, communal events, and items of general interest.

While each person should not squander precious time by overusing social media, neither should anyone decide what is or isn’t proper for anyone else. Each person has the right—and responsibility—to use his and her time in the way that seems best in their personal judgment.

Shalom uvrakha to members and friends of the Institute for Jewish Ideas and Ideals.

We hope that you and your loved ones are in good health and that you are coping as well as possible with the Covid 19 crisis. Unfortunately, the Covid pandemic is still raging and the upcoming High Holy Days will surely be impacted by various Covid restrictions. We pray that the pandemic will soon be brought completely under control.

As we approach Rosh Hashana and Yom Kippur, we turn to you for your support. Our Institute is a strong--and sometimes lonely--voice for an intellectually vibrant, compassionate and inclusive Orthodox Judaism.  We reach many thousands of people through our website, youtube channel, zoom classes, online learning, University Network, Sephardic Initiative, Educators' Resources Group...and our journal, Conversations. 

We need your help in order to maintain and strengthen our Institute. Each gift, large or small, is a vote for the ideas and ideals for which the Institute stands. You may contribute on our website jewishideas.org; or you may send your check to Institute for Jewish Ideas and Ideals, 2 West 70th Street, New York, NY 10023. 

I wish you, your families and loved ones all the best for the upcoming New Year. May we all be blessed with good health, happiness, and redemption from this period of crisis. Tizku leShanim Rabbot. Thank you.

Rabbi Marc D. Angel, Director, Institute for Jewish Ideas and Ideals

In Parashat Vayeilekh, the fourth aliyah seems to be out of place. The beginning of the Parasha is about Moshe preparing B'nei Yisrael to enter Israel without him, and telling them that Yehoshua will be their new leader. All of a sudden, Moshe introduces a new commandment to them, the commandant of Hakhel. In Devarim 31:10-13, Moshe describes this mitzvah. Every seventh year on Succot, all of B'nei Yisrael should go to the place that Hashem will choose and listen to the Torah so that they will fear Hashem. 

There are a few glaring questions: why does Moshe randomly tell B'nei Yisrael this new Mitzvah when they are about to enter Israel? What does Sehmitah have to do with this? How will reading the Torah make us fear Hashem?

In order to fully understand this problem, we need to answer these questions in reverse order. Why will hearing the Torah make B'nei Yisrael fear Hashem? Because all of B'nei Yisrael gathered together should remind us of Har Sinai. The events at Har Sinai created our relationship with Hashem, which involves fear. There’s only one problem with this answer. At Har Sinai, there was thunder and lightning so of course we were scared! 

This is where Shemitah comes in. To an ordinary person, Shemitah sounds very strange. We should take a whole year to not work the fields? How are we going to make money or get food! Fulfilling the commandment of Shemitah requires the utmost fear of and reliance on Hashem. Hakhel is essentially recreating this historic moment to renew our relationship with Hashem. So when B'nei Yisrael are gathered all together and hear the Torah at the end of the Shemitah year, they have two big reminders of why we should fear Hashem while they hear the Torah. Obviously this gathering won’t be as dramatic as Har Sinai itself, but it will have a similar outcome.

Now to the last and most troubling question: why did Moshe mention this now just before his death? Moshe mentioned this now because B'nei Yisrael’s lives were about to be transformed by losing Moshe, who was the living reminder of their connection to Hashem. Once gone, B'nei Yisrael might not take their relationship with Hashem as seriously. This Mitzvah is actually the perfect exit speech for Moshe since it was meant to remind B'nei Yisrael of Har Sinai. With this taste of the most important moment in Jewish History, B'nei Yisrael would maintain their relationship with Hashem.  Moshe needed to tell them this Mitzvah now so that they stay connected in the future when he would no longer be with them. Another crucial factor of this Mitzvah is to continue it in the future for the coming generations to get that same taste of Har Sinai as inspiration to have a special relationship with Hashem and fulfill his commandments.

I heard this Dvar Torah from Ami Silver who works for Aleph Beta.

   When Albert Einstein was a little boy, his father showed him a compass. The needle pointed north no matter which way Einstein turned the compass around. This amazed the child. In his autobiography published in 1949, Einstein recalls his feelings on that occasion. “The needle behaved in such a determined way and did not fit into the usual explanation of how the world works. That is that you must touch something to move it. I still remember now, or I believe that I remember, that this experience made a deep and lasting impression on me. There must be something deeply hidden behind everything.”

