National Scholar Updates

The Universalism/Particularism of Rabbi Eliyahu Benamozegh

Nineteenth century Livorno was home to a unique thinker whose life work centered on unity. Rabbi Eliyahu Benamozegh (1822-1900), whose parents were natives of Fez, Morocco, was orphaned at an early age. His guardians saw to it that this precocious child received a well-rounded education in Jewish and general subjects. Although as a young man he entered a business career, his real love was for religious and scientific thought. He went on to devote himself to a life of learning and communal leadership, including his tenure as professor of theology in Livorno’s rabbinical school. He published works in Hebrew, Italian and French.

R. Benamozegh was deeply steeped in Jewish sacred texts; he was also a scholar who sought wisdom in the general world of scholarship—history, archeology, theology, science. His commentary on the Torah, Em leMikra, drew on sources well beyond the classic rabbinic cannon. He incurred the ire of prominent traditionalist rabbis who declared his work to be heretical. R. Benamozegh wrote a humble reply to his critics, defending his piety and loyalty to Jewish religious tradition. Truth (with a capital T) is not confined to only one tradition. If we are to serve God and seek God’s unity, we must open our minds to wisdom and insights from many sources.

Although he was a modern, scientifically-inclined scholar, he was an ardent devotee of Kabbala, Jewish mysticism. While traditionalists blasted his modernity, modern scholars sharply criticized his devotion to Kabbala. How could an enlightened, rational thinker give credence to the esoteric, non-rational corpus of religious mysticism?

R. Benamozegh was—and still remains—an enigma to many. He was a traditional rabbi…with a mind open to the untraditional. He was a rational, modern thinker…who fully embraced the truths of Kabbala. He was devoted to Jewish particularism…while fostering a remarkably universalistic worldview. To some, his views are eclectic, eccentric, and even self-contradictory. But, in fact, he thirsted for the ultimate unity, the primordial Aleph of reality. He would not be constrained or confined by artificial intellectual categories. The ultimate unity could only be sought through all the available avenues of human thought.

In the introduction to his book, Israel and Humanity, Rabbi Benamozegh states his concern bluntly:  “Everyone agrees that we are in the midst of a great religious crisis. This reveals itself in three ways. The conflict between religion and science is in an acute state, and therefore occupies us the most; but to this must be added the antagonism among religions themselves; and the evolutionary changes which are occurring simultaneously at the heart of each religion” (Israel and Humanity, p. 39).

As to the perceived conflict between religion and science, R. Benamozegh makes it clear that these two areas are actually in harmony. Both express truths that lead to a fuller understanding of God and His creations. “Everyone who is deeply concerned with the future of mankind dreams of a religious life which fully respects both the needs of faith and the essential principles of modern reason” (Idid., p. 49). Sophisticated moderns will not succumb to a religious worldview that is riddled with superstition and obscurantism. On the contrary, religionists must view scientific advances as positive steps in the human quest for God.

The various religions all found themselves in confrontation with science and the scientific method. Yet, instead of forming a unified front against excessive rationalism and secularization, religions were busy fighting against one another. The major Western/Middle Eastern religions—Christianity and Islam—presented themselves as the sole purveyors of Truth. They disdained their older ancestor—Judaism. But for R. Benamozegh, Judaism was the most universal of religions, the only religion with a realistic message for all humanity.

          In his book, Jewish and Christian Ethics, he noted that Judaism encompassed two factors: the national (mediniyut) and the ethical (mussar). Jewish ethics is grounded in practical reality. It is not ethereal or over-idealized but is based on the considerations of a real nation. In contrast, Christian ethics is not applicable to national life in the same way. Christians speak of humility, suffering, compassion, and other such concepts in unrealistic ways. Which nation on earth would allow itself to be attacked and not defend itself or strike back? Which nation would forgive debts or ignore insults and cruelties committed against its people? Christianity cannot adequately satisfy the natural human need and attachment for a homeland. On the other hand, Judaism is realistic in linking ethical teachings to national and practical concerns. Religion and nationality cannot be separated.

            In his elaboration of the Jewish ethical tradition, Rabbi Benamozegh stressed the universalism of Judaism. The Torah described humanity as deriving from common ancestors, Adam and Eve. Humanity has a common destiny—the messianic time. Jewish ethics shows respect for non-Jews and does not preclude them from God’s love and salvation. Judaism’s goal is not to punish the wicked but to bring them back to righteousness. Since Jewish faith is necessarily contingent on the performance of practical works, it provides the most realistic framework for the creation of an ethical society.

     In his view, only Judaism relates to all humanity, not merely to its own group of believers. Rabbinic tradition teaches that Noah and his descendants were given seven basic categories of law, and that "Noahides" fulfill their religious obligations through these Noahide laws. The Talmud (Yevamot 47a) states: "Our sages have said that seven commandments have been prescribed for the Sons of Noah: the first requires them to have judges; the other six forbid sacrilege, idolatry, incest, homicide, theft, and the consumption of a limb taken from a living animal.” While Jews are obligated to observe all the commandments of the Torah due to their covenant with God, non-Jews are bound by a divine covenant through the specific commandments given to them as Noahides.

          Because non-Jews have access to God through the Noahide covenant, they are under no obligation to convert to Judaism in order to be "saved".   "The authentic spirit of Judaism appears unambiguously when we find it affirming that there exist just men among the Gentiles, men loved by God, whose merits are responsible for the prosperity of the nations" (Israel and Humanity, p. 349). Those non-Jews who wish to convert to Judaism are welcome--but Jews have generally avoided active proselytization, since non-Jews do not have to become Jewish in order to serve God properly. They need only adhere to the seven Noahide laws (and their derivatives), thereby living morally upright lives. Judaism presents a religious message for humanity. It does not demand or expect that everyone convert to Judaism. It respects non-Jews' spiritual integrity, and offers a religious worldview which is remarkably universal and humane.  It only asks that all human beings--Jewish and non-Jewish--conduct their lives on a high moral level, based on recognition of One God who loves all humanity.

          Maimonides (Hilkhot Shemitah veYovel 13:13) underscored the universal vision of Judaism: Not only the tribe of Levi but every single individual from among the world's inhabitants could rise to the highest spiritual levels and could become "totally consecrated, and God will be his portion and inheritance forever and ever."

          Rabbi Benamozegh noted the irony: Christianity and Islam are considered to be universal religions; and yet they have historically been quite intolerant of those not adhering to their particular religion. They engaged in forced conversion of "infidels," crusades, and religious wars in order to force others to accept their creeds. They have taught that only their religious adherents fulfill God's will and can share in the blessings of the world-to-come. Judaism, which is often (unfairly) portrayed as being parochial and particularistic, actually is the most universal religion--it teaches that God blesses all righteous people, that the world-to-come is available to all good people whether Jewish or non-Jewish.

          God's covenant with humanity--the Noahide laws--create the foundation for a world governed by justice and morality.  Humanity still has a very long way to go to fulfill this covenant properly.

          Rabbi Benamozegh’s religious vision attracted the interest of a profound Catholic thinker, Aime Palliere, who expressed an interest in converting to Judaism. But R. Benamozegh guided him in the direction of being a righteous Noahide. “This is the path which lies open before your efforts, before mine as well, to spread the knowledge [of Noahism], as it is my duty to do. And it lies open to the efforts of any one, whosoever believes in Revelation, without necessarily adhering to Mosaism…” (The Unknown Sanctuary, p. 135).

            Rabbi Benamozegh called on Aime Palliere to become a spokesman of the universal Noahide religion. “If you come to convince yourself of it, you will be much more precious to Israel than if you submit to the Law of Israel. You will be the instrument of the Providence of God to humanity (Ibid., p. 137). For R. Benamozegh, Israel serves as the priesthood for humanity; Jews are commanded to bring God’s word to all humanity just as priests are to be religious guides to their flocks. If a non-Jew truly wishes to join the “priesthood” of Israel, conversion is available. But Jews do not have a monopoly on truth or on God’s love.

            Recognizing that Palliere was raised as a believing Catholic, R. Benamozegh informed him that he need not renounce Jesus in order to be a proper Noahide. “Let us understand one another well: on condition that you see in Jesus only a just man, a prophet, only a man, however lofty you may wish to imagine him. And it will be the easier for you to reconcile this with conceptions of Judaism which you well know were in the teachings of Jesus most sympathetic to the conservation of Mosaism. And who can tell if you are not destined to become the bond of union between Christianity and Judaism?” (Ibid., p. 161).

            Palliere concludes his book with a fundamental teaching of Rabbi Benamozegh:  “Mankind cannot rise to the essential principles on which society must rest unless it meet with Israel. And Israel cannot fathom the deeps of its own national and religious tradition, unless it meet with mankind” (Ibid., p. 243).

                                                                *      *     *

            I began serving Congregation Shearith Israel in New York in 1969, while I was still a rabbinical student at Yeshiva University’s rabbinic seminary. I was ordained a year later. Along with my rabbinic studies, I was working toward a PhD degree in Jewish history and a Master’s degree in English literature.

            While I contemplated a lifetime of service as an Orthodox rabbi, I was seeking an Orthodoxy that was faithful to tradition, that was intellectually challenging, inclusive…universalistic. I found some role models among my teachers; but I also felt that Orthodoxy was growing increasingly narrow, stilted…functioning almost like a sect rather than as a world religion. I experienced a certain spiritual restlessness.

            The clergy of Shearith Israel used to don their clerical robes in a room that had been the office of Rabbi David de Sola Pool. The office was lined with bookcases filled with an assortment of volumes. One that caught my eye was a Hebrew book entitled Bishvilei Musar (In Ethical Paths). I opened it and found that it was a translation by Simon Marcus of a book by Rabbi Eliyahu Benamozegh, Jewish and Christian Ethics. I had never heard of Rabbi Benamozegh; I borrowed the volume and studied it carefully during the course of the coming months. I quickly realized that Rabbi Benamozegh was a profound thinker with a grand religious worldview. He was just the intellectual figure I needed at that point in my life…a staunchly traditional Orthodox Jew who viewed Judaism as a world religion with a message for all of humanity. As I later studied more of his writings, I came to see him as an Aleph…a thinker who sought—and perceived—an ultimate unity, and who opened one’s mind to a quest for Truth.

           

References:

Israel and Humanity, trans. Maxwell Luria, Paulist Press, New York, 1995.

Jewish and Christian Ethics, The Perfect Library (no date and no place of publication)

Aime Palliere, The Unknown Sanctuary, Bloch Publishing Company, New York, 1930.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Rabbi Dr. David de Sola Pool: Sephardic Visionary and Activist

Rabbi Dr. David de Sola Pool (May 16, 1885-December 1, 1970) was the foremost Sephardic rabbi in the United States during the middle decades of the 20th century. Born and raised in London, he came to New York in 1907 to become assistant rabbi to his relative, Dr. Henry Pereira Mendes, at the historic Congregation Shearith Israel, the Spanish and Portuguese Synagogue. Dr. Pool was associated with Shearith Israel for the duration of his life, except for three years that he spent in the land of Israel 1919-1922. In 1917 he married Tamar Hirshenson; they had two children, Ithiel and Naomi. [1]

His childhood spiritual home was the Mildmay Park Synagogue, a branch of the Bevis Marks Synagogue. The de Sola family traced itself back to Sephardim of medieval Spain, and included illustrious rabbis and spiritual leaders over the course of the generations. The Pool family had been active in the Spanish and Portuguese synagogue of London, David’s father having been a leader in the Mildmay Park Synagogue and his grandfather having served as President of the Bevis Marks Synagogue.

David Pool graduated from University College of the University of London with first class honors in classics and humanities. He pursued rabbinic studies at Jews College. He later attended the Rabbinic Seminary in Berlin as well as earning a Ph.D. summa cum laude from Heidelberg University. His doctoral dissertation, The Kaddish, was published in 1908.

