National Scholar Updates

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

   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.

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

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.

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.

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.

When the first baby was born after conception in vitro, the news was extraordinary in ways that bear recalling some thirty years later. Few before then had imagined that human conception had been so distilled to its scientific essence that it could be captured in a test tube. When Steptoe and Edwards announced their stunning accomplishment to a captivated global audience, those listening could only wonder where the new science of in vitro fertilization would take humanity.

That life began in a laboratory was the first breach of a barrier no one thought was up for breaking. Still, they could see with their own eyes the stirring footage, taken in time-lapse through the lens of Edwards’s microscope, which captured the conception of an embryo they already knew as baby Louise Brown. Would babies soon grow entirely outside the womb? Was the human race standing at the precipice of a Brave New World? Our collective wonder gradually was peppered with fears about safety, about the ethics of beginning human life in this way and, not unexpectedly, about the challenges the new technology posed to religious beliefs.   For Torah-observant Jews, IVF would soon be tested through a halakhic lens.

The original techniques of in vitro conception have since morphed into what we know today under the broad rubric of ART: the Assisted Reproductive Technologies. ART currently refers to any number of treatments that involve the surgical removal of eggs and their fertilization outside of the body, with later transfer to the womb. In some ART procedures, embryos are tested for their genetic health prior to transfer. In others sperm, too, must be surgically retrieved. A number of ART procedures involve the use of third parties, be they sperm donors, egg donors or gestational carriers. It is not the purpose of this article to review the halakhic discussions about these various forms of ART. Those discussions have appeared in a variety of venues, including responsa literature and academic publications. (For a more detailed overview see my Overcoming Infertility: A Guide for Jewish Couples. Toby Press, 2005).   Here I will focus, rather, on a fundamental problem that faces Torah-observant physicians and others who care for couples requiring ART to build their families.

There is a dilemma that occurs with some regularity in the field of reproductive medicine which has some implications for how fertility services are delivered to Torah-observant couples. It is a problem that calls into question the personal code of conduct chosen by the health care provider. It arises not from discrepant halakhic decisions that face doctors, but rather from those that confront their patients. 

Below are four situations followed by some questions that will highlight this particularly Jewish fertility dilemma.

*                            *                                  *         

Case #1. A twenty year old woman and her mother consult with a nurse practitioner regarding the young woman’s future family building options. They have come to her because, as a frum nurse, they expect her to be in a position to deal sensitively with their predicament. The patient was diagnosed at birth with Turner Syndrome and, as a result, she has no ovarian function.  (Turner Syndrome is caused by the absence of an X chromosome. Affected girls have a range of phenotypic features but all have “streak ovaries,” which are rudimentary structures that lack eggs. Because there are no eggs, the ovaries do not produce estrogen and, in the absence of hormonal treatment, there is no menstruation.)

The patient has been maintained on hormones to promote normal development and cyclic menses, but she is aware that, with no eggs, she will never be able to have a biological child. She and her mother worry if she will ever be able to find a shidduch.  The nurse practitioner is aware that many Torah-observant couples will avail themselves of egg donation in order to have children. However, as a haredi woman she has chosen to abide by the Kol Koreh, recently issued by gedolim revered in her community, in which egg donation is described as a breach against the holiness of the Jewish people.

Is this nurse practitioner obligated to discuss the option of egg donation with the patient and her mother? Does she explain how it works? Does she need to disclose to them that other haredi women have pursued this path? Need she recommend them to a posek who allows the procedure? Or should she advise them of the official ban on egg donation and refer them to a “special needs” shadchan.