     But more than his amazement about the compass, Einstein gained another insight. “Why do we come, sometimes spontaneously, to wonder about something? I think that wondering to one’s self occurs when an experience conflicts with our fixed ways of seeing the world.”

     Albert Einstein (1879-1955) was one of humanity’s greatest geniuses, a man whose mind plumbed the depths of universe. But his greatness transcended his being gifted with an extraordinary IQ: he had imagination; he wondered about things; he let his mind drift in new and unexpected pathways. He remarked: “Imagination is more important than knowledge. Knowledge is limited. Imagination encircles the world” (Einstein on Cosmic Religion, p. 97).

     Einstein believed that the sense of wonder is an essential foundation for human creativity. “The fairest thing we can experience is the mysterious. It is the fundamental emotion which stands at the cradle of true art and true science. He who knows it not and can no longer wonder, no longer feel amazement, is as good as dead, a snuffed-out candle” (The World as I See It, p. 7). In one of his famous aphorisms, he asserted: “There are only two ways to live your life. One is as though nothing is a miracle. The other is as though everything is a miracle.”

     Although Einstein was a deeply religious man, but in his own sense of the word “religion.”  He believed in a cosmic religious sense. “This is hard to make clear to those who do not experience it, since it does not involve an anthropomorphic ideas of God; the individual feels the vanity of human desires and aims, and the nobility and marvelous order which are revealed in nature and in the world of thought” (Einstein on Cosmic Religion, p. 48). He did not subscribe to the classic dogmas and rituals of religion, but was drawn to a cosmic God who is manifested in the awesome orderliness and vastness of nature. “The basis of all scientific work is the conviction that the world is an ordered and comprehensive entity, which is a religious sentiment. My religious feeling is a humble amazement at the order revealed in the small patch of reality to which our feeble intelligence is equal” (Ibid., p. 98). He was convinced that “the cosmic religious experience is the strongest and noblest driving force behind scientific research. The only deeply religious people of our largely materialistic are the earnest men of research” (Ibid. pp. 52, 54).

     He described his own understanding of religiosity: “A knowledge of the existence of something we cannot penetrate, of the manifestations of the profoundest reason and the most radiant beauty, which are only accessible to our reason in their most elementary forms—it is this knowledge and this emotion that constitute the truly religious attitude; in this sense, and in this alone, I am a deeply religious man” (The World as I See It, p. 7).

     Einstein, while proud of his Jewish identity, was not particularly observant of Jewish religious traditions. His religious focus remained “cosmic,” not particularistic. He tended to view Judaism (and “organized” religion in general) as being bogged down in dogmas and rituals, not centered on cosmic religion. Einstein’s cosmic religious sense infused his scientific work.

     His papers on general and special relativity led to a dramatic revolution in scientific thought. In 1922 he was awarded the Nobel Prize for his work in physics.

     When Hitler came to power, Einstein realized there was no future for Jews in Germany. He settled in the United States, and was appointed head of the Institute for Advanced Study at Princeton University. While philosophically aligned with pacifism, he played a significant role in having the United States develop atomic weapons.

     Along with his intellectual and scientific work, Einstein was famous for his advocacy of ethics, social justice, and human rights. He identified with the Zionist movement, which offered Jews the possibility of living in their own land of Israel. Given the prevalence of anti-Semitism, he understood that Jews needed a safe haven where they could live as dignified and free human beings. He lent his name to the establishment of the Hebrew University in Jerusalem, and was hopeful that the Jewish return to their ancient homeland would usher in a new era of Jewish creativity.

     He became a member of the National Association for the Advancement of Colored People, and campaigned for the civil rights movement in America. In 1946, Einstein was awarded an honorary degree by Lincoln University in Pennsylvania—a historically black college. In his address on that occasion, he spoke about the scourge of racism in America, stating that “I do not intend to be quiet about it.” And he wasn’t.

     He viewed his Jewishness as a foundation of his humanitarian outlook.  He noted: “The pursuit of knowledge for its own sake, an almost fanatical love of justice, and the desire for personal independence—these are the features of the Jewish tradition which make me thank my stars that I belong to it” (The World as I See It, p. 103).  He believed that “the bond that has united the Jews for thousands of years and that unites them today is, above all, the democratic ideal of social justice, coupled with the ideal of mutual ad and tolerance among all men” (Ideas and Opinions, p. 195).