Upon his arrival in New York, he not only served his congregation but became active in the wider community. He was an outspoken activist on behalf of the newly arriving Sephardic immigrants from Turkey, the Balkans, Greece and Syria. He was elected President of the New York Board of Rabbis in 1916. He was field organizer and director of army camp work for the Jewish Welfare Board (1917-18). In 1920-21, he was regional director for Palestine and Syria on behalf of the Joint Distribution Committee. During 1938-1940, he was President of the Synagogue Council of America; in 1955 he was elected President of the American Jewish Historical Society. He was a member of the National Youth Administration under President Franklin D. Roosevelt. During World War II, he worked with the Jewish Welfare Board in providing chaplaincy services to Jewish military personnel.

Aside from his communal involvements, Dr. Pool was a prolific author. He translated and edited the Sephardic Prayer Books for the Union of Sephardic Congregations (which he founded in 1928.) He translated and edited the Ashkenazic Prayer Book under the auspices of the Rabbinical Council of America. He published books and articles on various facets of Jewish history, philosophy and religious outlook. If ever the American Jewish community could boast of an extraordinary rabbi who combined the talents of a congregational rabbi, the social activism of a genuine idealist, the eloquent advocacy of a Zionist partisan and the calm, deep writings of a fine scholar—that rabbi was David de Sola Pool. That this rabbi was Orthodox made him more unique. That this rabbi was Sephardic made him absolutely unique for his time and place. When he died in 1970, the Jewish Telegraphic Agency published an obituary (December 3, 1970) appropriately captioned: “Rabbi Dr. David de Sola Pool, World Leader in Judaism, Dies at 85.”

During the course of his lifetime, Dr. Pool was highly respected—but often from a distance, as though he were on a pedestal. He was the epitome of dignity and gravitas, with the air of a nobleman. People looked up to him, admired him, even revered him. He was a master of the bon mot; he had a wry sense of humor; he spoke with a beautifully resonant voice and a distinctive English accent.

Although Dr. Pool was actively engaged in so many communal and scholarly endeavors, he was always something of an “outsider,” a person not fully understood or appreciated by the public. In some profound sense, he was “a lonely man of faith.” To Ashkenazim, he was Sephardic. To Sephardim—most of whom came from Muslim lands—Dr. Pool was a Western Sephardi, not really “one of us.” To the Orthodox, he seemed a bit too refined, acculturated and universal. To the non-Orthodox, he was too Orthodox! To rabbis, Dr. Pool was a scholar and gentleman. To scholars, Rabbi Pool was a rabbi, not an academic. To Zionists, Dr. Pool was surely an enthusiast, but was too genteel, too high-brow, too unwilling to get involved in political battles. To non-Zionists, Dr. Pool was an unapologetic Jewish nationalist. To Talmudists, Dr. Pool was a Bible scholar. To Bible scholars, Rabbi Pool was an Orthodox rabbi with an Orthodox agenda.

Dr. Pool, thus, has remained something of an enigma. While scholars can list his many accomplishments and publications, the distinctive religious worldview that animated Dr. Pool’s life has remained relatively unexplored. This article will examine basic themes in Dr. Pool’s thinking, so that his unique contributions—and failures—might be better understood.

The Western Sephardic Tradition:

In his spiritual autobiography, Dr. Pool recalled the serenity of his youth growing up in the Spanish and Portuguese Jewish community of London. “The environment in which I lived was quiet and simple….No anti-Semitism, no migration, no undue struggle, no harsh change of fortune, no world war, marred the even tenor of the home in which I grew up.”[2] His synagogue experience was warm and meaningful. He participated actively in the services and learned the prayers and melodies with enthusiasm. “My own religious experience was happy, integrated, natural and fulfilling….Except on the New Year and the Day of Atonement, my religion did not stress that I was the victim of sin.” [3]

He was part of a family and a community that valued religious tradition as well as general education. Living in London among educated and prosperous Sephardim, David Pool had a privileged childhood that offered him opportunities not available to many young Jews growing up in Muslim lands or in Eastern Europe.

The Spanish and Portuguese Jewish community of London was a bastion of the Western Sephardic tradition. This culture had emerged among conversos, Jews who had been converted to Catholicism in medieval Iberia but who later returned to Judaism in such places as Amsterdam, London, Paris and other cities in Western Europe. Western Sephardic communities were characterized by a strong sense of personal and family pride, intellectualism, aesthetics, dignity, and social graces. Their synagogues were beautiful and well maintained. Synagogue services were highly decorous and orderly. Western Sephardim were quick to learn the languages, styles and mannerisms of the lands in which they lived.

David Pool imbued the values of the Western Sephardic tradition—a deep commitment to Jewish religious tradition; intellectual openness; involvement in the wellbeing of society. In summarizing Dr. Pool’s worldview, Dr. Nima Adlerblum (Dr. Pool’s sister-in-law) wrote: “His is not an Orthodoxy enclosed within four opaque walls. It is that of our ancient sages, which stretches into the wide horizon and carries its wholeness and holiness into an open world. It encompasses life in its entirety.” [4]

The Bible:

The bedrock of Dr. Pool’s religious worldview was the Hebrew Bible. From his youth, he studied its words, learned its grammar, and memorized many of its passages. As a young rabbi, he published a pamphlet, “How to Tell Bible Stories to Children.” [5] He began with the principle: “All religious teaching must have an underlying spiritual basis…It should never be forgotten that the Bible is the basis of our Jewish religion and life; therefore for us, it is different from all other literatures, classical myths, old legends, or tales from Chaucer and Shakespeare. This difference should be made a fundamental and determining feature of the treatment of the Bible stories.”[6] In telling Bible stories to children, the goal is to make them feel connected to the Biblical characters. Children should learn to take pride in their Biblical ancestors. “The purpose of the Bible story is to train up good Jews, not to train for examinations or to rear Bible experts. Not the ability to pass an examination, but ‘The fear of the Lord is the beginning of wisdom.’” [7] When teaching older children the lessons of our Prophets, it must be made clear that the prophets’ words are “inspired religious teaching on the immediate problems of the day. They must realize that the Prophets were real people, with a definite historical message and background. The prophets must be made to live for them, and not remain unattainable, saintly shadows. The burden of their social and religious teaching should be translated into modern terms.” [8]

Throughout his life, Dr. Pool stressed the beauty, the righteousness and the spiritual power of the Bible. Writing late in his career, he noted: “For Moses, religion was the very opposite of an opiate for the masses. It was shot through with revolutionary and far-visioned practical measures looking toward emancipation from miseries born of indigence, crushing toil, slavery, and the eclipse of hope.” He then cited biblical passages that taught morality and righteousness, and concluded that “this social definition of religion, first recorded by Moses, became the world’s primary motive power working for mankind’s life, liberty, and the pursuit of happiness.”[9] Dr. Pool noted that “the summons of the Bible is less a call to believe in dogmas than it is a command to know, understand, and act.”[10]

In a sermon delivered on May 5, 1962, Dr. Pool reminded his congregation that “it is not easy, we know, to attain the high standards of righteous living which the Biblical law and the practices of Judaism aim to inculcate. But in the measure that we invest our conduct with the idea of holiness, we raise life to a spiritual level.”[11]

The theme of social justice, as derived from the Bible, pervaded Dr. Pool’s teachings—and his actions. In 1918, he participated in Food Conservation Day, an event sponsored by the United States Food Administration to promote sensible use of food resources and to discourage wastefulness. Dr. Pool prepared sermonic materials to be utilized by rabbis throughout the country on the first day of Succoth. Characteristically, he began with a reference to the Bible: “The Psalmist proclaims that it is God who in His eternal love gives food to all living.” He went on to stress human responsibility for equitable distribution of food so that all people have access to a proper diet. He lamented “the heartless extortion of exorbitant profits by food gambling, by monopolizing some part of the food supply, or by storing away needed foods until a time of scarcity and rising prices” and praised the government’s U.S. Food Administration for doing “noble work of fine democracy, and one that furthers the purposes of God, who giveth food to all flesh, because His love endureth forever.”[12]

In his address at the closing dinner of the Tercentenary Celebration of Congregation Shearith Israel, April 26, 1955, Dr. Pool reminded his audience: “Our religion, Judaism, seeks salvation for all mankind. The emphasis of our Bible is on social justice for all rather than on the mystic quest of salvation for the individual.” [13]

The Bible, through its ethical teachings and its commandments, was the source of Jewish survival. In a sermon he delivered on September 30, 1916, he spoke of “the unchanging Law.” While non-Jews are puzzled by Jewish continuity over the centuries, Jews themselves know that “our survival is the necessary outcome of our Law. The real miracle is this instrument of our persistence—the Law.” As long as Jews are faithful to the Torah and its commandments, they have the blessing of endurance. But once Jews are lax in their commitment to Torah and its commandments, they invariably disappear from Jewish history. “No fact emerges more clearly from our history than this—that observance of the Torah, and this alone, has preserved us as Jews, while disregard of the Torah has rapidly induced the Jewish ruin of those who neglected it.” [14]

Dr. Pool emphasized the importance of both the ethical and ritual teachings of Torah. In a sermon he delivered on December 1, 1962, he underscored the vital role of ritual observance. “Only loyalty to the Torah can preserve the Jew and his sorely needed message for the world. Where we have forgotten our Hebrew, where we have unbuckled the defensive armor of our Sabbath, where we have disregarded our own festivals and holy days, and neglected the dietary laws and the other distinctive ceremonies and rites which ensure the preservation of Jewish individuality, the giving up of these time-tested and time-hallowed defenses has meant our eventual surrender to the forces of obliteration. Observance of the traditional Jewish Torah has been our life and the length of our days.” [15]

Dr. Pool’s consistent and unflinching stress on ritual observance put him at odds with non-Orthodox Jewish movements. He believed that watering down or eliminating traditional religious practice was destructive of Judaism and the ongoing vitality of the Jewish people. Yet, although he was so clearly devoted to Orthodox religious practice, he maintained cordial and harmonious relationships with non-Orthodox Jews and non-Orthodox leaders. Indeed, he felt it was essential for Orthodox Jews to relate to all other Jews as members of one great family.

For Dr. Pool, the Bible provided a religious worldview as well as a practical guide to righteous living. In his Baccalaureate Address at Brandeis University, June 8, 1957, he called on students to maintain a vision “inspired primarily by faith in God and in man….Intellectual learning alone cannot be a sufficient guide through life. But in the measure that your knowledge is linked with self-conscious moral and religious aspiration will it gain in meaning and helpful service to your fellow men. Your academic degree must be the symbol of an enlightened purpose in life.” [16]

Dr. Pool spoke and wrote abundantly on Biblical themes and Bible-based religion and spirituality. Yet, he rarely spoke or wrote on Talmudic/halakhic themes, except in a very general way. While he drew on Talmudic stories and parables, he did not engage in serious Talmudic dialectics nor did he see himself as a halakhic luminary. Unlike most other Orthodox rabbis, he did not derive his spiritual worldview or vision from the Talmud.

Prayer and the Synagogue:

On the occasion of his 75th birthday, Dr. Pool addressed the annual dinner of Shearith Israel’s Men’s Club. His talk was entitled, “The Meaning of Prayer.” He articulated ideas that had been with him since his early childhood and throughout his rabbinic career. “Our synagogue services express ecstatic praise of God as the infinite ideal that we should ever hold consciously before us…..Our prayer expresses the searching of our own soul….It inspires and strengthens resolve. It encourages the will and the power to do and achieve….Jewish prayer is not an exercise in self-castigation or apologetics. It is a joyous spiritual exercise. It is marked by an all-pervading and radiant optimism….It maintains an unyielding faith in the basic goodness of our soul. A somber note is seldom heard. This marks the ministry of a rabbi with sustained happiness. We are always looking for a tomorrow that shall be better than today.” [17]

Prayer is a manifestation of intimacy between the worshiper and God and should reflect a spiritual serenity and dignity. “Man must feel that his praying brings him into God’s presence….Devotional warmth, inspiration and ecstasy must not lead to irrationalism and to deviations into nebulous paths of excessive emotion or unrealistic mysticism.” [18] The key to proper prayer is reverence, a sense of holiness.