Case #2. A Torah-observant coordinator of a donor program is called upon to recruit a gestational carrier for a woman with Mayer-Rokitansky syndrome, a congenital anomaly that results in failure of the uterus to develop. Her ovaries are normal. She is married and her husband has no reproductive issues. Their only hope for a biological child is for another woman, a gestational carrier, to carry their embryo. The couple’s rabbi has conferred with his own posek and they are allowing the procedure. The donor program coordinator is aware of the halakhic controversies surrounding surrogacy. She is aware that many poskim do not allow gestational surrogacy under any circumstances but that, among those who do, many prefer the carrier to be Jewish. She has discussed this with her own rabbi and believes this is the proper halakhic route. However, this couple’s posek has no preference for a Jewish carrier because he holds the biological parents to be the halakhic parents in all cases. Consistent with this opinion, the couple and their rabbi see no need for future conversion of the child. 

Should the program coordinator recommend that the couple use a Jewish gestational carrier? May she refer them for what she believes would be more appropriate halakhic advice? And what if a suitable Jewish carrier is not available? Should she go ahead and arrange the match or must she recuse herself from the care of the couple?

Case #3. A Torah observant-physician is consulted by a young hasidic couple who failed an attempt at in vitro fertilization. Surgical exploration failed to reveal any sperm. The couple’s posek has told them that there is no halakhic authority who permits donor insemination.  However, the physician knows of gedolei Torah who have permitted it.  Does he or she have an obligation to inform the patients that important relevant information has been withheld from them?

Case #4:  In a different scenario regarding donor insemination, the posek has suggested that the donor be the husband’s brother.  The physician is familiar with the great halakhic controversy surrounding sperm donation but he has performed the procedure many times at the behest of poskim who have referred specific couples.  These poskim, however, have always insisted that the donor be a gentile so that the child  have no halakhic relationship to his or her biological father and therefore need not fear marrying a halakhic half-sibling.  Does the physician refuse to perform the procedure? Does he refer the couple for a second halakhic opinion? Must he consult with his own rabbi regarding the permissibility of acceding to the couple’s wishes?

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With the growing success and utilization of ART, it is not at all surprising that halakhic discussions abound concerning their appropriateness, how and when they should be carried out and under what circumstances couples should avail themselves of ART. Also not surprising is the increasing inclination on the part of some rabbis to become expert in so-called reproductive halakha. It should come as no news to anyone, therefore, that the field has also become the focus of intense interest on the part of Torah-observant physicians, nurses, scientists and other health professionals. Scenarios such as those depicted above, all of which are real, are therefore expected to grow in numbers and complexity as the relatively young field of ART unfolds.

Of course, the discipline of ART is not unique among medical fields in posing to practitioners diverse ethical and halakhic challenges. However, reproductive technologies seem to differ in one respect: the consequences of decisions that patients make impact not only themselves but their children as well. Children who are the successful results of ART eventually will become adults and want to marry within the Torah-observant community. Because halakhic standards within that community differ, however, the halakhic status of many of those adults may also differ. An individual might be considered a kosher Jew, a possible Jew, a mamzer or a gentile depending on how one understands the halakha.  This unresolved (and perhaps irresolvable) issue can weigh heavily on both physicians and patients who are committed to a halakhic life.

Yet the distinction is not as solid as one might think.  Parents often have to make controversial decisions that will affect their children’s lives.  They decide on one medical therapy or another, whether to use cochlear implants or to inoculate with a certain vaccine, for example, or – to use a halakhic example – whether to marry given a controversial decision that a previous marriage had been annulled.  However, that is part of the burden that parents assume when they bring their children into this world.  It is not the physician’s job to make these sorts of decisions for them.  Physicians who are aware of therapies with which they disagree have an obligation to make their patients aware of all available options.  Indeed, this is the way all poskim operate.  Even when one has a definite view on a subject, the questioner is made aware of other positions (and often referred to others who take a more lenient view).

Torah-observant physicians who are entrusted to provide health care must not confuse their own commitment to a specific halakhic position with their professional obligation to provide appropriate care for their patients. Were this not so, one could envision a scenario where reproductive specialists would offer ART services only for couples whose circumstances qualify for halakhic sanction as interpreted by their providers’ individual beliefs. Non-Jews would presumably be exempt from halakhic scrutiny and therefore eligible for the full range of ART services. Aside from being morally tenuous, this would open up ART providers to complaints of discrimination. Clearly, this cannot work.