     While stressing the long-standing Jewish commitment to social justice, Einstein lamented the general moral decay which he felt was setting into society.  “One misses the elementary reaction against injustice and for justice—that reaction which in the long run represents man’s only protection against a relapse into barbarism” (Out of My Later Years, p. 10). He felt that technological advances gave humans great powers—but that if these powers were misused, then catastrophe would ensue. He was optimistic that humanity had the ability to achieve a better world. “If we desire sincerely and passionately the safety, the welfare and the free development of the talents of all men, we shall not be in want of the means to approach such a state” (Ibid., p. 113).

     Einstein sought a Grand Unified Theory that would explain the workings of the universe in a comprehensive way. He was convinced of the ultimate orderliness and unity of nature. In spite of his mighty brain and his tremendous efforts, he was unable to achieve his goal. But he pointed the way for others who would continue the search.

                                                                   *     *     *

            When I was a student at Yeshiva College, I wanted to gain an understanding of Einstein’s theories of relativity so I enrolled in a philosophy of science class. The professor was excellent; the readings were enlightening; the assignments were challenging. I was a diligent student—but I was unable to fully grasp Einstein’s theories.

            In the process of my readings for the class, I came across a passage from Einstein that was more important to me than my failed efforts to understand relativity. The passage reflected Einstein’s genius, humility, and ultimate optimism. “Our lives are so small that we are too often in our solitude like children crying in the dark. Nevertheless our little solitude is a great and august solitude in which we can contemplate things that are greater than mankind.”

            And if that is all that I learned from the class, I have no complaints.

References:

Einstein On Cosmic Religion and Other Opinions and Aphorisms, Dover Publications, Mineola, 2009.

Essays in Humanism, Philosophical Library, New York, 1978.

Ideas and Opinions, Three Rivers Press, New York, 1954.

Out of My Later Years, Citadel Press, Secaucus, 1956.

The World as I See It, Citadel Press, New York, 2006.

LeSHA: Lemida Sh’Goreret Ahava

Learning that Leads to Love

When a Jewish Day School educator seeks inspiration from the tradition to inform their practice they are able to find numerous texts and frameworks in the areas of Hevruta study and the role of the teacher.  However, texts which describe “group work scenarios” or the role of the “classroom community” are seldom found in the Torah, Rabbinic literature. Similarly, in the classic textbooks and curriculum in the field of Jewish education, there are few materials that discuss the purpose of learning that happens in group settings.

Aligned with trends in secular educational philosophy, the mode of teaching in Jewish Day Schools is often centered around the classroom learning community (a student-led approach where all students are contributing to the classroom community in a decentralized mode) or small groups which most often range from three to five students. In the world of education, group work has been praised for its ability to foster collaborative skills, build emotional intelligence and simulate real world situations where students often have to negotiate a number of priorities and interests.

Challenged by the M2 Pedagogies Fellowship^[1], I worked to construct a pedagogy for group work that was inherently Jewish. I was trying to avoid a common strategy that Jewish educators take where they align themselves with a contemporary trend in secular education and use a verse or value from the Jewish tradition to support the trend. Rather, I spent time deeply contemplating the purpose of learning and the purpose of a learning community. My pedagogy, “LeSHA” (Learning that leads to love) is largely inspired by a specific read of revelation on Mount Sinai that is embedded with a worldview of Ahavat Israel that is pervasive in the writings of North African and Middle Eastern Rabbis.

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Learning that leads to love is a pedagogy that utilizes educational experiences to cultivate love between students in a Jewish classroom. A teaching approach that is rooted in LeSHA believes that loving relationships between learners is a primary vehicle for deepening the acquisition of Torah. Similarly, this teaching approach believes that the act of acquisition of Torah was designed primarily to cultivate loving relationships between all members of Am Yisrael regardless of their backgrounds, practices or beliefs. The purpose of this pedagogy is to see the classroom and Torah learning as a laboratory for Ahavat Israel outside of the classroom. This pedagogy seeks to decrease strife, hatred and apathy and to increase love, empathy and knowledge of the other within Am Yisrael. This work is timely as educators are seeking tools, language and frameworks to cultivate deeper understandings between diverse groups of Jewish individuals. The Jewish educational world is filled with wonderful tools that have been adopted from the secular world of diversity, equity and inclusion, however, there is a approach within the Jewish tradition that sees the fulfillment of the mitzvah of Ahavat Israel as specifically focused on cultivating love between radically different types of Jews through the study of Torah.