Dr. Pool’s experience of synagogue prayer, from childhood and through his old age, was primarily in the context of Spanish and Portuguese tradition. This tradition fostered decorum, orderliness, aesthetics and dignity. Spanish and Portuguese synagogue buildings were characterized by a fine aesthetic sense; they were kept neat and clean. Prayer services were intoned with reverence by the Hazan or the Rabbi, with ongoing participation of the congregation. In his sermon on October 25, 1910, the young Dr. Pool reminded congregants of his historic congregation that “the Jews of America look to us to learn how Orthodox Judaism, traditional Judaism, can and should be beautiful and attractive. The beauty of our synagogue building is inspirational. The spiritual beauty of our liturgy is of the loftiest. The devotional beauty of our music is soul stirring, and we must show the example to those around us of the religious beauty of congregational worship.”[19] Dr. Pool believed that the synagogue is a haven from the strident pressures of civilization. It is the place “to which we come for quiet meditation and spiritual contemplation.” [20]

Dr. Pool viewed the synagogue as the primary institution ensuring the continuity of Judaism and the Jewish people. While a relatively small number of Jews have found their spiritual homes in Yeshivot (Talmudic academies), the masses of Jews have turned to the synagogue as their religious domiciles. “The synagogue has been the symbol of the continuity of the Jewish people. It has been the traditional center of the distinctive Jewish culture and learning which are the abundant fruitage of the Bible. It has linked the Jew to his people by a bond stronger than that of blood and nobler than flight from anti-Semitism. The synagogue is the symbol of my Judaism and all that it means to me that I am a Jew.”[21] In a lyric passage, Dr. Pool wrote: “When I enter a synagogue I am deeply moved by the memories enshrined within it. I sense the mystic echoing of four thousand years of prayer. It is to me a living organism, the very body of the Jewish people.” [22]

Dr. Pool’s notion of synagogue prayer differed from widespread patterns within Orthodox congregations—whether Sephardic or Ashkenazic--where services often did not reflect the formality, high aesthetic taste, or quiet dignity that he advocated. In February 1943, he wrote to Dr. Samuel Nirenstein, President of the Union of Orthodox Jewish Congregations, asking that the Union establish a Commission on the Synagogue that would establish appropriate standards for Orthodox synagogues. Among its responsibilities, this commission “should also work out standards for the conduct of services with their specific recommendations, looking towards the elimination of those unaesthetic and irreverent popular practices in Synagogue which distract so sadly from the religious services of so many Orthodox Synagogues.” [23]

In his commitment to traditionalism in prayer, Dr. Pool also differed sharply with non-traditional innovations within non-Orthodox synagogues. Writing late in his career, he took pride in the fact that his congregation “has achieved and exemplified an inspiring union between the free movement of the spirit in personal devotion, and the impressive stateliness which should mark congregational prayer.” [24]

As the most frequented institution in the Jewish community, the synagogue was not only a home of prayer but also the springboard for righteous action. With the waning of attendance at American synagogues, the essential teachings of Judaism were not reaching an important segment of the Jewish community. In his Rosh Hashanah message of September 1924, he addressed the disaffection of a growing number of Jews from synagogue attendance. “The problem of the Synagogues is not one of theology or dogma, nor even of services, ritual and liturgy. While every aspect of Synagogue activity, both religious and administrative, presents its own subsidiary problems, the essential difficulty of the Synagogues of today is found in their aloofness from the world of life.” [25] Synagogues were not to be viewed as isolated havens of religious worship but as catalysts for religiously-inspired action. Without the social justice component, synagogues become stagnant. “The synagogue has been among Jews the primary teacher of the high principles of social justice and human oneness….It has been from the synagogue that there have emanated organizations of loving human brotherhood which have brought help and strength into the lives of the needy and the faltering.” [26]

Working with non-Orthodox Jews:

Dr. Pool was a leading Orthodox rabbi who sought Orthodox participation in all community-wide organizations. He himself served as President of the New York Board of Rabbis, an organization which prided itself on the involvement of rabbis of all the Jewish religious movements. Likewise, he served as President of the Synagogue Council of America, an organization that included Orthodox, Conservative and Reform Jewish leaders who aspired to work together on behalf of the entire Jewish community.

His involvement in these “ecumenical” organizations was not the result of a compromise position, but of a principled commitment to the Jewish people as a whole. He believed that Orthodoxy needed to be heard where ever issues of concern to the community were taking place. In a letter (April 17, 1949) to Mr. William Weiss, executive director of the Orthodox Union, Dr. Pool wrote “that the Orthodox Union should not segregate itself and run away from cooperating with organizations and movements, so long as these movements are not anti-Jewish. The weakest and most futile thing we can do is to step out of movements. The strongest and most effective thing we can do is to remain in them and fight for our principles.” [27] In a letter to Mr. William Herlands (April 28, 1949), President of the Orthodox Union, Dr. Pool reiterated his view that the Orthodox Union should be represented at general communal events such as the then forthcoming annual meeting of the American Association for Jewish Education. “Unfortunately there are among us some who feel that because the A.A.J.E. is comprehensive in its Jewish interest and does not bear the Orthodox label, it should therefore be shunned by the Union. This policy is most harmful to Orthodoxy. It takes away from us the opportunity of expressing our legitimate influence.” [28]

Dr. Pool’s cooperative work with non-Orthodox individuals and organizations was a reflection of his broad communal outlook. In describing his outlook, he pointed to a hurdle that “has always stood between me and a common run of organizational activity. I have never been able to work effectively through the instrumentality of rigid sectarianism or party politics. A regimented partisan alignment, exclusively under group A or under group B or either for this party leader or for that one, has always alienated me by its strabismic falsifying of perspective values, and its frequent setting of secondary interests above the supreme cause.” [29] Dr. Pool sought to rise above sectarian, partisan politics. While this was a grand vision that won him respect, it also was a strategy that distanced him from the sectarian, partisan political leaders who headed various Jewish organizations and causes.

Working with Newly-Arriving Sephardic Immigrants:

During the first decades of the 20th century, many thousands of Sephardic immigrants arrived in New York. They came to America from Turkey, the Balkan countries, Greece and Syria. Like many other immigrants of that period, they came with high hopes of establishing a better life for themselves and their families in this land of opportunity. Most of the immigrants arrived with little money, limited formal education, little or no knowledge of English.

The Sephardic newcomers faced the usual problems of immigrants striving to adapt to a new land and culture. But they also had additional hurdles to overcome. The existing Jewish agencies in New York and elsewhere were focused on assisting the huge number of mainly Yiddish-speaking Jews arriving from Russia and Eastern Europe. The Sephardic immigrants—most of whom spoke Judeo-Spanish, Greek or Arabic—were overlooked by the Jewish immigrant aid societies. Jewish social workers, almost all of whom were Ashkenazic, often did not even recognize Sephardim as fellow Jews; they assumed that these immigrants were non-Jewish Turks, Greeks or Arabs.

Shearith Israel, as the only Sephardic congregation in New York at that time, felt a special responsibility toward the Sephardic newcomers. Yet, there were immense sociological/cultural gaps between the well-established Shearith Israel community and the new Sephardic arrivals. At the beginning of the 20th century, few members of Shearith Israel were actually full-blooded Sephardim. Most were Ashkeanzim, with or without Sephardic ancestry. Few (if any) in Shearith Israel spoke Judeo-Spanish, Greek or Arabic. Whereas Shearith Israel followed a formal Western Sephardic ritual, the Sephardic newcomers were accustomed to their own less formal Middle-Eastern traditions.

Dr. Pool worked tirelessly to energize the Shearith Israel community on behalf of the Sephardic arrivals. The congregation’s Sisterhood formed an “Oriental Committee,” in which Dr. Pool played a vital role. The Sisterhood established a Settlement House on New York’s Lower East Side to serve the Sephardic immigrants. In 1912, it was located at 86 Orchard Street. In 1918, the Sisterhood moved its Settlement House to a larger building at 133 Eldridge Street. The Settlement House included a synagogue, social services, Hebrew school for children, and various programs to help immigrants find employment and adapt to American life. [30]

In his sermon at Shearith Israel on March 9, 1912, Dr. Pool prodded his congregation to revive itself and its Sephardic character by working on behalf of the Sephardic immigrants. “It is the most urgent and imperative duty of our congregation today not to stand passively aloof awaiting their coming to us, but to go out to them offering a friendly, helping hand of welcome. …It is a work that demands the tact born of sympathy, the self-sacrifice born of human love, and the truest feeling of brotherhood born of love of God.”[31]

Dr. Pool was a leading figure in major Sephardic communal organizations that emerged through the mid-20th century, including the Central Sephardic Jewish Community of America, the Union of Sephardic Congregations (which he founded in 1928) and the American Sephardi Federation. He was admired as a distinguished and articulate spokesman of the American Sephardic community. His eloquent voice not only helped shape the Sephardic internal agenda, but also served to represent Sephardim to the much larger Ashkenazic Jewish establishment.

In an article published in 1914, Dr. Pool urged the American Jewish social service agencies to be sensitive to the needs of the newly arrived Sephardim. “The Levantine Jew is marked by a strong historic consciousness, a pride and self-respect which express themselves in a dignity of deportment, dress and manners, an innate gentlemanliness, a refined sensitiveness, and a mettle which makes these settlers recoil from and reject any crude or patronizing offers of help.”[32] He brought the concerns of the Sephardic immigrants to the attention of Jewish leaders in whatever forums were available to him—whether as a participant in organizational meetings and conferences, as a lecturer or as a writer.

During his tenure as rabbi of Shearith Israel, Dr. Pool succeeded in attracting Sephardic immigrants and their children to the congregation. Although there were bumps along the way, Dr. Pool’s consistent warmth toward the newly arrived Sephardim helped Shearith Israel become a spiritual home for many in the growing Sephardic community.

Zionism:

Dr. Henry Pereira Mendes, Dr. Pool’s senior rabbi at Shearith Israel, was deeply committed to what he called “Bible Zionism.” Theodor Herzl called on Dr. Mendes to help organize the Zionist movement in the United States. Dr. Mendes was elected vice-president of the Federation of American Zionists and a member of the actions committee of the World Zionist Organization. Dr. Mendes wrote: “Peace for the world at last, and the realization of reverence for God by all men. These are the essentials for human happiness. Zionism stands for them.” [33]

Dr. Pool was surely influenced by Dr. Mendes in his devotion to Jewish nationhood as manifested in the Zionist movement. But Dr. Pool’s own Zionist convictions went beyond “Bible Zionism.” For Dr. Pool, Zionism was the key to authentic Jewish expression. In the diaspora, Jews simply mimic the works of others; only in the land of Israel can Jews be themselves. Writing in 1913, Dr. Pool argued: “We in the Diaspora have had no national art: the Zionists in Palestine are developing one for us. We have had no national Jewish music; they are creating it for us. We have had no national Hebraic literature; they are producing it for us. We have had no living national language; they are reviving it for us. We have had no successful system of education for the young; they are forming one for us. We have had no standard of what constitutes a complete Jewish life; they are building one up for us. We have had little sense of the solidarity and oneness of Israel. They are instilling into us that consciousness of Jewish brotherhood and unity.” [34]

In an article in 1914, Dr. Pool described Zionism as an expression of Jewish patriotism. “The Zionistic development of Palestine is giving to the Jewish people Jewish traditions, Jewish institutions and Jewish ideals, all rooted in the Jewish fatherland. In a word, Zionism is giving to the Jewish people not only territorialism of “landism,” it is giving back to Judaism and the Jewish people the sentiment of patriotism of “fatherlandism” in the fullest and finest sense of the word.”[35] Further in this article, Dr. Pool warned that patriotism can become parochial and narrow. He thought that these tendencies in Zionism would gradually give way to a broad and inclusive worldview. Dr. Pool hoped for “a Jewish patriotism that is deeply founded, broad and unselfish, a patriotism without rancor or prejudice, a patriotism born of loyalty to our Jewish tradition…loyalty to our Jewish ideals and devotion to our Jewish patria, Palestine.” [36]

Dr. Pool’s Zionism was not merely theoretical. He was a hard working activist. He and his wife Tamar, were leaders in Hadassah’s Young Judaea youth movement. Tamar went on to become National President of Hadassah, in which capacity both she and her husband worked cooperatively to foster Zionist ideals and support for the Zionist cause. In 1919, Dr. Pool literally risked his position at Shearith Israel when he and his wife decided to leave for Palestine to do relief work under the auspices of the Joint Distribution Committee. They spent several years there, until returning to New York. Fortunately, Dr. Pool was re-engaged by Shearith Israel in 1922; but that was by no means something he could have counted upon.

