National Scholar Updates

Some time ago, I had a long talk with Dr. Jacques Lopes Cardozo, my only brother, age 66 and two years my junior. We spoke about our early years, growing up in our parents’ home in the Netherlands. Although we were children of a mixed marriage (Jewish father, non-Jewish mother), we took a keen interest in Judaism. Our father was a very proud Jew, and our mother was raised in a strong Jewish cultural milieu in Amsterdam where she felt completely at home. If not for her “Jewishness,” my father would probably not have married her. In fact, our mother was in many ways more Jewish than some members of my father’s family who were halakhically Jewish but completely disconnected. I decided to do giyur[1] at the age of 16, and my mother followed suit many years later. After 27 years of married life our parents remarried, this time by the same rabbi who officiated at my wedding three months later. Both hupot took place in the famous Esnoga, the Portuguese Synagogue in Amsterdam.

This put my brother in a very strange position. From then on, all members of his immediate family were Jewish, and while he did not have the halakhic status of a Jew, he continued to feel very Jewish. This was, to say the least, an atypical Jewish family.

During our conversation, my brother referred to a particular Pesah seder that I conducted at our parents’ home when I was about 17. An incident took place that profoundly shocked him and caused one of the most painful moments in his life. Fifty years later, with great emotion and tears in his eyes, he told me that he had taken a bottle of kosher wine to pour for our many guests. He felt very much a part of the Jewish tradition and immersed himself in this religious experience, wanting to participate fully. After all, those who had left the bondage of Egypt that very night and would cross the Red Sea a few days later were also his ancestors! But instead of realizing my brother’s enormous religious dedication to that experience, I snatched the wine bottle from his hands and told him he should not touch it since he was not Jewish, and that when a non-Jew touches the wine, according to Jewish law it could be cursed. The latter statement proved my complete ignorance. As a newcomer to Judaism, I had been told that the halakha determines that non-Jews should not touch our wine, and I probably concluded that this meant the wine would be cursed. Our sources state nothing of the sort. The only thing indicated is that the wine is no longer permissible to drink. [2]

My brother froze, and then sat down without uttering a word.

Now a dental surgeon of fame and a man of great integrity, my brother told me that to this day he is deeply hurt by the incident, and although he forgave me for what I had done, he could not emotionally make peace with it. Not only because he considered himself to be very Jewish and could not imagine that this law would apply to him, but also because he could not believe that such a law would be part of this beautiful tradition called Judaism, which he dearly loved.[3] My gut feeling tells me that this incident played a huge role in his decision not to convert, though he came very close to doing so.

Although I studied for more than 12 years in Hareidi yeshivot, which are hardly, if at all, concerned with the non-Jewish world, I admit that I may be more sensitive than others about matters relating to non-Jews. After all, how could I not be? My own background, as well as my brother’s situation, forces me to confront this issue on an almost daily basis. [4] At the same time, I am fully aware of the fact that more and more thinking religious Jews are becoming highly uncomfortable with this and similar laws and are asking why these rulings are necessary. What is it about non-Jews that makes their touching kosher wine forbidden for us to drink?

During the almost 40 years that I have been living in Yerushalayim, I have discussed this law with yeshiva students, both Hareidi and dati-leumi (Modern Orthodox). Most of them were born in Israel and have had almost no exposure to non-Jews besides the Arab population. When I challenge them and ask whether they are uncomfortable with this law, and whether they feel that it is discriminatory and perhaps racist, they do not understand my question. Their argument is straightforward: Since according to Judaism non-Jews are secondary inhabitants of this world, and most if not all are anti-Semitic, they should definitely not touch our wine. On top of that, it is their task to serve the Jews, and the law makes it clear who are the servants and who are the masters. When I tell them that billions of non-Jews around the world are living in countries where they never meet a Jew and therefore cannot serve Jews, their response is either complete silence or that these non-Jews have nothing to live for and are sadly unable to fulfill their mission on earth. When I press them further and ask whether they believe that God treats all His creatures fairly and whether His failure to allow these non-Jews to fulfill their mission would not highly compromise this belief, they are dumbfounded. Their astonishment increases when I explain that since there are so few Jews and there are billions of non-Jews, it would mean that every Jew would have a few thousand non-Jews as servants and that I wonder whether this would not be a little overdone! Moreover, doesn’t our tradition teach us that one of the functions of the Jewish people is to aid Gentiles and be concerned about their spiritual and physical welfare? [5]