Young students encounter the notion of “love” in a variety of disconnected contexts. Parental and familial love is, hopefully, expressed verbally, physically and materially on a regular basis in healthy households. Children are socialized to develop love towards objects they are fond of including stuffed animals and toys, physical settings or experiences.^[2] As students get older and are potentially exposed to developmentally appropriate storytelling they may encounter other romantic notions of love (Disney films or other traditional children’s stories). Children’s stories and films are replete with storylines that focus on friendships that develop between different individuals but it is unclear whether that friendship can be characterized as love or whether it has elements of loving others within the context of belonging to the same nation/people.

In a Jewish elementary school, students will often encounter three concepts of love in the Jewish tradition. The first is the notion of loving G-d which students often encounter as they learn to recite and understand the Shemah. Students will also likely encounter the notion of loving their fellow as themselves “VeAhavta LeReacha Kamocha” and they may evaluate the importance of treating others as they would like to be treated. Lastly, students may encounter interpersonal love in the stories of the Tanakh as they read about the love that Avraham had for Isaac or that Jacob had for Rachel.

Teaching students how to love Am Yisrael is not a natural next step from these foundational encounters with love. As noted in the introduction to the curricular guide on the concept of Ahavat Israel (ed. Bernshteyn, Eitan and Shalit) designed for national religious schools in Israel:

B: Am Israel as a singular unit

My pedagogy is built on a particular tradition that identifies Ahavat Israel as the promotion of a worldview of unity. Pervasive in the writings of North African Rabbis in the 19th and 20th century and the founders of the Hasidic movement, is an approach to Ahavat Israel that emphasizes the importance of loving those who are different from you (see appendix for a full list of sources).  At a foundational level, it appears that North African Rabbis believed in a relationship between Matan Torah, Achdut (unity) and Ahavat Ha-acher (loving the “other”). One of the most quoted psukim referenced by North African Rabbi’s who write about Ahavat Israel is the description of Bnei Israel before they received the Torah:

שמות י׳׳ט:ב

Numerous commentaries as early as the Mekhilta and including Rashi, noted the shift from the plural use of encamped (Vayahanu) in the wilderness to the singular use of the verb encamped (Vayihan) there in front of the mountain. As Haham David Kadosh (Marakkech, Morocco 20th century), writes: 

לב דוד- כרך א', עמוד צ"ח

Haham David Kadosh is not the only Rabbi who draws a connection between this pasuk and the value of Ahavat Israel. Hakham Shlomo Uzan (19th century, Tunis) elaborated on this verse and established the connection between love, Torah and the interdependence of the Jewish people:

יריעות שלמה, עמ' ל"ח ב

Haham Uzan articulates an idea that is particularly useful for the pedagogy in this paper. We need to cultivate a mindset that we need each other in order to make the Torah complete. We need to feel a sense of unity with those who are different from us because individuals who are different have the ability to fulfill mitzvot that not every individual can fulfill.

Although not from North Africa, Haham Hayim Kesar (20th century, Yemen) specifically links this pasuk to the study of Torah.

קיץ המזבח, עמ' ל"ח

Rabbinic writings throughout the modern era from across the globe acknowledge the importance of regarding the Jewish people as a singular body or a singular unit that is only complete if an affective shift occurs in the minds and hearts of Jewish individuals. For example, Shneur Zalman of Liady (The Alter Rebbe) the founder of Chabad writes the following about the value of Ahavat Israel.

, ליקוטי תורה פרשת ניצבים, ד"ה "אתם ניצבים"

Another wonderful example of this worldview is expressed by Haham Yaakov Gedisha from the Island of Djerba in Tunisia in his commentary on Masechet Meila.

מעיל יעקב בתוך 'בכור יעקב', עמ' ב

In summary, there is a well established worldview, theology and belief that sees Kinyan Torah as intricately related to the value of Ahavat Israel. In the North African tradition, this belief was specifically extended to a proactive approach by Rabbis to ensure that seemingly more pious members of the community would see their fate as being intertwined with non observant members of their community (see appendix for more sources). The fact that this idea is so pervasive in writings, reflects a reality that divisiveness existed within the communities and that it was a priority for rabbis and other leaders in the community to ensure that unity existed and a sense of interdependence existed. As we move into the next section, adapting this worldview to an educational context implies that heterogeneity is necessary in Jewish learning environments as different personalities, observance levels, abilities, skills and beliefs help us acquire a more complete Torah.