With the rise of Nazism in Germany in the early 1930s, Dr. Pool increasingly spoke of the need for a Jewish homeland. He called on Jews to strengthen their own identities as Jews, to rally around Zionism. In his Hanukkah message of November 30, 1934, he cited the heroic example of the Maccabees who became “masters of their own soul. In every subsequent generation the Jew who has maintained his spiritual integrity has known the hero’s joy of spiritual freedom, though his body may have been oppressed and enslaved. He has been himself. He has refused to become that weak and pathetic creature, a copy of someone else.”[37]

As European Jewry faced its destruction at the hand of the Germans and their collaborators, Dr. Pool called on American Jews to rise to action on behalf of their endangered coreligionists. “It is our responsibility, and in the whole of Jewry primarily our responsibility, as American Jews to build up here and in the Land of Israel a refuge for the physical Jew and for the Jewish spirit. Once more the world will see a saving remnant of Israel that shall put forth shoots and grow into a mighty tree which will bring forth fruits of beauty and truth in the generations to come, and under which Jewish life shall be lived in peace with none to make us afraid.” [38]

With the horrific murder of millions of European Jews, the importance of a Jewish State was widely recognized as being vital for the future safety of the Jewish people. But for Dr. Pool, Israel was not merely to be a physical safe haven for Jews. It was to become a spiritual, religious and cultural center for world Jewry and all humankind. The Holy City of Jerusalem would symbolize religious idealism at its best. In his Rosh Hashanah message, August 1949, he wrote: “So long as there is a Holy City and there is religious aspiration in the soul of man, we have hope that the world need not be irretrievably gripped by overreaching violence and the cult of force. So long as there is a Holy City and all that it symbolizes, we have the hope, even though it be a slow and laborious hope, that one day man’s spiritual idealism will overcome his animal heritage of struggle.”[39]

In their book, An Old Faith in the New World, David and Tamar de Sola Pool included a chapter entitled “For the Sake of Zion.” They proudly pointed to the many members of Shearith Israel who, throughout the generations demonstrated their love and support of the Holy Land. They noted the philanthropic work of the congregation to the newly established Jewish State, as well as those members who settled in Israel to share directly in the rebirth of Israel.

Not all congregants, especially in the early decades of Dr. Pool’s service to Shearith Israel, were pleased with his Zionistic views. Some important members of Shearith Israel are said to have resigned their synagogue membership because of Dr. Pool’s impassioned support of Zionism. Yet, he continued his Zionistic teaching, preaching and communal work with unflinching fervor. Over the course of his career, he won many hearts and minds to the vital significance of the State of Israel to the Jewish people and to the world.

Universalism:

Dr. Pool’s religious worldview was imbued with a sense of unity: the unity of humanity based on the unity of the One God. The religious insights of Judaism were a treasure of the Jewish people to be shared with the entire world. “While the message of the prophets was directed primarily to their own people, they had the vision of humanity as a whole, and many of their words were addressed to other nations….They were the first true internationalists. They summoned Gentile and Jew alike to infuse both individual and social life with true moral and religious motivation, and so build on earth the Kingdom of God when all mankind shall live at peace.” [40]

The goal of the Jewish religious vision is the messianic era, when all human beings will live in peace and recognize the sovereignty of God. “Oppression, injustice, and warfare must yet give way to Messianic universal peace, universal brotherhood, universal justice, and universal love.” [41]

Dr. Pool envisioned all religions working together for the advancement of the human spirit. “The relationship between the great world religions should be one of mutual respect. Each seeks an approach to the Almighty….It is not a weakening but a strengthening of the loyalty we owe and give to our own faith if we understand, value and respect the faith of our neighbors.” [42]

The Universal God:

Even when Jews offer their particularistic prayers and blessings, they invoke the universal Deity: “our God, King of the universe.” For Dr. Pool, the “fervent and boundless hope running through the whole prayer book is not an expression of an assertive self-righteous nationalism. It is the yearning for mankind’s spiritual healing by divine light.” [43]

In his sermon of November 15, 1930, Dr. Pool spoke of Albert Einstein’s views on religion. For Einstein, there were three levels of religious development among human beings. Primitive religion was dictated by fear and ignorance, akin to superstition. Another stage was social/moral religion, where the emphasis was on trying to create a harmonious society based on ethical conduct. At this level, religion was essentially the guardian of human behavior. The third and highest level was the cosmic religious sense, in which humans are filled with humility as they search for the unity of God in the phenomena of nature. Dr. Pool argued that Judaism, while strongly connected to the social/moral aspects of religion, calls on its adherents to reach for the cosmic religious sense. This is evidenced in the names we ascribe to God: HaMakom, the omnipresent; Yotser/Borei Olam, Creator of the universe; Ribbono shel Olam, Master of the universe; Melekh HaOlam, King of the universe. “For the Jew, the lofty religious outlook which Albert Einstein puts into words is not the religion of individual religious geniuses; it is the religion of the people with a genius for religion….We Jews must still continue to be the Servant of the Lord, bearing through the ages until all mankind shall have learned to attain to it, the supreme conception of a cosmic religious outlook, God a unity in all existence, and order and law throughout His universe.” [44]

A Grand Religious Worldview in an Imperfect World:

Dr. Pool’s religious worldview was essentially optimistic. In spite of the many shortcomings of humanity, he believed that good people working together would ultimately succeed in creating a righteous society. The Jews have a particular mission in the unfolding human adventure; they must serve as a “light unto the nations” and help usher in a Messianic age. Yet, the Jews’ mission is infused with a universalism; it aspires to serve the universal God and to all humankind. In closing his book, Why I am a Jew, he articulates the religious vision that animated his life’s work: “Armed with faith we can fight soulless knowledge and self-destroying technology; fascist aggression and military violence; racial hatreds, class bitterness and annihilating international strife. We know no better way. We know no other way if we are to build a world in which ‘none shall hurt, none destroy….for the earth shall be full of the knowledge of the Lord as the waters cover the sea’ (Isaiah 11:9).” [45]

A Lasting Legacy:

Dr. Pool embodied the ideas and ideals of his Western Sephardic tradition and of an enlightened Orthodox Judaism. He deeply appreciated the particularistic teachings and observances of Judaism while constantly maintaining a universalistic outlook. His type of Sephardic/Orthodox rabbi was unusual in his lifetime and is even more of a rarity today. Indeed, the Sephardic and Orthodox communities have been moving further away from Dr. Pool’s vision of religious life.

Dr. Pool devoted many years of labor to edit and translate the Sephardic prayer books. His goal was to create a unified framework for the Sephardic congregations of North America. If all congregations utilized the same prayer book, an American Sephardic minhag would replace the multitude of ethnic variations among Sephardim. He took pride in the fact that one could pray in Sephardic synagogues throughout the continent and almost always pray from the siddurim that he had prepared.

Yet, his dream of a unified Sephardic minhag has largely been repudiated in recent years. There has been a proliferation of Sephardic prayer books, many catering to the specific rites of particular communities e.g. Syrian, Moroccan, Turkish/Rhodes. Israeli prayer books according to the customs of Eidot haMizrah (Middle-Eastern Jews) have become increasingly popular. Whereas Dr. Pool’s prayer books were widely used through the 1970s, they have become less utilized in more recent years. Dr. Pool had hoped for a harmonization of Sephardic synagogue practice; in fact, though, the prevailing tendency has been for each group to insist on its own customs and its own prayer book.

When Dr. Pool edited and translated the Ashkenazic prayer book (1960), his hope was that the many Ashkenazic congregations of America would have a dignified book from which to worship. As in his work on the Sephardic prayer books, he saw to it that the Ashkenazic prayer book was presented in an aesthetic style, without cumbersome notes to distract worshippers. Yet, his Ashkenazic prayer book is hardly used any longer, with most Ashkenazic congregations having switched to other editions that contain many notes and halakhic instructions.

Dr. Pool’s principled commitment to work on a community-wide basis, together with non-Orthodox Jews, has not been embraced by many of the ensuing generations of Orthodox rabbis. The Orthodox shift to the right has resulted in a far more parochial and sectarian Orthodoxy than Dr. Pool would have liked. The Synagogue Council of America that symbolized cooperation among the Orthodox, Conservative and Reform movements—and of which Dr. Pool had served as President 1938-1940—closed its doors in 1994. While “Hareidi” Orthodoxy is generally hostile toward official cooperation with entities that grant equal status to the non-Orthodox, even Modern Orthodoxy has become less engaged in formal work with non-Orthodox leadership.

Dr. Pool’s ideal of large synagogues with decorous services has also lost adherents among the next generations of Orthodox Jews. For Dr. Pool, Orthodox congregations could and should include traditional-minded Jews of various levels of religious observance. But Orthodoxy in recent years has witnessed a proliferation of smaller “yeshivish” minyanim and “shtiebels,” where the worshipers are almost all of the same level of religious observance. Decorum in the larger Orthodox synagogues is not always to the standard that Dr. Pool would have liked.

Dr. Pool eloquently advocated social justice, universal humanitarian concern, and inter-faith cooperation. These themes today are often seen as being in the province of non-Orthodox Judaism. While there still are some Orthodox rabbis who share Dr. Pool’s commitments, the general tendency seems to be toward a more particularistic conception of Judaism.

Perhaps, somewhat like Don Quixote, Dr. Pool dreamed the impossible dream. He maintained a grand religious worldview that was rooted in tradition but that transcended parochial boundaries. He sought unities where most others were mired in multiplicities.

Although many of his ideas and ideals have not yet prevailed—and may never prevail--Dr. Pool can yet serve as a source of religious light for a world that very much needs spiritual illumination. For those who aspire to a profound, dignified and intelligent spirituality; to a resurgence of righteousness in the spirit of the Hebrew prophets; to an Orthodoxy respectful of tradition and with a universal vision; to a unity among Jews and a harmony among human kind—to all such seekers Rabbi Dr. David de Sola Pool will ever be a steady and wise guide.

Epilogue:

I began my service to Shearith Israel in September 1969, while I was still a 24 year old rabbinical student. That first Rosh Hashana, I sat next to Dr. Pool on the synagogue’s Tebah, reader’s desk, where the congregation’s clergy are seated. Dr. Pool was 83 years old, frail, and in declining health. After services on the first night of Rosh Hashana, Dr. Pool placed his hand on my head and gave me his blessing, wishing me a happy and meaningful ministry.

I well remember my feelings on that sacred moment. When I shook his hand, I was shaking the hand of a great spiritual leader who had begun his service to Shearith Israel in 1907; he had taken over from Dr. Mendes who had begun service to Shearith Israel in 1877. I was one handshake away from 1877! And just a few more handshakes separated me from Rev. Gershom Mendes Seixas who had begun serving Shearith Israel in 1768. I felt the weight of centuries, the incredible continuity of a magnificent tradition.

Even in his elderly years, Dr. Pool maintained a remarkable aura of dignity and serenity. He was venerated by the congregation not only for what he had accomplished in his lifetime, but for who he was—a genuinely pious, humble soul who served God and His people with selfless devotion.

I quickly learned traditions of the Shearith Israel spiritual leadership, traditions going back centuries, traditions upheld and enhanced by Dr. Pool and transmitted to his immediate successor Rabbi Dr. Louis C. Gerstein and then to me. Rabbis of Shearith Israel, as well as the Hazanim, conducted the synagogue prayer services and read the Torah with precision. The synagogue’s pulpit was reserved only for the synagogue’s rabbis. (On rare occasions, guest Orthodox rabbis were invited to preach from the pulpit.) Sermons were to be instructive and inspirational; frivolity was never allowed from the pulpit, nor was the pulpit to be used to advance a political candidate or to criticize anyone by name. The rabbi was to set an example to the congregation of proper devotion in prayer—no engaging in idle chatter or silly gestures, no reading books other than the prayer book during worship. The rabbi was to be at services punctually, not missing unless prevented by illness or a serious scheduling conflict, or unless away from town. The rabbi was to set the tone for orderliness and decorum, for neatness and respectfulness.