Surely some readers will argue that when I snatched the wine bottle from my brother’s hand, I did the right thing halakhically. After all, this law appears in the Shulhan Arukh: One may not drink kosher wine that was handled by a non-Jew. This prohibition is called issur yayin nesekh or, more accurately, issur maga nokhri—loosely translated as the prohibition of using wine that has been handled by a non-Jew, meaning the bottle is not only touched but moved as well. The law applies only when the bottle has already been opened. [6]

The big question is: How did this law ever become a part of Judaism?
Looking into the history of this prohibition, we can clearly see that the reason why the talmudic Sages forbade the drinking of wine after it was handled by a non-Jew is that most non-Jews of that time were idol worshippers. This worship is identified with evil and immoral behavior, not much different from that of the Nazis, or the terrorists of today. In fact, the same law applies to a wicked Jew; we are also forbidden to drink wine that he/she handled. [7]

It is clear, then, that the motive for this prohibition was one of the great principles behind Judaism: protest—protest against the kind of abomination that was an integral part of idol worship. The Sages wanted to ensure that Jews would never come close to this sort of behavior or to these kinds of people, and as a protest they forbade the drinking of wine that had been handled by them. It reminds me of the Dutch who after World War II refused to have anything to do with Germans, or even bring German-made products into their homes. It was taboo.

It is important to understand that the Sages were not so much concerned with idol worship per se. Had idolatry not led to such excessive abominations, they would most likely not have made such an exacting decree concerning wine. What really prompted them to issue these rulings were the accompanying loathsome and abhorrent acts, particularly gluttony and orgies. [8]

Yet another reason for this prohibition is that drinking wine with non-Jews increases familiarity, which could then lead to assimilation. It seems, though, that the proscription was more symbolic than practical, since other drinks, even alcoholic, are not included in this prohibition.[9] In the olden days, wine was by far the most popular alcoholic drink, and was used specifically in religious settings. The fact that a person could become intoxicated and lose control increased the possibility that boundaries between Jews and non-Jews would be blurred.[10] The Sages decided to apply this law only to bona fide wine, not to kosher wine that was pasteurized or cooked (known in halakhic literature as yayin mevushal), because once wine was boiled[11] it was no longer used for idol worship and therefore no longer considered “real” wine.[12] The fact that the blessing “al peri ha-gefen” is still recited over yayin mevushal, and it remains an alcoholic drink that could still lead to familiarity in social settings, clearly indicates that this law is mostly symbolic. [13]

While too much familiarity is still one of the primary causes of assimilation, one can hardly argue today that drinking wine plays any role in this unfortunate situation. Religious Jews would not marry non-Jews even if they would drink wine with them, while those who run the chance of assimilating are the ones who don’t care about this law. So what does this prohibition really accomplish? It would seem that its only claim is to remind us Jews of our special status.

Over the years, however, this law has taken on a life of its own. It has created a psychological condition among many religious Jews that exceeds by far what the Sages wanted to accomplish. Since the law was never officially abolished, it created an ontological view of non-Jews. No matter what their beliefs, non-Jews are by definition idol worshippers and depraved people. This is their very nature, and they cannot escape it. This view on the part of many religious Jews is not conscious and deliberate, but it is deeply ingrained in the Jewish religious psyche. It points to a kind of Jungian archetype. What this means is that many religious Jews believe not only that the law concerning wine should not be changed but also that non-Jews are not meant to and are unable to change. After all, this law reflects Judaism’s authentic view of non-Jews. In other words, there is nothing wrong with the Jewish tradition for still applying this law. On the contrary, there is something wrong with the non-Jewish world for changing and no longer fitting the description that the Jewish tradition attributes to them.