As we zoom in on how this worldview applies to formal learning environments one of the earliest statements that hints at a more inclusive and heterogenous learning environment can be found in Avot D’Rabbi Natan. It appears that during the period of the Zugot there existed two answers to the question of “who belonged” in the academy. According to Beit Shamai, the only learners who belonged were wise students and the children of wealthy parents. According to Beit Hillel, everyone was welcome in the academy. To support this belief, Beit Hillel argues that many criminals and violators of Torah precepts became great Torah scholars.

אבות דרבי נתן

Perhaps one of the more interesting examples supporting heterogeneous learning environments comes from 20th century Morocco. In a Responsa from the turn of the century, Haham Shlomo Ibn Danan in Fez shares a question he received from a parent of a school aged student.

אשר לשלמה, שו"ת לרבי שלמה אבן דנאן, סימן סג

As a Head of School in the 21st century I can say that this conversation could just as easily take place today in any part of the Jewish world. The father is justifiably upset that his son spent an entire day “not learning anything new”. He is frustrated that due to there being a new child in the class, his son did not learn any new content. And what can we say about this educator? What values did he hold? He decided that for the sake of a new student he would not teach anything new until the new student understood what was happening. Was he trying to teach the rest of the class a lesson?

Haham Ibn Danan’s response is fascinating. In his extensive ruling he argues that the educator did nothing wrong. His multi pronged response includes a rationale that the students who already knew the Gemara could also learn from hearing the content being taught again. He also argues that their hearts will expand as they encounter a teacher slowing down to bring a new student up to speed. But perhaps most fascinating is Ibn Danan’s quotation of a Midrash on how the Oral Law was taught to Moshe, Aharon and his sons and the elders.

Eruvin 54b                                                                                                                   

The concept of love or Ahavat Israel does not appear, but this Baraita does add an important layer to our worldview. According to our tradition, the first Jews to hear the Oral Torah learned it four times. Surely, Aharon could have been a disengaged learner as he heard the same lesson the third or fourth time. This Baraita however is trying to convey something valuable about learning in heterogeneous learning environments. We grow in our understanding of Torah as we encounter others who learn in different ways. We develop empathy for different learners. We grow to love Torah and all of Israel as we serve as witnesses to their learning of Torah.

A pedagogy of Ahavat Israel has a number of practices associated with it.

• A pedagogy of Ahavat Israel means that all students are welcome in a Jewish studies classroom regardless of their socio-economic status, learning needs, ethnic or religious background
• A pedagogy of Ahavat Israel tries to expand students' knowledge and experience of different Jewish customs, rituals from across the globe. Understood in this practice is that Jews need to expand their horizons of what is Jewish to appreciate all Jews. Additionally, the more expansive students' knowledge is of different Jewish practices, the deeper their appreciation of Torah will be.^[4]
• A pedagogy of Ahavat Israel shifts a conversation from discipline in the classroom to a conversation of empathy and understanding. Teachers are encouraged to model Rahamim towards their students. Teachers are trained to see the complete world and context of a student. Instead of seeing a student as bothersome in the classroom, ^[5]they are concerned with what needs are not being addressed.^[6]
• A pedagogy of Ahavat Israel utilizes heterogeneous groupings of students (group work) to shift the goals of classwork from an individualistic content driven approach to a collaborative and reflective mode that has a primary goal of deepening loving relationships between different classmates.

What might group work look like within the model of LeSHA? How can we  model what Ahavat Israel looks like in a specific classroom situation? Returning briefly to the Responsa from Haham Ibn Danan, it describes a parent frustrated by their students reporting that they did not learn due to the teacher “slowing down the lesson for the slower student”.

An abundance of scholarship supports the notion that tracking is not an effective long term strategy in elementary schools. Further, it seems that more damage is caused, especially for learners tracked in the non-advanced classes. Extensive educational research has been conducted into group work in general. Johnson and Johnson (1997) articulated a three pronged structure for group learning experiences: competitive, individualized and cooperative. “A learning experience specifies the type of interdependence existing among students- the way in which students will relate to each other and the teacher.”. Often, in my experience as an educator, educational leader and administrator, there is often not a great deal of thought put into the outcomes of group work other than the fact that it is an alternative to individualized work. Teachers often assign a group a singular task meaning that the entire group needs to produce one final product reflecting their learning.