Along with the traditions relating to synagogue and prayer, Dr. Pool embodied the congregation’s tradition of communal involvement and social justice activism. The congregation was proud of its history of service to America (Shearith Israel’s members fought in the American Revolution!), and its commitment to the wellbeing of the Jewish community and society at large. Dr. Pool’s universalism was very much in keeping with the Spanish and Portuguese traditions of his forebears.

Dr. Pool died in December 1970, a bit over a year after I began my service to Shearith Israel. Yet, I seemed to feel his guiding hand throughout my rabbinic career. I read all his publications; I went through his sermons; I edited a collection of his sermons, addresses and writings. Throughout my many years of rabbinic service, Dr. Pool has surely been an important influence. Even now, as rabbi emeritus of Shearith Israel, I still seem to feel Dr. Pool’s hand on my head and I still seem to hear his words of blessing and encouragement. They mean as much to me now as when I first heard them at age twenty four. Perhaps even more.

Notes:

[1] For biographical information about David de Sola Pool, see David and Tamar de Sola Pool, An Old Faith in the New World, Columbia University Press, New York, 1955, pp. 202-208; Nima Adlerblum, “Reflections on the Life and Work of Rabbi David de Sola Pool,” Tradition, 30:1, fall 1995, pp. 7-16; and Dr. Pool’s article, “My Spiritual Autobiography,” in Thirteen Americans, Louis Finkelstein ed., Institute for Religious and Social Studies, New York, 1953, pp. 201-217. See also Ben Elton, “New York Orthodoxy Between the Wars,” Conversations, no. 20, autumn 2014, pp. 40-44.
[2] “My Spiritual Autobiography,” p. 202.
[3] Ibid., p. 205.c
[4] Nima Adlerblum, p 16.
[5] “How to Tell Bible Stories to Children,” Bloch Publishing Company, New York, 1913 (reprinted 1920).
[6] Ibid., p. 3.
[7] Ibid., p. 5.
[8] Ibid., p.19.
[9] David de Sola Pool, Why I am a Jew, Beacon Press, Boston, 1957, p. 26.
[10] Ibid., p. 67.
[11] Marc D. Angel, ed., Rabbi David de Sola Pool: Selections from Six Decades of Sermons, Addresses and Writings, Union of Sephardic Congregations, New York, 1980, p. 147.
[12] “Food Conservation Day,” a pamphlet issued in 1918, pp. 8, 10
[13] Rabbi David de Sola Pool: Selections from Six Decades of Sermons, Addresses and Writings, p. 129.
[14] Ibid., pp. 38-9.
[15] Ibid., p. 154.
[16] Ibid., p. 133.
[17] Ibid., pp. 138-139.
[18] Why I am a Jew, p. 98.
[19] Rabbi David de Sola Pool: Selections from Six Decades of Sermons, Addresses and Writings, p. 26.
[20] Ibid., p. 139.
[21] Why I am a Jew, p. 91.
[22] Ibid., p. 81.
[23] This letter, among other of Dr. Pool’s letters in the Shearith Israel archives, was published in Tradition 30:1, fall 1995, p.19-20.
[24] Why I am a Jew, p. 86.
[25] Rabbi David de Sola Pool: Selections from Six Decades of Sermons, Addresses and Writings, p. 182.
[26] Why I am a Jew, p. 146.
[27] Tradition, 30:1, p. 21.
[28] Ibid., p. 22.
[29] Thirteen Americans, p. 212-213.
[30] For a discussion of the relationship between Shearith Israel and the Sephardic immigrants, see Marc D. Angel, La America: The Sephardic Experience in the United States, Jewish Publication Society, Philadelphia, chapter 6.
[31] Rabbi David de Sola Pool: Six Decades of Sermons, Addresses and Writings, pp. 31-32.
[32] David de Sola Pool, “The Immigration of Levantine Jews into the United States,” Jewish Charities, June 1914, p. 15. See also his article “The Levantine Jews in the United States,” American Jewish Yearbook, vol. 15, 1913-14, pp. 207-20.
[33] See my article, “The Religious Vision of Rev. Dr.Henry Pereira Mendes,” in M. D. Angel, ed., From Strength to Strength, Sepher-Hermon Press, New York, 1998, pp. 21-28; and Dr. Pool’s booklet, H. Pereira Mendes: A Biography, New York, 1938; and David and Tamar Pool, An Old Faith in the New World, pp. 192-201.
[34] David de Sola Pool, “Palestine and the Diaspora,” pamphlet published by the Federation of American Zionists, New York, May 1913, p. 13.
[35] David de Sola Pool, “Zionism as an Expression of Jewish Patriotism,” a reprint from The Maccabaean, November-December 1914, p. 5.
[36] Ibid., p. 12.
[37] Rabbi David de Sola Pool: Six Decades of Sermons, Addresses, and Writings, p. 75.
[38] Ibid., p. 99.
[39] Ibid., p. 192.
[40 Why I am a Jew, p. 33.
[41] Ibid., p. 174
[42] David and Tamar de Sola Pool, Is There an Answer?, Thomas Yoseloff, New York, 1966, p. 205.
[43] Why I am a Jew., p. 96.
[44] Rabbi David de Sola Pool: Six Decades of Sermons, Addresses, and Writings, p. 62.
[45] Why I am a Jew,p. 198.

Folk Wisdom and Intellectual Wisdom: A Study in Sephardic Culture

 

(This article originally appeared in “Sephardica: Hommage a Haim Vidal Sephiha,” Peter Lang Publishers, Berne, 1996.)

 

Professor Sephiha has made monumental contributions to the study of Judeo-Spanish civilization. It is a pleasure to dedicate this essay to him, in recognition of his singular accomplishments.

 

When thinking about Judeo-Spanish culture, many people naturally tend to focus on the folk elements. Indeed, the Judeo-Spanish tradition is rich in folk traditions, as manifested in proverbs, stories, songs, and customs.

Folk tradition, by definition, is the domain of the common people. It reflects their wit and wisdom, their way of comprehending life. But along with the folk culture, the Sephardim maintained a vital intellectual life. An intellectual elite produced a sophisticated literature which reflected the best thinking of the best educated members of the community. In order to understand Sephardic culture, one must be attuned to the contributions both of the folk and of the elite.

 

The folk wisdom and the intellectual wisdom of the Sephardim derive from the same roots. While differing in expression, they articulate many similar ideas. A culture is a living organism. It is to be expected that all who are part of it - whether tending more to the folk or to the intellectuals – will share in the culture's general worldview.

In this essay, I will consider three themes in Sephardic culture, seeing how they reflect themselves in the folk wisdom and intellectual wisdom of our people.

 

1. Inwardness

A dominant feature in Sephardic culture is the respect for inwardness. A strong inner life is expected to develop self-confidence and self-respect; these lead to self-reliance. On the folk level, this value expresses itself in a number of proverbs:

 

"Consejo de tu companiero toma y el de tu corason non dexes. " (Take the advice of your companion—but do not leave behind that of your heart.)

"Poco que sea, mio que sea." (Let it be small, but let it be mine.)

"El diamente briya, pero al fin y at cavo es una piedra. " (A diamond glitters, but ultimately it is only a rock.)

 

These popular sentiments found expression in the Me 'am Lo'ez, the classic Judeo-Spanish biblical anthology initiated by Rabbi Yaacov Huli. In recounting the story of Moses receiving the Ten Commandments, the Me 'am Lo 'ez cites a relevant rabbinic teaching. When Moses first received the Ten Commandments, he ascended Mount Sinai alone. The people of Israel were gathered around the mountain. The revelation was accompanied by thunder, lightning and the sound of the ram’s horn. This was a highly dramatic event. Yet, when Moses came down the mountain and found the Israelites dancing around the golden calf, he threw the tablets of the law from his hands, and they were shattered. Moses then ascended the mountain a second time. On this occasion, there was no public fanfare, no miraculous sounds and lights. God told Moses that he himself would have to carve out the stone on which the Ten Commandments were to be inscribed. This second set of the Ten Commandments, which Moses received alone and through his own labor, was preserved. The first tablets which were given with much dramatic flare were destroyed, while the second tablets, which were given privately and quietly, survived. From this, the Me 'am Lo 'ez teaches that the private exertions of an individual are greater and more effective than things done with much publicity and sensationalism. This lesson underscores the need for each person to have self-respect and self-reliance (Me 'am Lo'ez on Exodus 34: 1–3).

 

This idea also is developed in the teachings of Rabbi Yitzhak Luria of sixteenth century Safed. A central theme in his kabbalistic system was tikun 'correction'. Each Jew participates in the correction of the world by liberating sparks of holiness and lessening the forces of impurity. By performing the commandments of the Torah, Jews thus play a major role in preserving the cosmos. Regardless of one's degree of wealth or wisdom or social status, one is able to participate in the correction of the universe. This idea, widely adopted among Sephardim, inculcates a sense of self-worth and personal responsibility.[1]

Another element in the quality of inwardness is the awareness of holiness. Even simple and relatively uneducated Sephardim recognized the dimension of holiness in life. This very recognition has led to an inner spiritual humility, a sense of connection with the Eternal God.

 

On the folk level, this recognition of holiness was manifested in various ways. It was a wide-spread practice to read from the Zohar, the classic book of kabbalah. The Zohar was read with great devotion even by those who could not understand the words, nor even pronounce them correctly. Rabbi Hayyim Yosef David Azulai, a great 18th century Sephardic sage, praised the value of reading the Zohar even by people who could not read it properly. The very reading of this holy text was a way of deepening a person's awareness of the holy (Azulai 1879: 6).

 

In many communities, it was customary to kiss the hand of the rabbi as a sign of respect. In turn, the rabbi would offer his blessing. This custom reflects respect for what the rabbi represents i.e. Torah, God, holiness. Reverence shown to the rabbi was symbolic of reverence felt toward all that is sacred in Judaism. The outward fulfillment of this custom inculcated an inward respect for holiness.

 

On the intellectual level, this thirst for holiness showed itself in a number of ways. The great scholars of halakha saw in their study a direct link between themselves and the will of God. Rabbi Yosef Karo, author of the classic Shulhan Arukh, reported receiving angelic messages, prodding him to utilize his talents to study and teach halakha.

 

Throughout the generations, Sephardic intellectuals produced significant works of Jewish ethics and moral guidance. Among the classic authors in this genre were such figures as Rabbis Eliezer Azicri, Eliyahu de Vidas, Hayyim Yosef David Azulai, Moshe Hayyim Luzzatto, Eliyahu ha-Cohen, and Eliezer Papo. A chief characteristic of this moral literature is its stress on spiritual inwardness.

 

Each person has the possibility of improving himself spiritually. One may not be able to control the world, or his society, or even his own family: but he does have the possibility of learning to control himself. The ethical literature emphasizes the need for each individual to be strong from within.

 

 One of the concepts in kabbalah and ethical literature is known as hitbodedut-- 'meditation'. This principle teaches that an individual must intellectually and spiritually isolate himself periodically, in order to focus completely on the ultimate truths. If the kabbalistic elite were able to master this practice, the masses were at least able to appreciate its value.

 

The folk wisdom and intellectual wisdom of the Sephardim were interrelated, each influencing the other, and both reflecting shared ideas and values.

 

2. Optimism, Joy in Life

 

The Sephardic spirit is generally optimistic, valuing the joy of life. On the

folk level, this shows itself in the many celebrations held among Sephardic families, for almost any occasion. These celebrations include a wonderful variety of foods, fragrances, songs, dances. The Sephardic aesthetic sense appreciates a variety of colors. Even in food presentation, Sephardim utilize many vegetables of different colors.