            *                                  *                                  *

Fundamental to the physician’s role is the ethical responsibility to heal the sick. While it might be argued that individuals with infertility are not sick, as one would traditionally understand the word, every learned Jew understands from the stories of barrenness threaded within Tanakh that infertility is an affliction no less serious than any other physical ailment. The Talmud goes as far as to say that akar hashuv kemeit: one who has no children is as good as dead. Accordingly, the obligation of physicians and other health care workers who treat infertile couples is to heal them, not to be their religious counselors.

One need look no further than the Oath of Maimonides, which many Jewish physicians take upon graduating from medical training, to answer this dilemma. It itself is not a halakhic text, but it succinctly captures the ethos of the halakhic approach to healing.  In it we ask our Supreme God to allow us the “merit to see any who suffers and seeks my counsel as a person, without a difference if he is rich or poor, friend or foe, good or bad – in his suffering let me see only the person.” It is interesting that the Oath does not invoke love of God or Torah as the inspiration for the physician’s work. That would be understood if not uttered. Instead, it invokes a different allegiance. “May my love for the medical canon [torat harefuah] strengthen my spirit and may truth alone be my guide.” 

The obligation of the caregiver is to use the tools of medicine to heal. To the extent that faith and halakhic observance are tools to cure infertility, they belong more in the province of the rabbi than the doctor. The separation is clear. The halakhist or posek seeks to protect the spiritual integrity of those who seek his counsel, a charge that involves judgments about people. The Oath erects a high barrier between judgments of this type and the practice of medicine. Thus, “in his suffering let me see only the person.”

This does not, of course, preclude physicians from holding strong to their faith and Torah-observance. In their personal lives, many health care workers strictly follow the rules of halakha. But it is not their prerogative to impose those rules on others with the same degree of halakhic commitment who may see the rules differently. Nor can they worry about those who may disapprove of their means of healing.  Here, the opening line of the Oath rings especially clear. “Exalted God, before I begin my holy task of healing your creations, I beseech you to give me strength to do my job with truth, and that worrying about the public sphere will not blind me from doing right.”

An example of this occurred recently at the Genesis ART program where, in order to facilitate access to ART by the widest swath of Torah-observant couples, a program of permanent rabbinical supervision, or hashgacha, has been ongoing for nearly two decades. (This is described in Overcoming Infertility.)  When an edict banning the use of third parties in ART was distributed in the charedi community, providing hashgacha to Torah-observant couples who were undergoing such procedures emerged as potentially problematic. The concern was to keep the trust of that community despite involvement by the mashgichot in procedures that some considered forbidden. Disaffection of an entire community could impact hashgacha for the vast majority of couples who were undergoing traditional ART and who continued to require hashgacha.

In this regard, it is worth bringing the Talmudic teaching from Berachot 28b.

When Rabbi Yochanan ben Zaccai took ill, his students came to visit… They told him, Rabbi, please bless us. He told them, May it be His will that you fear Heaven to the same degree that you fear man. His students asked him, This and no more? He answered them, You should know that when a person is about to transgress he says [to himself] ‘I hope no one sees me!’

The sages are very clear about what they consider the proper approach to such dilemmas. The fear of God trumps the fear of man. If we are enjoined from permitting what is impermissible, just as certainly we must avoid prohibiting what is permissible. Disagreements among poskim who interpret the same halakhic precedents in different ways are not for the physician to judge. Nor is it the role of others involved in the care of infertile couples to permit one camp to prevail over another. Halakhic tyranny cannot rule in the setting of health care. What rules instead can only be what is right and fair for the patient, i.e. whatever alleviates her suffering.