For more on group work see Appendix Sources 1, 2 and 7.

What if we reimagined “group work” within the pedagogy of LeSHA? What if the goal of classwork was not to facilitate the highest possible level of learning for each student but rather to facilitate love between students in a Jewish community? What if our goal was to cross the line of comprehension as one group? Or, stand under the mountain together?

This pedagogy argues that teachers and educators need to be thoughtful about the arrangement of heterogeneous learning groups in order to cultivate loving relationships between Jewish learners. Teachers should act as architects of groups where every single student has a purpose and where the vision of the Rabbi’s (cited in section 2), can come to fruition in helping students understand that their work is incomplete without their group members. Below is a multipronged guide to conducting group work that cultivates Ahavat Israel.

• Discover students strengths and gifts: To purposefully cultivate Ahavat Israel, teachers need to understand every student's gifts and strengths. Therefore, an active experimental stage where students try on different tasks that are carefully observed by the teacher in the first weeks and months of school is necessary. Teachers need to understand which students help lead, disrupt, innovate, create, abstract or question. Teachers need to know the skill sets and talents of each student. Are there exceptional writers, artists, builders, designers, singers or athletes in the class? Teachers need to take inventory of strengths and traits before creating highly intentional group work.
• Curate groups based on strengths: Students need to be placed in diverse groups that create feelings of interdependence and mutual needs.
• Pair diverse groupings with group outcomes that play to the strengths of each student: Teachers should create projects where students need to rely on each other's strengths to succeed. For example, what if students worked in groupings where every single student needed to create four models of Revelation at Sinai represented through four mediums (art, literature, model design and interpretation) and each student in a group was charged with leading the other members in the dimension that they felt strongest in.
• Groups should be long term relationships: Groupings of students should be long term in order for love to be developed between students. As such, teachers should be prepared that the relationships between group members may have ups and downs and might need guidance and support from the educators in the room.
• Put a premium on reflection: Teachers need to prioritize reflection in order to cultivate love among students. Teachers can model reflecting to students by showing that they value the contributions of each student. Students can successfully demonstrate love by reflecting on long term group members and their contributions to their own learning. Reflection can create a culture where everyone is valued.
• Utilize students as peer teachers: When students are encouraged to teach other students in the classroom, they deepen their understanding of the content. Students learn to love by feeling responsible for their peers. Undoubtedly this approach needs the support of parents and the emotional resilience of students.

I have attempted to reclaim what group work could look like if it was created in the authentic spirit of the Jewish tradition. When I observe classrooms, one of the first things I notice is how students are arranged.

These two images are sourced from a popular teaching manual, “The Skillful Teacher”. Each of the images reflects a different worldview, however the commonality between both of these arrangements is the place of the teacher. In my observations, I realized that classes are set up so that the default arrangement is the teacher delivering content to the class. Whether students are in clusters or rows, teachers are able to break students out into groups where they turn their attention away from the front of the classroom towards their peers. However, what remains the same is that the students need to return to this arrangement at the beginning and end of class for a set induction or closing reflection.

What would the native orientation to structuring a Jewish learning community be? I don’t know how the Israelites encamped against the mountain, but the best description of an encampment can be found in Parashat Bamidbar.

In reflecting on the arrangement of the tribes in the wilderness there is a marked difference between the classroom arrangements native to our classrooms today. The first thing that jumps out to me in reflecting on the arrangement of the tribes is equality. The tribes are each equidistant from the center of learning and practice (the Mishkan). The Leviim act as intermediaries between the tribes and the Mishkan. Most teachers don’t have four teachers to mediate between learners and the center of content, but nonetheless, the space that exists between the Mishkan and the tribes is equal.

The structure of the classroom brings us to an important feature of LeSHA in how group work is implemented. For the purposes of grounding the difference in a real life example, I want to compare the way a group work project might learn in a traditional classroom environment and a LeSHA environment. For the traditional classroom environment, I have purposefully chosen a cooperative group work project which is the most progressive and aligned with the values with LeSHA.

Reflection is able to happen in the LeSHA model because students' relationships are recognized as the most important outcome of the project. If students are unable to work together and experience respect, love and unity, the project will not be a success.