 

The Sephardic attitude is reflected in an incident which occurred in the latter part of the eighteenth century. An Ashkenazic rabbi, Simhah ben Joshua of Zalozhtsy, made a pilgrimage to Israel. Many Sephardic Jews were on the same ship with him. The trip took place during the month of Ellul, just prior to Rosh Hashanah. This, of course, is the month when Jews recite selihot, special prayers seeking repentance for our sins. The month of Ellul is devoted to serious thought, prayers, and acts of repentance. The Ashkenazic rabbi noted, apparently with surprise, that the pious Sephardim awoke each morning before daybreak in order to chant the selihot prayers. Yet, "during the day, they eat and rejoice and are happy at heart" (Eisenstein 1969: 241). Even during this relatively serious season, the religious Sephardic Jews maintained the spirit of optimism and celebration.

 

This attitude is also evident in the synagogue melodies for the High Holy Days. In general, the music is upbeat and optimistic. The services almost totally lack music which sounds melancholy or tearful.

This attitude of optimism is reflected in an important work by Rabbi Eliyahu ha-Cohen of eighteenth century Izmir. In his book, Midrash Talpiot, Rabbi ha-Cohen explains a Talmudic passage which lauds two jokesters who were said to have been granted eternal reward in the world to come. Rabbi haCohen wrote:

 

"Anyone who is happy all his days thereby indicates the greatness of his trust in God. This is why they (the jokesters) were always happy .... This quality (of accepting life with happiness) is enough to give a person merit to have a place in the world to come; for great is trust (in the Lord), even if a person is not perfect in all other moral perfections" (Ha-Cohen 1860: 73a).

 

3. Gracefulness, Good Manners

 

Many customs and practices underscore the importance of gracefulness and good manners. When a man is called to the Torah during synagogue services, his younger relatives stand in his honor. Youngsters kiss the hand of their parents and grandparents as a sign of respect. In return, they are given words of blessing. It is not polite for younger people to look directly into the eyes of older people. Rather, the younger person should keep his eyes lowered, as a sign of respect.

 

Among the women, it was common to have visitas, little social gatherings during the course of the week. The hostess would invite some of her relatives and friends. She would prepare a good variety of baked goods and other specialties, and would serve everything on her best set of dishes. The ladies would attend, dressed in their best clothes, as though they were going to a formal party, rather than to the home of a friend or relative.

My mother explained to us the custom that when the hostess wanted the guests to leave, she offered them a certain confection made of marzipan. In popular parlance, this confection was known as the passoporto and was a signal to the guests that the party was over. This was a polite and respectful way to deal with a difficult social situation.

 

On the intellectual level, the importance of good manners and gracefulness was emphasized in works of Jewish law and especially in works of Jewish ethical behavior. A classic sixteenth century work, Regimiento de La Vida by Rabbi Moshe Almosnino, gives specific rules of etiquette which must govern one's life. Good manners were not seen as a superficial frill, but as a basic component of proper living.

The Sephardic model was idealized among nineteenth century German Jewish intellectuals.[2] Moritz Kayserling asserted that the religious behavior of Sephardim

 

was always so pure, so free of all hypocrisy, remaining forever one and the same, far removed from all incursions of vapid rationalizing, because it emerged united with science, which in turn kept it from ever losing its way. We must constantly acknowledge the benefit that wherever Spanish and Portuguese Jews settled, they spread culture, knowledge and solid learning.

 

Eduard Gans believed that Sephardim "are marked by less discrepancy in morality, purer speech, greater order in the synagogue, and in fact better taste".

Indeed, as a general rule it can be stated that Sephardim did lay stress on aesthetic considerations and orderliness. They have always taken pride in the beauty of their synagogues. Even the simplest and poorest synagogues are maintained with devotion; they are neat, clean, and pleasing to behold.

 

Concern for etiquette and aesthetics reflects the deeper concern for self-respect and respect of others. And, of course, it reflects respect for God.

 

This general tendency underlies the notion that Jews must function as ethical human beings, models of excellence who can be emulated by others. This idea found full expression in the writings of Rabbi Eliyahu Benamozegh, one of the important Sephardic intellectuals of the nineteenth century. In one of his books, In Ethical Paths, Rabbi Benamozegh demonstrates the profundity of the Jewish ethical system. In his work, Israel and Humanity, he thoughtfully argues on behalf of the universalism of Judaism. The ultimate teachings of the Torah are relevant to all peoples, not only to the Jews.

 

Rabbi Benzion Uziel, in his various writings, also articulates the ethical teachings of Judaism. All human beings, whether Jewish or not, are created in the image of God, and are therefore entitled to respect and dignity. Jewish teachings imbue the Jewish people with a strong ethical sense, enabling them to inspire others similarly to strive to live their lives on a high ethical plane.

 

Another related idea is the Sephardic discomfort with ideological confrontations. The natural tendency has been to try to maintain harmony, peacefulness and balance.

Sephardim, whether belonging to the world of intellectuals or the world of the folk, have tended to see the Sephardic approach to life as being imbued with compassion and tolerance. Rabbi Michael Molho, in his study of the customs and practices of the Sephardim of Salonika, has noted that Sephardic religious life shuns extremism and showy displays of religious observance (Molho 1950: 155).

 

This Sephardic attitude led to the maintenance of cohesive, traditional communities. At a time when the Enlightenment and Emancipation were tearing the fabric of Jewish life in Europe, the Sephardim maintained themselves as islands of respectful traditionalism. Whereas Ashkenazic Jewry divided itself into ideological movements -- Orthodox, Conservative, Reform and others—Sephardim rejected this approach. Rather, they stressed the importance of maintaining a united community, avoiding ideological confrontation and divisiveness. For the sake of keeping harmony and balance in the community, individuals recognized the need to reject ideological factionalism.

 

The above examples illustrate how basic ideas imbued the masses of Sephardim as well as the intellectual elite. They cannot be understood as peripheral ideas held only by one group or the other. Rather, they can be seen to be basic ingredients in Sephardic culture as a whole. These attitudes and ideas, which have been fostered by our ancestors for generations, are still vitally relevant to us and to future generations. Our task is to understand Sephardic culture at its best and to convey its message to Sephardim and non-Sephardim alike.

 

 

Bibliography:

 

Angel, Marc D. (1991): Voices In Exile: A Study in Sephardic Intellectual History.

Hoboken, New Jersey.

Azulai, Hayyim Y. D. (1879): Avodat ha-Kodesh [Holy Service]. Warsaw.

Eisenstein. J. D. (1969): Ozar ha-Masaot [Anthology of Travel Accountsl. Tel Aviv.

Ha-Cohen. Eliyahu (1869): Midrash Talpiot [Collection of rabbinic homilies and

interpretations]. Tchernowitz.

Molho. Michael (1950): Usos y costumbres de los Sefardies de Sal6nika. Madrid.

C.S.I.C. Instituto "Arias Montano.”

Scholem. Gershom (1964): On the Kabbalah and its Symbolism. New York.

Schorsch. Ismar (1989): "The Myth of Sephardic Supremacy.” Yearbook of the Leo

Baeck Institute 34: 47–66.

 

 

[1] See my discussion in Angel, Voices in Exile, 110–116. See also Scholem, On the Kabbalah and its Symbolism, 116f.   (Move all notes to endnotes)

 

 

[2] This information is drawn from an article by Schorsh, "The Myth of Sephardic Supremacy,” pp. 52 and 63. (move to endnote)

Models of Sephardic Rabbinic Leadership

In the early 1970s, shortly after I had begun my rabbinical service to Congregation Shearith Israel, the historic Spanish and Portuguese Synagogue of New York City, I attended a shiur, a lecture, at Yeshiva University given by the recently elected Rishon leZion, Rabbi Ovadya Yosef. As a young Sephardic rabbi, I was eager to hear the words of this prominent and erudite Sephardic rabbinic leader. The message of that shiur made a great impression on me and has remained with me to this day.

Rabbi Yosef, drawing on a passage from the Hidah (Rabbi Hayyim Yosef David Azulai), suggested a distinction between the Ashkenazic and Sephardic approaches to halakha. Historically, the Hidah noted, the Ashkenazim tended toward the quality of “gevurah,” strength. They viewed halakhic stringencies as a positive expression of love of God. The stricter the demands of halakha, the more self-sacrifice and heroism were entailed in fulfilling the commandments. In contrast, the Sephardim tended toward the quality of “hessed,” compassion. They viewed halakha as a loving means of serving God. Whereas Ashkenazim veered toward halakhic stringency, Sephardim tilted toward halakhic leniency. As Rabbi Yosef said: “The Sephardic rabbis are of the school of Hillel, tending toward hessed, and they do not have stringencies; they walk on the ‘king’s highway.’ However, Ashkenazic rabbis tend toward gevurah, and are from the school of Shammai who were strict.” Rabbi Yosef assured his audience that he himself was of the school of Hillel, and wished that “the Ashkenazim would be in order as we are.”[i]

Rabbi Yosef’s description of Sephardic and Ashkenazic halakhic attitudes was surely stereotypical. Throughout the ages, Ashkenazic sages could be counted among those who ruled leniently; and Sephardic sages could be included among those who favored stringencies. Still, the generalized view of Rabbi Yosef is important because it sheds light on how Sephardic sages (and Ashkenazic sages) viewed themselves and their roles. If a rabbi saw himself as part of a tradition that had a particular halakhic tendency, he was more likely to adopt that tendency himself. Rabbis whose tradition stressed a gevurah approach would consciously or unconsciously tilt toward stringent rulings and interpretations; rabbis whose tradition placed a premium on hessed would consciously or unconsciously tilt toward lenient rulings and interpretations.

Justice Benjamin Nathan Cardozo, in a lecture he delivered at Yale University, observed that no judge can be entirely objective and impartial. He said,

There is in each of us a stream of tendency, whether you choose to call it philosophy or not, which gives coherence and direction to thought and action. Judges cannot escape that current any more than other mortals. All their lives, forces which they do not recognize and cannot name, have been tugging at them—inherited instincts, traditional beliefs, acquired convictions; and the resultant is an outlook on life, a conception of social needs…which, when reasons are nicely balanced, must determine where choice shall fall….We may try to see things as objectively as we please. None the less, we can never see them with any eyes except our own.[ii]

Part of the “stream of tendency” within the Sephardic rabbinic tradition is the emphasis on hessed. Sephardic rabbis and laity alike have the general feeling that the Sephardic tradition is compassionate, tolerant, and sympathetic to the human predicament. This self-image serves as a self-fulfilling prophecy; because we have this view of our tradition, this leads us to conduct ourselves and make decisions staying true to this idealized self-image. When Rabbi Ovadya Yosef, echoing earlier generations of Sephardic sages, stated that Sephardim are followers of the school of Hillel, then the new generations of Sephardic rabbis absorb this attitude from the very civilization of which they are part. They see themselves as agents of hessed—and thus they internalize the value of hessed in their views on life and law.

I pondered the words of Rabbi Yosef in the context of my own upbringing in the Sephardic community of Seattle, Washington, among Jews of Judeo-Spanish background. It seemed eminently true to me that the Sephardic approach to religion and life was characterized by hessed, optimism, and a spirit of inclusiveness and hospitality. This is what I learned from my parents and grandparents; this is what I learned from my elders and my rabbis.