            *                                  *                                  *         

It is clear that there are disagreements among poskim about the use of certain types of ART and that, even when permitted, there are varying thresholds for their use. Such disagreements should not deter Torah-observant reproductive specialists from their obligation to provide appropriate medical care. Nor should the desire to solve such disagreements become a distraction. Shivim panim laTorah: The Torah has seventy faces. Our Talmud is a tribute to the role of disagreement in Judaism. The houses of Beit Hillel and Beit Shammai are only the most well-known examples. Who can explain what the sages had in mind when they ruled that the halakha almost always follows Beit Hillel but left open the idea that in the days of mashiach the opinions of Beit Shammai will reign supreme?[*]  There is no school of thought among us that has cornered the market on truth, or on piety or on what constitutes legitimately Jewish approaches to life. The glory of our tradition is not that Torah-observant Jews are monolithic but rather that disagreement is accepted as basic to the fabric of a Torah-observant life. 

Torah-observant men and women who choose as their calling to heal couples with infertility must respect the dignity and choices of each individual couple, including those whose Torah-observance will not square with their own. In this way they remain true to the Oath that binds them to their calling.

Introduction

In the midst of our current reality,[1] most of the normal human interactions with those beyond our family have been curtailed or eliminated entirely. One of the most central daily and weekly experience that observant Jews across the spectrum have lost access to is, of course, the ability to join together in the synagogue for communal prayer. In some cities, even prior to the official government orders to close all venues where people gather, synagogues understood the need to cease operations and get ahead of the curve to save lives and help society in the most responsible fashion. These closings have left us bereft of the comforting experiences of sharing in prayer and communal singing, the ability to fulfill many rituals such as keriat haTorah, recitation of Kaddish, and fulfilling tefillah beTzibbur (communal prayer), as well as socializing as a community at the post-service kiddush. This reality has curtailed sharing family semakhot and, God forbid, tragedies in person, schmoozing and learning together, as well as praying in the physical space of the synagogue itself.

It is that last element that I would briefly like to turn to, as it is a unique halakha that is not so well known or understood. Many believe that the formal halakhic purpose of coming together in a shul is that it allows us the ability to fulfill the mitzvoth of communal prayer and other rituals that can only be performed in a minyan. Congregating in shul is an instrumental vehicle to fulfill these goals. However, if those goals can be fulfilled in another venue, such as a private minyan at home, then it would seem that there is no value to praying privately in the synagogue. The truth, however, is more complex.

Importance of Prayer in the Synagogue

R. Yosef Karo (1488–1575) in his seminal code, Shulhan Arukh Orah Hayyim 90:9 writes,

A person should strive to pray in the synagogue with the community, and if he is not able to come to the synagogue, he should set his heart to pray at the time that the community is praying, and if he is unable to do pray at the time of the communal prayer, and he must pray alone, he should still pray in the synagogue (alone).

The source for the last statement of Maran haMehaber is somewhat in dispute. Many commentators point to an aggadic passage in Berakhot 6a: “Abba Binyamin taught, ‘an individual’s prayer is only heard in the synagogue.’” This reading was adopted by the Geonim and many medieval commentaries.

Other medieval commentators rejected this as the source, as the text they had in the Bavli read, “an individual’s prayer is only heard in the synagogue with the community,” implying that the individual is praying together with the tzibbur—and the passage is therefore highlighting the value of communal prayer.

Some commentators instead point to a passage in the Jerusalem Talmud (Berakhot 4:4), which states: “A person should pray in a place that is set aside for prayer.” But here, too, there are questions, specifically as to how far reaching this statement is and whether other passages in the Jerusalem Talmud concur with it. Be that as it may, in the end, the Geonic understanding came to dominate the halakhic discourse and was codified as standard law, though in practice not everyone agreed to its full reach, especially in light of other conflicting considerations.

Rationale for the Directive

What might be the rationale behind the imperative to pray in a synagogue, even in the absence of a halakhic minyan?