Appendix

Source 1

Source 2

Source 3

רבי נחמן מברסלב, "שיחות הר"ן" אות כג

Source 4                                                                                                        דברים רבה פרשת עקב

Source 5                                                                        עין לבנון פרוש משנה אבות

Source 6     Complete Responsa of Shlomo Ibn Danan

Source 7

Supporting Cooperative Dialogue in Heterogeneous Classrooms

Van. Dijk 2011

Source 8

חכם אביעד שר שלום באזילה

Source 9

חכם אברהם בושערה

Source 10

אברהם אבוחצירה

Source 11

חכם ציון כהן יונתן

Source 12

הרב קוק

Source 13

חכם משה הזקן מזוז

Source 14

Rabbi Marc Angel- Facing Our Faces- Angel for Shabbat Parashat Terumah

Source 15

On August 29-30, Yeshivat Chovevei Torah will be holding its 19th annual Study Days in Bible and Jewish Thought over Zoom. Our National Scholar, Rabbi Hayyim Angel, will present a class on Sunday evening August 29, from 8:00-9:00pm. The event is co-sponsored by The Institute for Jewish Ideas and Ideals. 

For registration and the full schedule, please see this link:

https://www.jewishideas.org/sites/jewishideas.org/files/YEMEI%20IYUN%202021.pdf

Growing up in a deeply Orthodox home in the immediate shadow on the Holocaust, and being named for my aunt who perished in the gas chambers of Auschwitz, were probably the two determining factors that led me to lead a life of political activism and to establish my unabashedly pro-Israel and pro-American think tank and policy shop in our nation's capital entitled EMET, The Endowment for Middle East Truth.

There is absolutely no question that a strong commitment to a Jewish lifestyle is a necessary precondition for the sense of Jewish identity, Jewish history, and Jewish consciousness that would lead one to take this path. The problem with the emancipation we, as Jews, enjoy to such a great extent in the United States, is that those very freedoms make it so easy for us to blend in, to assimilate , to intermarry, and to forget the struggles of our people to survive. The outside world is not constantly reminding us of our "otherness." Therefore so many Jews in the United States have take the convenient route and simply opted out.

My parents could not afford to send me to a yeshiva or a day school, so I was educated through the public school system. This could have easily had backfired on me. The fact that I had to go to so many birthday parties and not eat the cake, the fact that I was the only child in my grade not allowed to participate in the seductively beautiful Christmas pageants in my elementary school, and that I stayed home from all the Friday night dances in junior high school and high school made me feel distinct and different.

It also made me into somewhat of a fighter.

I was forced not to take my Judaism for granted. But then again, I came perilously close at one point to doing so.

This is not at all a prescription on how to raise one's children, and I took the opposite approach with my own children and raised them with strong Jewish educations.

As an adolescent growing up in the late 1960s and early 1970s, I briefly found myself riding the tidal wave of universalism. I remember distinctly telling a high school friend of mine, with all the arrogance of youth: "All religions create a superficial and arbitrary distinctions between people." I briefly dated a non-Jewish boy.

To be completely honest, it was a good, strong dosage of unadulterated Jewish guilt that kept me on the straight and narrow path. Looking back, from this juncture in my life, I am completely grateful that it did, although, I must say, I wasn't at all at the time.

My parents were very fine people, whom I loved and respected. The thought of ever hurting them was profoundly painful to me.

At the age of eighteen, still being somewhat of a secret, left-wing universalist, I travelled to Israel to study at Hebrew University. The first Friday night there, I walked to the Kotel. In the early 1970s, it wasn’t as safe there as it is now; many perilous things happened to us during that same evening, including some Arabs trying to run us over with a truck, and to force us off a cliff. I still wanted to cling to my universalist tendencies, however, and I remember giving up my only winter coat to the Arab "ozeret" who cleaned our dorm rooms.

However, that year was pivotal to me. I began to realize that our arms weren't long enough to embrace the entire world, and that there was something extraordinarily special about our Jewish peoplehood.

 Having had said this, the Orthodox emphasis on minutiae has been to me both excruciatingly difficult to accept, and has, at the same time, made me aware of how morality can be found in the smallest of acts. I still find myself recoiling over the misplacing of emphasis that some Jews seem to find in trivia and how for a few, this emphasis and the habituation of living a life mitzvoth seems to give them a sense of moral superiority and an exemption from basic acts of morality and civility, or from simple common sense acts of compassion and goodness. (We all know those few who give us all a bad name: those who are meticulous about eating their keZayit of matzah on Pessah, yet cheat on their income taxes.)