After hearing Rabbi Yosef’s shiur, I decided to move beyond personal reminiscences and to try to address this issue in a more objective, scholarly fashion. I wrote an article for Midstream Magazine (August/September, 1975) entitled “A Sephardic Approach to Halakhah,” in which I drew on the comments by Rabbi Yosef and on responsa by a number of Sephardic sages. I noted:

The Sephardic approach to halakhah stressed the idea that the law is a practical guide to human behavior. It is not an ivory tower subject, not a metaphysical system, not the preserve of an intellectual elite….Since Sephardic scholars studied texts with the goal of applying their rules directly to actual situations, they had to remain sensitive to the needs of people. This very sensitivity kept the quality of hessed alive.[iii]

As I continued my studies on this topic—especially through the writings of Rabbis Eliyahu Hazan, Benzion Uziel, and Haim David Halevy—I conceived of two ways for a rabbi to answer a halakhic question.[iv] In one scenario, the rabbi hears the question and then goes to his library of halakhic volumes to do research and to seek an answer. In the other scenario, the rabbi hears the question and then looks carefully into the eyes of the person who has asked the question. What is this person’s situation? How will the rabbi’s answer impact on his/her life? What are the broader ramifications of the answer on his/her family and community? In the first case, the rabbi views a halakhic question as an abstract search for truth; the books have the answer. In the second case, the rabbi views a halakhic question in the context of the questioner’s life, and only then goes to his halakhic tomes. The sages who are my models of halakhic integrity and hessed would, I imagine, first look into the eyes of the questioners, and only then consult the halakhic books.

In this essay, I elaborate on models of Sephardic rabbinic leadership—models that have so much to say to contemporary rabbis and laypeople of all backgrounds. This is not an “ethnic study,” but an exploration of a vital aspect of Jewish religious life relevant to the entire Jewish people. I draw on my own observations as a Sephardic rabbi with over 41 years of experience, as well as on what I have learned from my years of research and writing in the field.

The late Professor Meir Benayahu published a book on the nature of the rabbinate in the Sephardic world.[v] He listed various titles by which Sephardic rabbis were known, and described the rabbinic functions and responsibilities.

One of the rabbinic titles was Marbitz Torah—a disseminator of Torah. The rabbi was expected to be thoroughly steeped in rabbinic literature, to be competent to serve as a decisor of halakhic questions, to serve on the local rabbinical court (Bet Din), to be responsible for matters relating to kashruth, mikvah, eruv, and so forth. He was expected to teach Torah to the community and to oversee the community’s education system. The function of rabbi as Marbitz Torah was well-described by Rabbi Benzion Uziel:

Every Jewish community is obligated to appoint a distinguished rabbi, an expert in legal opinions and rulings, to teach them the law of the Torah in all questions of what is forbidden and permitted, impure and pure, right and wrong; to teach them the ways of Torah and mitzvah, kindness and generosity in their personal and communal lives; to bring them closer to Torah and to the love of God, His Torah, the people and land of Israel; and to dedicate himself body and soul to all the spiritual possessions of the people, so that the name of Heaven and the name of Israel will be sanctified by his work; to unify the entire community and to gather them together for Torah study and prayer in the synagogue and study hall; and to work with the public on behalf of all communal needs and charitable institutions.[vi]

Another title applied to Sephardic rabbis was “Hakham.” A Hakham was certainly expected to be learned in the sacred texts of Judaism—but the title implies more than mere erudition. It implies wisdom. The Hakham was a wise man who had keen insight into human psychology; he could draw on the Bible, Talmud, Midrash, Kabbalah, and Mussar literature, but he also had the innate sense to know how to apply these texts to real-life situations. He had a rational bent and a mystical bent; he was aware of the larger problems and issues confronting his society. People knew they could turn to the Hakham for proper guidance, for counseling on matters of deep concern.

Sephardic rabbis were also known as “Haver haIr,” literally, “friend of the city.” While “haver” has the talmudic connotation of someone known for punctiliousness in the laws of ritual purity and impurity, the word also reflects the popular usage—a friend. The rabbi was not to be an aloof scholar, but a person of the people and with the people. His life was bound up with the lives of his community. In a very real and direct sense, the rabbi was a friend to his community; he cared for them, looked out for their wellbeing, and identified with their needs and aspirations.

In 1968, when I was still a rabbinical student, my wife and I travelled to Europe and Israel. One of our stops was Istanbul. We had the honor of spending Shabbat with Rabbi Nissim Behar, one of the community’s outstanding rabbinic personalities. Rabbi Behar, although earning his living in business, devoted numerous hours to teaching young and old. He wrote books in Ladino, presenting the teachings, laws and customs of Judaism in a language that was accessible to his community. He taught young men who aspired to become learned in Torah, some of whom went on to become rabbis in their own rights.

Rabbi Behar asked my wife and me to accompany him on Friday as he shopped for Shabbat groceries. He stopped at one produce stand and bought some potatoes and onions. He stopped at another shop to buy apples and pears. He stopped yet again at another little market to buy tomatoes and cucumbers. I asked him, “Why are you stopping at so many stores? You could have bought all these things at the first place and saved a lot of time and trouble?” Rabbi Behar looked at me kindly and replied, “All these merchants are members of our community. They all need parnasah (income). They all need to know that the rabbi supports their work.” Rabbi Nissim Behar was not just a “Marbitz Torah,” and not merely a “Hakham;” he was a “Haver haIr,” a friend, a person who genuinely cared about his community members. He worried not only about their spiritual needs, but also about their material well-being.

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

Rabbi Behar and Haham Gaon were living examples of a Sephardic rabbinic tradition that placed high value on the rabbi’s role as a participant in the life of the community. Rabbi Eliyahu Zini of Haifa wrote an important article in which he lamented the gradual disappearance of this kind of rabbinic model. He referred to his grandfather, who had been a rabbi in various Sephardic communities, who would “visit each Jew of the community in his place of work, in order to become familiar with his problems and needs, and to guide him accordingly.”[vii] Rabbi Zini pointed out that many Sephardic rabbis earned their livings in businesses and trades, and did not rely on the rabbinate for their incomes. When rabbis are engaged in business, or when they at least become familiar with the business lives of the members of their community, they have a better grasp of reality than those rabbis who spend their days in the study hall. They are better able to reflect hessed in their halakhic rulings, in their interpersonal relationships, in their outlook on life.[viii] Rabbi Zini noted that the contemporary trend in the “yeshiva world” idealizes the rabbinic scholar who studies Torah day and night, who is provided sustenance from charity rather than from his own labor. Such rabbis are disconnected from the “real world” and from the general public. They may become learned in the ancient texts, but they do not naturally achieve the insights of a Hakham or the loving-kindness of a Haver haIr. When Torah is divorced from life, it becomes an artificial construct relevant only to self-selected scholars who function within a narrow, self-contained society of their own.

Whereas Sephardic models of rabbinic leadership stressed involvement in all aspects of the life of the community, non-Sephardic models have often followed a different track. In some circles, it was considered to be beneath the rabbi’s dignity to engage in business, to spend time on the nitty-gritty details of communal life. Rather, the rabbi was supposed to devote himself to Torah study, and to be above the fray of public life. Dr. Isidore Epstein reflects this attitude in his description of the role of rabbi in fourteenth-century Algeria. Dr. Epstein noted that the rabbis had multifarious functions, and this fact testifies

to the low standard of Jewish culture of North African Jewry. In adverting to Jewish past and present day history, we cannot fail to notice that wherever there is a strong, virile, and advanced Jewish life, there the tendency is to keep the rabbinical office distinct from other callings; and the combination of rabbinical charges with other functions is a sign of decadence and of lack of appreciation of learning as such.[ix]

Dr. Epstein thought it was a sign of spiritual decadence if the rabbi had to function as a school teacher, ritual slaughterer, and leader of prayers, and that such a rabbi suffered from “a consequent lowering in his prestige and rabbinical authority.”

Yet, viewed from a different perspective, Dr. Epstein’s comments might be paraphrased in an entirely different manner. The rabbis of North Africa were not an insulated, isolated elite who dwelled in ivory towers. Rather, they were involved in all facets of their community’s life, and therefore were close to the people and their needs. A virtue of these rabbis was that they were not aloof from the people, but they were the ones who taught school, who prepared kasher meat, who led the synagogue prayers and read the Torah portions to the public. It is no shame to be in the model of Haver haIr; on the contrary, this model helps the rabbi attain the qualities of Hakham and Marbitz Torah on a more profound level.

In recent years, the classic nature of Sephardic rabbinic leadership has lost much of its historic luster. For a variety of sociological and psychological reasons, there has been a sea change in Orthodox rabbinic leadership in general—and an even more profound change in Sephardic rabbinic leadership. The upsurge in the influence of extreme Hareidi religious authorities has dragged much of Orthodoxy “to the right.” The so-called Modern Orthodox or Religious Zionist rabbis have all but ceded total authority to the Hareidi rabbinate in almost every area of religious life. Modern Orthodox/Religious Zionist rabbinic figures have increasingly adopted Hareidi halakhic positions, styles of leadership—even Hareidi styles of dress. Israel’s Chief Rabbinate, long a bastion of Religious Zionism, has become “hareidized” to a significant extent, and no longer can be said to represent a Modern Orthodox/Religious Zionist agenda. On the contrary, it constantly seems to seek approval from the Hareidi world, rather than strengthening and promoting its Religious Zionist base.

The Sephardic rabbinic world has been strongly affected by the general shift to the right. Indeed, many (most?) Sephardic rabbis have been trained in Ashkenazic yeshivot; have adopted Ashkenazic modes of Torah study and halakhic decision-making, and even have adopted Ashkenazic garb. They have moved more and more away from “hessed” and more and more toward “gevurah.” They have come to stress the rabbinic role of Marbitz Torah, and to under-appreciate the roles of Hakham and Haver haIr.

Over the years, many Sephardic rabbis from Israel have visited my community in New York in order to raise funds for their institutions. Often, these rabbis have come dressed in long black coats and black hats, in the Ashkenazic Hareidi style. When I have asked them about their garb, invariably they have responded: we wear these clothes because this is the uniform of rabbinic scholars; if we dressed differently, we wouldn’t be taken seriously. In the early 1990s, I met with the Sephardic Chief Rabbi Mordecai Eliyahu, and I asked him why the Sephardic rabbis in Israel tend to dress in the Ashkenazic style. He smiled benevolently, and said that this was the generally accepted mode of dress for rabbis. When I urged him to raise his voice on this issue and to encourage Sephardic rabbis not to capitulate to Ashkenazic fashion dictates, he indicated that the battle was already lost and it would be a waste of time to try to fight the status quo.

The Sephardic adoption of external Hareidi garb is a reflection of the adoption of Hareidi attitudes as well. This includes the glorification of the “Kollel” system, where students receive stipends to study Torah day and night rather than find gainful employment; where they receive little or no general education outside of Torah study; where they avoid military service in Israel; where they become isolated from the life and concerns of the general public. I have been visited by Israeli Sephardic rabbis who have wanted donations to their Hareidi-type yeshivot, including one who asked for money for his “Sefardishe Koylel.”

Rabbi Ovadya Yosef, although surely still a representative of the hessed tradition of Sephardic sages in matters of halakha, became a political figure with the establishment of the Shas party in Israel. Political life often entails getting one’s hands dirty with compromises, with back-room maneuvering and negotiating. In order to gain positions of power and government funding for the institutions of Shas, trade-offs had to be made. These political dealings have tended to tarnish Rabbi Yosef’s reputation among segments of the population who have come to view him as another political hack fighting for his own piece of the political pie. Moreover, he has made many public statements reflecting a very narrow worldview, for example, that women’s place is in the kitchen; that Israeli soldiers died in Lebanon because of sins; that non-Jews were created to serve Jews, and so forth. He has promoted an educational approach that stresses Torah study and the Kollel system, rather than an educational system that seriously teaches general subjects and trains students for future university study and and/or gainful employment.

Rabbi Yosef’s example has been followed by many Sephardic rabbis in Israel and the Diaspora. Sephardic Hareidim, no less than Ashkenazic Hareidim, have promoted an obscurantist, authoritarian, and fundamentalist view of religion.

Some popular Sephardic rabbis have taken on the roles of wonder workers—ready to write magical amulets, to bless water or whiskey with healing powers, to recite kabbalistic incantations for the benefit of those who patronize them. They have promoted a folk religion steeped in superstition. While attracting a following among some elements of the population, they have repelled thinking, rational Jews, and have alienated the educated classes from religion.