While all this may sound very foreign to those living in hutz la’aretz, this view is widespread in Israeli religious communities, whether Hareidi or dati-leumi, with few exceptions. [14]

This attitude is tragic and extremely dangerous. It completely contradicts one of the most important teachings of the Jewish tradition, that man—both Jew and Gentile—can and must change. In fact, this belief is not only a misrepresentation of Judaism; it is the very antithesis of all that Judaism stands for. If non-Jews will always be looked upon as idol worshippers, no matter how far behind they have left that world, then Jews cannot be a light unto the nations, nor do they have anything to offer them. That would mean that Judaism was doomed to fail from the start.

To understand the danger of this unfortunate development, we need to take a broad look at Judaism and its vital mission. Several questions come to mind. Why does the world need a Jewish nation and what is its purpose? Why do the Jews need to be separate, and why is assimilation seen as one of the most destructive forces within Judaism throughout the ages? What lies at the very core of Judaism?

While many opinions prevail, there are some basic beliefs concerning the very existence of the Jewish People and its mission. With perhaps the exception of Maimonides,[15] all the classic Jewish philosophers claim that the ultimate reason for Israel’s existence is to be part of the unifying thread in a kind of Heilsgeschichte (redemptive history). Its purpose is to move humankind forward on its spiritual journey both to full recognition of God as the ultimate Master of all existence and to supreme ethical behavior. This noble role demands exemplary conduct on the part of the Jews. To fully understand this, we must realize that God is not merely the Creator and God of the universe but primarily the God Who is deeply involved in human history. God is not a philosophical idea advanced by Greek philosophers, totally separate from and beyond all human existence. He is an almost touchable Being Who dresses Himself in human emotions to make His point known to mankind.

God appears to experience all the human emotions: love, anger, involvement, indignation, regret, sadness, and so on. By so doing, He gives the seal of divinity to the very essence of our humanity. He implicitly says to man: “You cannot know what is above and what is below, but you can know what is in your hearts and in the world. These feelings and reactions and emotions that make up human existence are, if illumined by faith and rationality, all the divinity you can hope for. To be humane is to be divine: as I am holy, so you shall be holy; as I am merciful, so you shall be merciful.” Thus, there is only one kind of knowledge that is open to man, the knowledge of God’s humanity. [16]

God, then, becomes a specific and historic personality. He becomes a player in the history of humanity, together with all the players in the human race. This makes Him the most tragic figure in all of human history, because He cannot appear in His authentic form, which would require Him to be far beyond all human limitations and characteristics. Would He do so, He would be meaningless to humankind. He must appear in opposition to His very Self. Not as a philosophical idea beyond all human resemblance, but as a Redemptive God within history. This means that He had to become a God of compromise for the sake of man’s limitations. Precisely for that reason He often fails in His ultimate goals. He has to fail so as to connect with humans. His objective is to allow humans to fail so that redemptive history becomes a reality. Nothing can be redeemed if all is perfect.

To achieve His goal, God requires a specific people who are destined to carry out the redemptive nature of history. Universal ideas cannot be relied upon, because they are impersonal, and what is impersonal is beyond history. Furthermore, an impersonal entity cannot carry a commitment, a moral assignment; for if all are committed to a particular mission, there is no one to be persuaded and therefore no mission to implement. Redemptive history then becomes impossible.

More important, however, is that the God of history can work only within time and space. This allows for a personal encounter with Him solely in the context of life and history. And only in that way can there be a mission of redemptive and God-centered history. It is through particularism that this universal mission can be accomplished.

And yet, those who are called on to carry out this mission must have an element of universality and eternity. They cannot be completely distinct, as that would lead them to becoming self-absorbed and unable to redeem and help humankind on its spiritual journey. So, paradoxically, this group must to some degree be ahistorical. It must be unique and incapable of being sociologically or ethnologically categorized. It cannot belong to a particular race, culture, or even a conventional religious domination. Nor can it be a nation in the traditional sense of the word. It must transcend all these definitions and represent something that is a mystery, an anomaly and even a contradiction, so that it can stand at the center of history. Through its uniqueness, all of human history must be expressed. It has to carry the true history of mankind in a world that has an origin and a divine goal. This group of people, then, must identify with all of mankind while remaining separate.