Yet that overall predisposition of an awareness of the fact that God and morality can be in the smallest of acts predisposes one towards a general care of one's words and actions, and led me to try to conduct all of my actions with the greatest of care.

I realized early on that blaming Judaism on people who lack the sense of spiritual, intellectual and moral understanding of the big picture would be tantamount to blaming a cognitively deficient person for his inability to grasp higher level, abstract concepts. It would be making what is known in philosophical terms, as a genetic fallacy.

And I also realized early on that to every level of intellectual abstraction, there is a corresponding level of spiritual and moral abstraction.

It is the thread of the collective narrative of our people that is read each week from the Torah that has woven us together as a people, that coupled together with the distinctness of our mitzvah lifestyle have given us an ability to survive and to carve out an ontological space for ourselves. These particular commandments, rituals and halakhic requirements have necessitated a sense of community. It is through this strong sense of community that our collective identity is forged as Jews, and consequently our identification with Jews throughout the world and a particular and overriding concern for the State of Israel.

There is no substitute to role modeling. Hardly a day goes by where I do not remember my deeply religious, deeply modest, brilliant father. His words and his actions were always measured. His life has been a yardstick that I have always used to measure mine up against, and I have come up incredibly short.

It is no accident that I named my think tank EMET while thinking of my father, because he was a living apotheosis of integrity and truthfulness. And the simple truth is what is needed so much now, in this age of moral relativism and political correctness.

Once I embraced our peoplehood and gave up on my adolescent naivety of becoming a universalist, and decided to cast my lot with the Jewish people and the Jewish nation, I saw that there is an egregious double standard with which the world judges our people and the nation of Israel, compared to the rest of the world.

Casting one's lot with the Jewish people has become increasingly difficult, when one straddles the line outside of the comfort zone of the Jewish community. There is a great deal of polite anti-Semitism outside the boundaries of our eruvim and it transcends all societal strata. I have witnessed a tremendous amount of irrational hatred directed against the state of Israel and the Jewish people. It is becoming all too fashionable once again. As the scholar Eliot Cohen says, "The Holocaust bought us 50 years without anti-Semitism, and it is now re-emerging in many forms."

In many ways, we had been living in the Golden Age of American Jewry, which, unfortunately, appears to be on the decline. I have always been deeply troubled by what American Jewry did not do for their brethren in Europe during the Holocaust.

I don't feel that it was a lack of empathy that American Jewry had been confronted with then, but a sense of helplessness and impotence. The majority of American Jews were still a bit "green." They were self-conscious of their accents, of their "otherness." They did not yet feel like they were true Americans. They felt like they were strangers living in someone else's house.

As opposed to those American Jews who were alive during the years leading up to the Holocaust, we not only have access to the corridors of power in this country, we occupy those corridors.

The fact that there was no one here to advocate for my aunt who was killed in the ovens of Auschwitz, together with her infant twin daughters, has left an indelible imprint in my psyche. It is very difficult not to draw the lesson of using everything in our power to advocate for those Jews who find themselves in more vulnerable places around the globe. I call this, borrowing from Emil Fackenheim, the 614th commandment, the moral imperative for political activism.

For many American Jews it is difficult to find the voice to advocate for our people. Many of them live a life of relative comfort here, yet they do not want to stand up for their fellow Jews, whether it means standing up for beleaguered Jews at home, where they are beginning to be confronted with more and more polite anti-Semitism, in places such as many of our nation's college campuses, or for our brothers and sisters in Israel, where they are facing very real, existential threats.

            It is very possible that they might be living in an emancipated world, but many have brought with them the psych of the shivering shtetl Jew. That is why so many Jews would use the moral foundations of Judaism to throw themselves into greater causes of Tikkun Olam that many deem "politically correct," such as environmentalism or health care issues rather than advocate for the fate of our own people.  

I do believe that the challenges facing our people are growing greater and greater with each passing day, and that it is through the sense of Jewish identity that is forged by an observant lifestyle, that one is more likely to feel that distinct sense of peoplehood and that unseverable bond to the destiny of the Jewish people and to the state of Israel. It is only then that one can find the courage to speak the words that must be spoken, the truth about our people's proud history and Israel's proud struggle to survive. Otherwise, it is much easier to simply blend in with the masses and remain mute.