1. Kavanah (Inward Intention)

One possible rationale for the halakha under discussion is that prayer in the precincts of the synagogue yields greater levels of devotion and kavanah. R. Menahem haMeiri (1240–1315) in his commentary on Berakhot writes, “Every person who can pray in the synagogue should do so because that is where the intention of the heart is found.” Meiri appears to interpret the homiletical comment in Berakhot 6a that prayer in the synagogue is “heard (by God)” as rooted in the fact that there can be greater levels of devotion in the synagogue prayer experience. Indeed, he writes in a section later in Berkahot 31a, “In the Talmud Yerushalmi it is stated that the person who prays at home alone and with great kavanah is as if he is surrounded by a wall of iron, that is, he can be sure that his prayer will be accepted.” In this reading, the directive is an ideal “who can pray” and does not make prayer at home invalid. Moreover, there is a subjective element that is clearly implied, i.e., if one finds that they have greater intensity of kavanah at home rather than praying alone in the pews of the synagogue, one could opt for the home experience.

2. Tied to Communal Prayer

A second rationale that may be proffered is that prayer in the walls of the synagogue, even without a quorum, connects us to tefillah beTzibbur in some ephemeral way. Rabbeinu Yonah of Gerona on R. Yitzhak Alfasi’s restatement of the sugya in Berakhot 6 cites the Geonic position mentioned previously that one must pray in a synagogue even privately “because it (is a place) set aside and established for public prayer–tefilah beTzibbur.” This formulation indicates that this halakha should be viewed as a corollary of the general principle of praying in a minyan. On some level, the individual rides on the coattails of the communal prayer, which usually occurs in the space where he or she is now praying individually. In this way it is similar to the other halakha mentioned by R. Yosef Karo above, namely the idea that if one cannot join the minyan at the synagogue, one should pray at home at the same time that the community is praying.

3. In the Presence of the King

A third possibility arises from the aggadic language of a passage in the Jerusalem Talmud. In 5:1 of Berakhot, the Yerushalmi states,

One who prays in the synagogue, it is as if he sacrificed a pure meal offering….It was recorded in the name of R. Abahu: “Seek out the Lord where He may be found, call to him where He is near” (i.e., the synagogue)…. R. Yohanan stated: Whoever prays in the synagogue it is as if the individual prayed in the Holy Temple.

This idea is cited by a good number of Rishonim, including, R. Eliezer b. Yoel (1140–1225), who cites the verse in Ezekiel (11:16) “And I will be for them a Temple in miniature,” which the rabbis interpreted as referring to the synagogue in the absence of the Temple in Jerusalem, as the source for R. Yohanan’s statement that “Whoever prays in the synagogue it is as if the individual prayed in the Holy Temple” (Raavya, #12).

According to this line of thought, one who enters into the space of the synagogue is coming into the palace of the King, symbolically entering into the place where God is most “present.” One might even go further and suggest that following this approach, praying in the synagogue is not simply some additional element, but becomes an essential part of the prayer experience. Rambam famously declares in Hilkhot Tefillah that the essential kavanah that one should have during the Amidah is the sense that one is “standing in the presence of the King.” If so, entering into the space where God is most intensely “found” is part and parcel of achieving that goal. A radical expression of this notion may be found in a responsa of R. Yaakov B. Aharon of Karlin (d. 1844) who writes,

The Talmud states: “Abba Binyamin says, ‘An individual’s prayer is only heard in the synagogue’…. It is clear that this is true even if one has a quorum of ten in one’s house, it is better to pray in the synagogue (even without a quorum). (Mishkenot Yaakov, OH #87)

This view is rejected by many other commentaries and does not appear to have been adopted as mainstream Jewish practice.