Only “Israel” fits this description, for Israel is neither a race nor a nation nor a religion, in the conventional sense. It violates all the criteria that “race,” “nation,” and “religion” stand for. Indeed, it is religion that determines its nationality, and it is nationality that determines its religion. It includes members of all races, and everyone can join to become a genuine child of Avraham and Sarah.

In addition, there is such a wide range of language, culture, and belief among Jews that no definition of these terms can accurately describe this unusual people. Yet the Jews do represent a surviving historic continuum, identifiable but consisting of constantly shifting groups.

This perplexing notion of “redemptive history” stands at the very core of the mission of Jews and halakha. For halakha to be meaningful and eternal, it must be redemptive halakha, constantly deriving its vitality and its guidelines from this notion. Redemptive history must move forward in order to be redemptive, and halakha must therefore move with it. Once it has accomplished a certain goal, it must abandon the means by which it achieved this goal and move to the next stage of its redemptive goals. If, instead, it adheres to the means by which it achieved its goal, it undermines itself and becomes destructive. Instead of being redemptive, it becomes confining and harmful, turning progress into regression and reversing everything that it wants to achieve.

It is for this reason that the law of yayin nesekh is counter-productive. Its objective has already been achieved. It fulfilled its purpose and has become obsolete. As long as a good part of the non-Jewish world was deeply committed to idol worship and abominable acts, it was important and made a powerful point. But since by now, a very large percentage of humankind has abandoned idol worship, is no longer dedicated to repugnant deeds, and has accepted values such as human rights, equity, and equality, we can no longer ignore these developments and look the other way.

In fact, by continuing to observe this law, we deny that Judaism has had a powerful influence on our world. As a protest movement in the face of great evil, it has done extremely well. Many of its redemptive goals have been fulfilled. Franz Rosenzweig’s thoughts on this subject have been right on the mark. He points out that it is not so much Judaism itself that is directly responsible for these achievements.[17] It required a more extroverted monotheistic religion to take on its ideals and expose them to the world. This, says Rosenzweig, is what Christianity did. With all its mistakes and anti-Semitic overtones, it paradoxically made monotheism into a powerful force throughout the world, and many Jewish values are now well known, while conventional idol worship has ceased to exist. Rosenzweig adds that Judaism gave birth to Christianity for this very purpose, and Christianity can only fulfill its purpose if Israel is in its midst. It must take its inspiration from Israel. It cannot stand on its own feet. Christian philosopher and theologian Paul Tillich suggested that there would always be a need for Judaism because “it is the corrective against the paganism that goes along with Christianity.” [18]

That is the reason why there is no point in continuing to observe a law that forbids non-Jews to touch our wine.

To argue that idol worship is still alive and well and that there is still a lot of evil around is missing the point. First of all, it is questionable whether idol worship is indeed still around. Hinduism and Buddhism may very well not fall into this category, and even if they would, they are definitely not prone to immorality and evil.[19] Secondly, evil behavior is no longer acceptable by any law-abiding society. This is the indirect result of Judaism’s influence on civilization. In fact, Judaism introduced many other ethical laws that are not found in the Torah itself. Its redemptive qualities, which the law of yayin nesekh symbolizes, did the job.

The same is true about assimilation, which is no longer affected by the law of yayin nesekh. Now that there are so many alcoholic drinks that are not forbidden after they’ve been touched by non-Jews, the law is meaningless. If anything, we should forbid non-Jews to touch whiskey or beer. But to do so would be ineffective. If we want to fight assimilation, we need totally different strategies. That phenomenon has undergone a shift and it can be countered only by ideology. To believe that the law of yayin nesekh still has anything to do with assimilation is to bury one’s head in the sand.

For Jews to remain separate, other strategies will have to be developed. It will require a novel attempt to stir a strong feeling of mission among our youth, combined with a very compelling ideology and education that would be irresistible. Paradoxically, as long as this law exists, it sends a message that the mission rooted in the concept of redemptive history is a fake, and an effective ideology cannot be developed. So the law, which should be building a strong, compelling Jewish identity, in fact does the reverse.