At a time when the Jewish people in Israel and the Diaspora desperately need intellectually sophisticated rabbinic leadership, the current trends in Orthodox—Ashkenazic and Sephardic—rabbinic circles are moving in the wrong direction. While stressing the role of Marbitz Torah, the roles of Hakham and Haver haIr have been downplayed—much to the detriment of the rabbinate and the spiritual health of the Jewish people. Rabbis have increasingly tilted toward gevurah instead of hessed; stringency in Jewish law has become fashionable even among Sephardic rabbis. Instead of Hakhamim and Havrei haIr who feel close to the people, and who strive to understand the real world in which people live, modern-day rabbis have grown more distant from the general public outside their own immediate group of followers and their financial supporters (whether or not these wealthy people are religious themselves). They seem to feel that they have the Truth, and they sense little affection or responsibility for those who do not share this Truth. They preach a midrashic/kabbalistic/authoritarian brand of religion that appeals to those satisfied with a simplistic religious worldview—but that alienates thinking, independent, and educated Jews. They are raising a generation of intellectual sheep, fostering a religious way of life that is divorced from the greater needs of society. They are encouraging a way of life that leads young men to study in a Kollel rather than to earn a livelihood in the market place, and are sheltering students from serving in the Israeli military. They limit intellectual and social options for women by insisting on the narrowest interpretations of Jewish law and custom. They create a Judaism that is more like a sect than a world religion.

To change the deficiencies in the status quo of Sephardic rabbinic leadership, the community as a whole needs to take action and responsibility. We need to support and encourage those rabbis who personify the best in our tradition, rabbis who fulfill the roles of Marbitz Torah, Hakham and Haver haIr. We need to give strength to those rabbis who stand for hessed, rather than gevurah; who devote themselves to the well-being of their communities in a loving and inclusive manner; who espouse an intellectually vibrant and compassionate Judaism. We ought not support those rabbis and institutions which seek to “hareidize” the Sephardic community, nor ought we donate our funds or lend credibility to wonder-working rabbis who foster a pseudo-kabbalistic, superstition-prone brand of religion. Are we up to this historic responsibility, or will we allow ourselves and our coming generations to continue the slide into an obscurantist, authoritarian, superstition-ridden Judaism?

When I was a young rabbi, I believed that the classic models of Sephardic rabbinic leadership provided a responsible and meaningful example for all of world Jewry. Nearly fifty years later, I still believe this to be true. In spite of all the negative signs that abound, I still believe this to be true.

[i] Rabbi Yosef’s words, which were later published in the Hebrew journal, BaMa’arakha, Adar I, 5733, are quoted by Rabbi Binyamin Lau, Hakhamim, vol. 1, Beit Morasha, Jerusalem, 2007, p. 196.

[ii] Benjamin Nathan Cardozo,The Nature of the Judicial Process, Yale University Press, New Haven, 1921, pp. 12–13.

[iii] Ibid., p. 68

[iv] I have written about a Sephardic approach to halakha and life in my books, The Rhythms of Jewish Living: A Sephardic Approach, Sepher-Hermon Press, New York, 1986; Voices in Exile: A Study in Sephardic Intellectual History, Ktav Publishing House, Hoboken, 1991; Loving Truth and Peace: The Grand Religious Worldview of Rabbi Benzion Uziel, Jason Aronson, Northvale, 1999; Rabbi Haim David Halevy: Gentle Scholar and Courageous Thinker, Urim Publications, Jerusalem, 2006; and Foundations of Sephardic Spirituality: The Inner Life of Jews of the Ottoman Empire, Jewish Lights, Woodstock, 2006. On Rabbi Eliyahu Hazan and other Sephardic sages, see Norman A. Stillman, Sephardi Religious Responses to Modernity, University of Oklahoma Press, 1995; and Zvi Zohar, He’iru Penei haMizrah, HaKibbutz HaMeuchad, Israel, 2001.

[v] Meir Benayahu, Marbitz Torah, Jerusalem, 1953. Although I refer to rabbinic titles cited by Prof. Benayahu, the elaborations in this essay are my own.

[vi] Benzion Uziel, Shaarei Uziel, vol. 1, Jerusalem, 5751, pp. 51–52. See also my book on Rabbi Uziel, chapter 4.

[vii] Eliyahu Zini, “Kera’ beAhdut,” in Yehuda Shaviv, ed., Mamlekhet Kohanim veGoy Kaddosh, Jerusalem, 5749, p. 72.

[viii] Rabbi Haim Amsalem wrote an important monograph, Gadol haNehene miYegio, Jerusalem, 5770, in which he cites numerous rabbinic sources lauding the virtue of working for a living. Rabbi Amsalem opposes the Kollel system, which encourages men to study Torah day and night, and not earn their livelihoods through work in the marketplace. Although some especially gifted students might be maintained in the Kollelim, the majority of the students should be encouraged to find gainful employment. Because of this “radical” position, Rabbi Amsalem has been vilified by the Hareidi world, Sephardic and Ashkenazic!

[ix] Isidore Epstein, The Responsa of Rabbi Simon b. Zemah Duran as a Source of the History of the Jews in North Africa, Hermon Press, New York, 1968, pp. 58–59.

To Be a Holy People: Review of New Book by Rabbi Eugene Korn

To Be a Holy People: Jewish Tradition and Ethical Values, by Eugene Korn (Urim Publications, 2021)

 

Reviewed by Israel Drazin

 

(Rabbi Dr. Israel Drazin is a retired US Army Brigadier General. His latest book is “Mysteries of Judaism V: More than 150 Mistaken Ideas about God and the Bible”.)

 

Most people, Jews and non-Jews, think that Judaism prefers that Jews observe Jewish Law, called halakha, rather than ethics, and if the two come in conflict the Jew must follow the halakha. Rabbi Dr. Eugene Korn shows in his excellent easy to understand book that they are wrong.

 

What is Jewish Ethics? How does it differ from Jewish law?

 

Three things must be understood about Jewish Ethics. The first is to recognize that the goal of the Torah is proper behavior and many practices were essential only in the early history of the Jewish people. For example, the Torah requires certain procedures in regard to sacrifices, but Jewish tradition has understood that the Bible wants people to behave properly with one another not spend time trying to please God.

 

Second, we need to identify overarching values such as the Tzelem Elokim, the image of God which is implanted in all human beings, Jews and non-Jews, as reflected in Genesis 1:26. The concept of Tzelem Elokim proclaims that human life has immeasurable value. Mishna Sanhedrin 4:5 states it clearly: “One who saves a single life is [i.e. morally equivalent to] as if he saves the entire world; one who destroys a single life is as if he destroys the entire world.”

 

Another significant value is to implement justice as required in Deuteronomy 16:20 “Justice, justice you shall pursue.” Others include love of neighbor in Leviticus 19:18, holiness in Leviticus 19:2, peace as emphasized in Isaiah 57:19, and the general concept of moral rightness and goodness in Deuteronomy 6:18.

 

Still other fundamental guiding value in Jewish ethics include the imperative to imitate God, to clothe the naked, feed the poor, visit the sick, comfort mourners, and perform acts of loving-kindness – because Jewish tradition understood that God did these acts. Another, one that recognizes that the commandments were not the goal but a path toward the goal, is lifnim mishurat ha-din, going beyond the requirements of the commandments, the halakha. Another aspect of Jewish ethics is Tikkun Olam, commonly translated repairing the world, the requirement to be active, to improve one’s self and society, not to sit passively studying halakha or praying or reciting Psalms.

 

The third item that must be understood about Jewish Ethics is that its final objective, the vision that animates the commands and the ethics they teach, is the messianic vision of a society suffused with peace and justice. The goal of the commandments is not the doing of the command; the goal, indeed the purpose of the command is to live ethically according the above-mentioned values.

 

The ancient rabbis recognized the importance of ethics. They said such things as Derekh erets kadmah l’Torah, “Proper behavior preceded the Torah itself.” And R. Yohanan said, “Jerusalem was destroyed only because [Jews] judged according to the law of the Torah.” In essence, R. Yohanan’s assertion is saying that Jews who wrap themselves in a life of halakha, ignoring Jewish Ethics are laying the groundwork to Judaism’s destruction.

 

The classic example of Jewish ethics vs. “the law of the Torah” is the story of Shimon ben Shetach in the Palestinian Talmud Baba Metsi’a 2:5. Simeon ben Shetach, circa 140-60 BCE, was a Pharisee scholar and Nasi of the Sanhedrin, i.e. head of the seventy-one-member court. His students bought a donkey for him from a non-Jewish trader. After the sale, they found a precious gem on it. They told their teacher that he was now rich and did not need to work anymore. Their teacher asked if the trader knew about the gem. “No,” they replied. He then said. “Go and return it.” His students argued, “Is it not the law that you are permitted to keep the gem?” Shimon ben Shetach answered them: “Do you think that Shimon ben Shetach is a barbarian?”

 

We should note that it is clear, beyond dispute, that halakha allowed the teacher to keep the jewel. But Shimon ben Shetach knew that following the law was morally wrong and he must “go beyond the strict line of the law.” His use of the term “barbarian” is shocking, but it indicates his moral outrage,” an outrage against those who follow the law when morality is demanded.

 

The prophets stressed ethical behavior before Shimon ben Shetach. Micah wrote in 6:8, “It has been told to you man what is good, and what the Lord requires of you; only to act justly, and to love mercy, and to walk humbly with your God.” Zechariah proclaimed in 7:8-9, “This is what the Lord almighty said, ‘Administer true justice; show mercy and compassion to one another.’” These are example of many similar statements, none of which mention halakha. 

 

The rabbis continued the teachings of the prophets. Shimon Ben Azzai of the second century CE asserted that the basic teaching of the Torah is that all humans were created in the image of God, as stated in Genesis 6:1, “God created man. In the likeness of God, He made him.” Rabbi Akiva (50 CE -135) said that Leviticus 19:18 has the Torah’s basic teaching, “Love your neighbor as yourself.” Hillel (circa 110 BCE-10 CE) said it this way to a would-be convert to whom he was teaching Judaism, “That which is hateful to you, do not do to your fellow. That is the whole of the Torah, the rest is explanation, go and learn,” Nachmanides (1194-1270) explained that Leviticus 19:2’s “You shall be holy” and Deuteronomy 6:18’s “You shall do what is right and good in God’s eyes” requires Jews to go beyond the requirements of halakha and promote human welfare, interpersonal relations, and protect individual interests fairly. Maimonides (1038-1204) before him said the same.

 

It should be clear that a central purpose of halakha is the realization of moral values. But this realization does not go far enough. Jewish ethics needs to honor tradition while taking into account the modern sensibilities of justice and equality. The ancient rabbis did it by doing away with slavery, sacrifices, allowing interest on certain loans, stopping executions, turning “an eye for an eye” into monetary compensation, and dozens of other practices. Rabbi Shlomo Goren, the first head of the military rabbinate in the Israel Defense Force (1917-1994), ruled for the IDF, “God forbid that those laws [in the Torah] are applied to non-biblical wars or wars of our times.” We need to copy the initiatives of the rabbis who stressed Jewish Ethics and urge them to do more.

 

“Like the Torah itself, Jewish ethics may have started at Sinai, but it no longer resides there. The Torah and our talmudic rabbis tell us Lo ba’shamayim hi – “It is not in heaven” (Deuteronomy 30:12). Jewish life, and the possibilities of holiness and ethics are in our hands. There is much that still needs to be done. While the fundamental Jewish values of justice and mercy are eternal, how, when, and if they are realized are up to us.

 

Teachings of Rabbi Abraham Joshua Heschel

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

                                          *     *     *

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

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

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

References:

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

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

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

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

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

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

Why Didn't Pharaoh Listen To His Wise Men?

 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

 

Review of Book by Rabbi Lord Jonathan Sacks

Rabbi Lord Jonathan Sacks’ Legacy

 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

We will gain much by listening to Rabbi Sacks.

Eternal Reward: A Parable

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

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

“I do not choose this.”

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

“I do not choose this.”

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

“I do not choose this.”

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

“I do not choose this.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

 

Thoughts on the Writings of Elias Canetti

   

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

                                                   *     *    *

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

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

References

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

Crowds and Power, Seabury Press, NY, 1978.

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

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

The Voices of Marrakesh, Continuum, New York, 1981