Conclusion

In this brief survey we have examined the halakhic import of the significance of praying in the synagogue even in the absence of a minyan. We explored three different rationales that may undergird this interesting halakha and its understanding of one of the roles of the synagogue in the experience of those who pray. We hope and pray for a speedy and safe return to the normal activity and hustle and bustle of our synagogue life in all its form together with the return to the other areas of spiritual and material lives.

Angel for Shabbat--Matot-Masei

by Rabbi Marc D. Angel

It seems to have become "politically correct" to speak of narratives, rather than to focus on historical truth. This tendency is blatantly evident in some discussions about Israel and the Palestinian Arabs. We are told that each group has its own narrative, implying that each group clings to its own version of truth and should be respected for its views. This approach--seemingly objective and non-judgmental--actually leads to the distortion of facts and undermining of historic truth. 

This week’s Torah reading tells of the Israelites as they were on the verge of entering the Promised Land. The Torah provides specific boundaries of the land…the land that God had promised to Abraham, Isaac and Jacob…and the entire People of Israel.

It isn't a "Jewish narrative" that Israel is the Jewish homeland; it is historically true. It has been true since biblical times; it was true during Temple days in antiquity; it was true through the nearly 1900 years of exile in which Jews prayed facing Jerusalem and yearned for the return to their holy land; it is true based on the ongoing presence of Jews in the land of Israel throughout the ages, based on archaeological evidence, based on archives, documents, photographs etc.

For there to be peace between Israel and its neighbors, it is essential to seek truth, not "narratives."  Here are a few historical facts that must be understood.

The Muslim Ottoman Empire controlled the land of Israel for hundreds of years.  Relatively few Jews lived in the holy land during those centuries. The Ottoman Empire could very easily have established a Muslim country in the land of Israel with Jerusalem as its capital city. The thought never occurred to them!  Palestine was a poor backwater of little significance; Jerusalem was an old, decrepit city that no one (except Jews) cared very much about. There was no call for a Palestinian State, and no claim that Jerusalem should be a capitol of a Muslim country.

Between 1948 and 1967, Jordan controlled the West Bank and the Old City of Jerusalem. Egypt controlled Gaza. Neither Jordan nor Egypt ceded one inch of territory to Palestinian Arab rule. Neither suggested the need for a Palestinian country, nor took any steps in the direction of creating a Palestinian State. Jordan did not declare Jerusalem as a capital city of Palestinians.

In June 1967, Israel defeated its implacable Arab enemies in the remarkable Six Days War. In the process, Israel took control of the Sinai, the Gaza Strip, the West Bank and the Old City of Jerusalem.  In making peace with Egypt, Israel ceded the Sinai to Egypt. In attempting to create conciliatory gestures to Palestinian Arabs, Israel ceded much of the West Bank and Gaza to the Palestinian Authority. Israel is the only country in the world to have given territory to the Palestinian Arabs. Israel has a legitimate claim to much of this territory, but for the sake of peace decided to forego pressing its claims.

Although no Muslim or Arab nation, when having control of Jerusalem, the West Bank and Gaza, created (or even suggested creating) a Palestinian State with a capital of Jerusalem--the current propaganda in the "politically correct" world is: the Palestinian Arabs have a right to their own State with Jerusalem as capital.

This propaganda ignores the Bible, the thousands of years of Jewish history in the holy land; ignores the rights of the people of Israel; ignores truth.

Certainly, Israel is not a perfect country; and there is no doubt that it has made errors in its policies--as has every other country on the face of the earth.  But Israel has a right to flourish and to enjoy the fruits of its labors and creativity and idealistic endeavors. Israel does not ask to be judged more kindly than any other nation--only that it should not be judged less kindly than any other nation.

Misguided individuals and countries who forget history, who ignore or deny Israel's rights, who look the other way when Israel is maligned and attacked--such people are part of the problem, not the solution.

If there is to be peace in the Middle East, the focus should not be on “narratives” but on historical fact. Once this recognition of Israel’s historical right is acknowledged, a real peace process can begin that will bring untold benefits to all parties.