My position has been alluded to by several halakhic authorities. As is well known, the famous Menahem Meiri (1249–1316, France) already stated his opinion that non-Jews are moral people who have left idol worship behind them. He therefore concluded that many discriminating talmudic laws concerning non-Jews are no longer applicable. [20] He was clearly a believer in redemptive halakha. However, Meiri did not go so far as to abolish the law of yayin nesekh. The person who came closest to doing so was none other than the Rama (1520–1572), Rabbi Moshe Isserles, the foremost Ashkenazic sub-commentator on Rabbi Yosef Karo’s Shulhan Arukh. He brings a view that if a ger toshav (a non-Jewish resident) touches a bottle of wine, it is still permitted to drink that wine. Whether or not today’s non-Jew, who is no longer an idol worshipper, fits the definition of a ger toshav is a matter of debate. [21] Another great halakhic authority who came very close to doing this was the eminent Rabbi Yosef Messas (1892–1974) from Algeria, Morocco, and later chief rabbi of Haifa. He was one of the most daring halakhic authorities of our days. Dr. Marc Shapiro writes about Rabbi Messas:

…[H]e defends drinking alcohol which contains wine that had been handled by Muslims. He quotes a responsum by an earlier Moroccan rabbi who even permitted drinking the wine itself—[Rabbi] Messas didn’t go this far—and who had justified this decision as follows: “There is no unity [of God] like the unity found in Islam; therefore, one who forbids them to handle [wine] turns holy into profane by regarding worshippers of God as worshippers of idols, God forbid.” [22]

But there is more. The famous philosopher, Talmudist, and halakhic expert Rabbi Eliezer Berkovits argues that over the last 2,000 years halakha has become increasingly defensive.[23] It has had to deal with aggressive anti-Semitism, as Judaism and Jews were constantly attacked in the Diaspora. Under those circumstances, rabbinical authorities built many walls between us and the Gentiles. This was very understandable; it was the only way to survive. But it also meant that halakha became stagnant. It couldn’t develop naturally because it had to constantly look over its shoulder to make sure that Jews wouldn’t be affected by the non-Jewish world whose practices and ideologies might oppose Jewish ethical values. It had to ensure that in no way, either directly or indirectly, would Jews be influenced by or support non-Jewish idolatrous traditions and immoral acts. During all of these 2,000 years in exile, halakha was forced into a waiting mode, in anticipation of redeeming itself when Jews would again return to their homeland and live in freedom.

Although Rabbi Berkovits does not discuss the issue of yayin nesekh, it is very clear that the law prohibiting it originated under these circumstances. It’s a law that is based on fear.

But times have changed. The waiting mode has come to an end. Halakha’s longtime dream, to liberate itself from its defensiveness and fear, is being fulfilled in our own days! The Jews’ situation has drastically changed, specifically since the establishment of the State of Israel. We no longer have to be defensive, as we were in the ghettos. The State has given us our long-awaited independence. We run our own affairs and are no longer afraid of the anti-Semitic world. If attacked, we will strike back. And just as the Jewish State has freed the Jews from defenselessness by building a powerful army with tens of thousands of soldiers and the most sophisticated weaponry, which has made the Israeli army into the world’s best, so must halakha abandon its fear, take a courageous, assertive approach, and make a radical turnabout.

Instead of fearing the corrupt influence of the non-Jewish world, we should now show ourselves and the world the enormous spiritual and moral power of Judaism. Instead of building high walls around us, we should create transparent partitions. It’s time for the world to be awestruck by the power of Judaism. It’s time for exposure, and the export of Jewish spirituality and ethics. The world needs it. The world is ready for it. Jews would find great meaning in religious Judaism, and non-Jews would be astonished and impressed. Assimilation will not come to an end by enacting laws rooted in fear and weakness, but by a halakhic ideology of strength and courage. Judaism has more than enough strength to face head-on the many negative powers that surround us and win the war. Yes, there will be victims, as we have in any Israeli war, but war can only be won if you take that risk, no matter how painful. Today’s weak approach creates more victims, by far.

Even more important is the fact that all of this will have an immediate effect on our own youth. Judaism will be something people want to be part of. It will again become a mission to fight for and be proud of.

One of the great tasks of Jewish education is to deliberately create an atmosphere of rebellion among its students. Rebellion, after all, is the great emancipator. To paraphrase English writer Charles Caleb Colton (1780–1832): We owe almost all our knowledge and achievements not to those who agreed but to those who differed. It was this quality that brought Judaism into existence. Avraham was the first great rebel, destroying idols, and he was followed by his children, by Moshe, and by the Jewish people.

What has been entirely forgotten is that the Torah was the first rebellious text to appear in world history. Its purpose was to protest. It set in motion a rebellious movement of universal proportions second to none. The text includes all the heresies of the past, present, and future. It calls idol worship an abomination, immorality a scandal, and the worship of man a catastrophe. It protests against complacency, imitation, and negation of the spirit. It calls for radical thinking and radical action, without compromise, even if it means standing alone and being condemned or ridiculed.

This reality seems lost on our religious establishment. We are teaching our students and children to obey, to fit in, to conform and not stand out. We teach them that their religious leaders are great people because they don’t want to rock the boat. They would never think of disturbing the established religious or social norm. But these teachers don’t realize that they are teaching a tradition of protest, and if they want to succeed they must communicate that message.

By using clichés instead of the language of opposition, we deny our students the excitement of being Jewish. Excitement, after all, comes from the knowledge that you make a difference, and you take pride in it, whatever the cost. It comes from being aware that you are part of a great mission for which you are prepared to die, knowing that it will make the world a better place.

When we tell our children to eat kosher, we need to tell them that this is an act of disobedience against self-indulgence, by which human beings are prepared to eat anything as long as it tastes good. When we go to synagogue, it is a protest against man’s arrogance in thinking that he can do it all himself. When young couples are asked to observe the law of family purity, it is a rebellion against the obsession with sex. The celebration of Shabbat must be taught as an enormous challenge to our contemporary world, which believes that happiness depends on how much we can produce.

As long as our religious teachers continue to teach Jewish texts as models of approval, instead of manifestations of protest against the mediocrity of our world, we will lose more and more of our young people to that very mediocrity.

Judaism is in essence an act of dissent, not of consent. Dissent means renewal. It creates loyalty. It is the stuff that world growth is made of.

But all of this can be achieved only if we reestablish halakha as an ideology and practice by which courage and determination will lead to great pride and a strong feeling of mission.

We must now make sure that halakha can once again develop in its original, innovative way and come back to itself. We don’t need to reform or update it. We need to simply take it back to the point where it had to turn against its own self because of our galut experience, and we must get it back on track. We have to cut off the many foreign branches that have for centuries concealed its ancient roots. It requires a purifying process so as to bring it to complete spiritual fulfillment.

Yes, it has to be done slowly, with great care, and in a way that doesn’t harm the core. I haven’t the slightest doubt that we’ll discover a beautiful canvas with many diverse but harmonious colors that will deeply impress our fellow Jews and make Judaism irresistible.

To achieve this goal, we have to de-codify Jewish law and dispense with the official codes of law by which Judaism was able to survive in past centuries. Codification stagnates.[24] While it was necessary in order to overcome the enormous challenges of exile, it has now become an obstacle, outdated and unhealthy, which to a great extent blocks the natural development of halakha. Jewish law must move and grow, taking into account various developments in our world and giving them guidance. And that can happen only if it is fluid and allows for a great amount of flexibility, which codification cannot offer. Certainly, some conformity is necessary, such as in the case of civil law, but unlike non-Jewish codifications, Jewish law is foremost a religious and spiritual tradition. As such, it can never be translated into immutable rules to be applied at all times, under all conditions, and for everyone, without considering the personal, religious and practical components. These elements vary drastically, as can be seen by the many differing and even opposing opinions in the Talmud, which the Sages were not only aware of but seem to have actually encouraged. [25]

What we need now is prophetic, New Age halakha, dedicated to the great, authentic, ethical mission of the Jewish people as conveyed by the prophets, and combined with the demands of the Torah. The prophets preached a rare combination of particularism and universalism. They strongly advocated Jewish particularism, so as to keep the Jews separated from the rest of the nations. But they always viewed this in terms of universalism. [26] There was a need for a central driving force, full of spiritual and moral energy, that would enable the Jews to inspire all of mankind and be “a light unto the nations,” conveying the oneness of God and the significance of justice.

We must continue to be different and marry only among ourselves, or with those who have joined our people. We should make our own wines and not drink those produced by our Gentile friends, because wine is a sacred drink that needs to be sanctified by the beliefs of different religious communities. I would even suggest that each monotheistic religion produce its own wine, since it is not the liquid itself that is sacred but the winemaker’s intentions that have suffused the wine.

It is nonsensical to believe that the world would be a better place if all differences would be eliminated. Distinctiveness is a most important aspect of our society. It gives it color and allows people to belong. But it should not lead to a form of separation, which serves no real goal and is the outgrowth of something that was meant for a different time.

Should the law of yayin nesekh be abolished altogether? Definitely not! We should not drink kosher wine that has been handled by anti-Semites, terrorists, rapists, financial swindlers, men who refuse to grant divorces to their wives, self-hating Jews, and the like.

After all, the purpose of the law is to protest, not to discriminate.

It is high time that the rabbis consider revisiting this ancient law and adapting it to our new reality.

My brother would agree.

Notes

Thanks to Channa Shapiro, Jerusalem, for her editorial assistance.

[1] See my essay, “Lonely but Not Alone: An Autobiography by a Jew Who Should Not Have Been,” Conversations, Spring 2013/5773, pp. 1–35.
[2] Shulhan Arukh Yoreh De’ah 124:11; Mishneh Torah, Hilkhot Ma’akhalot Asurot 11:4.
[3] Once my brother told me about this incident, I realized there are other laws as well that are very disturbing, such as bishul akum (the prohibition of eating food that was cooked by Gentiles), the saving of non-Jews on Shabbat, the institution of the “shabbes goy,” and the prohibition of doing a favor for a non-Jew. This is not the place to discuss each one of them, but it will become clear to the reader that all of these laws, or customs, are the result of circumstances that prevailed in ancient times, and they should no longer apply today.
[4] Human subjectivity is a major factor in halakhic decision making. See Dr. Aaron Kirschenbaum, “Subjectivity in Rabbinic Decision Making,” Rabbinic Authority and Personal Autonomy by Moshe Z. Sokol, ed. (Northvale, NJ, London: Jason Aronson, 1992) pp. 93–123.
[5] It’s true that certain sources, many of them kabalistic, seem to point out that non-Jews should serve the Jews, but such notions are much debated and not generally accepted. These beliefs may be the result of historical developments. When the Talmud states that Gentiles will serve the Jews in the messianic age, it means they will do it voluntary, out of respect for the Jews, but not because it is their duty. See Yeshayahu 49: 22, 23; Eruvin 43b, Ben Yehoyada’s commentary. See also Nathan Lopes Cardozo, “On Jewish Identity and the Chosen People,” Between Silence and Speech (Northvale, NJ, London: Jason Aronson, 1995) pp. 35–75.
[6] See Shulhan Arukh Yoreh De’ah 124:11. Wine that has merely been touched by a non-Jew is not prohibited. Maga means handling. Two actions have to take place: touch and movement. See Yoreh De’ah, ad loc. When the non-Jew touches the bottle without intent, the wine is permitted for the purpose of drinking. Mishneh Torah, Hilkhot Ma’akhalot Asurot 13:11; Yoreh De’ah 124: 7, 24.
[7] The wicked Jew is foremost identified as a mumar (an apostate), one who deliberately rejects Judaism and violates its demands. Nowadays, many authorities are of the opinion that this term no longer applies, since it is not malice that motivates him but ignorance, as well as the lack of revealed divine providence, which would convince him of the Torah’s truth. See Chazon Ish on Yoreh De’ah, Hilkhot Shehita 2:16, 28. See also Yaakov Ettlinger, Responsa Binyan Tzion Hahadashot, no. 23; David Zvi Hoffman, Responsa Melamed Leho’il, no. 29; Rav Ovadia Yosef, Yabi’a Omer, vol. 1, Yoreh De’ah no. 11.
[8] Some of my halakhic “opponents” may claim that I am overstating the case of wickedness and immorality as the reason for the law concerning yayin nesekh, while the only real reason is idol-worship and its libations. However, this seems to me incorrect. What really bothered the Torah and Sages about idol worship were the abominable, immoral acts that were inherent to paganism and their accompanying libations. Under those circumstances, ethical monotheism could never succeed and flourish. For a careful study of this topic, see Menachem Meiri (1249–1316, France), Beit HaBehirah on Avodah Zarah, 15b, 22a and 26a. Much literature has been published on the Meiri’s understanding of the Gentile world. See Dr. Marc Shapiro, “Islam and the Halakhah,” Judaism: A Quarterly Journal of Jewish Life and Thought, vol. 42, no. 3, Summer 1993. See also Dr. David Berger, “Jews, Gentiles and the Modern Egalitarian Ethos: Some Tentative Thoughts,” in Formulating Responses in an Egalitarian Age by Marc D. Stern, ed. (Lanham, MD: Rowman and Littlefield, 2005) pp. 83–108. Whether or not ongoing libations and immoral acts actually took place is a matter of dispute. See Sacha Stern, “Compulsive Libationers: Non-Jews and Wine in Early Rabbinic Sources,” Journal of Jewish Studies, vol. 64, no. 1 (Spring 2013). See also Sanhedrin 63b.
[9] It is most revealing that several early commentators on the Talmud were at one time not concerned about mixed marriages, since the non-Jews prohibited such marriages. See Ramban on Avoda Zara 35b. See also Encyclopedia Talmudit, vol. 18, s.v. “Hatnut,” pp. 362–366.
[10] There was some discussion about beer, which was also very popular in ancient times, but the Sages did not prohibit it probably because it was a life sustainer and safer than water! See Encyclopedia Talmudit, ibid.
[11] See Avodah Zarah 29a. For a discussion on when wine is considered to be yayin mevushal, see RaN on Avodah Zarah 30a; Yoreh De’ah 123:3; Rabbi Moshe Feinstein, Igrot Moshe Yoreh De’ah 2:55 and 3:31.
[12] On whether boiled wine is permitted for Kiddush, see Shulhan Arukh Orah Hayim, 275:8.
[13] For a general overview, see Encyclopedia Talmudit, vol. 24, s.v. “Yayin Shel Goyim,” pp. 330–498 and vol. 18, s.v. “Hatnut,” pp. 362–366. See also the following three works by Prof. Haym Soloveitchik: Yeinam: Sachar Be-Yeinam Shel Goyim al Gilgulah shel Halakha Ba’Olam Hama’aseh (Tel Aviv: Alma, 2003, Hebrew); HaYayin BiMei HaBeinayim: Yayin Nesekh [Wine in Ashkenaz in the Middle Ages: Yayin Nesekh– A Study in the History of Halakha] (Jerusalem: Zalman Shazar Center for Jewish History, 2008, Hebrew); “Can Halakhic Texts Talk History?” AJS Review, vol. 3 (1978), pp. 153–196.
[14] I refer here to native Israelis, not to those who came on aliyah from Western countries.
[15] See David Hartman, Israelis and the Jewish Tradition: An Ancient People Debating Its Future (New Haven and London: Yale University Press, 2000).
[16] Dr. Yochanan Muffs, “A Jewish View of God’s Relation to the World,” The Personhood of God (Woodstock, VT: Jewish Lights Publishing, 2009) p. 177.
[17] Franz Rosenzweig, Briefe (Berlin: Schocken, 1935) p. 100. See also Jacob Agus, Modern Philosophies of Judaism (New York: Behrman’s, 1941) pp. 191–194.
[18] Quoted by A. Roy Eckardt in Christianity and the Children of Israel (New York: Columbia University, 1948) pp. 146–147.
[19] See Alon Goshen-Gottstein and Eugene Korn, eds., Jewish Theology and World Religions (Oxford, England and Portland, Oregon: The Littman Library of Jewish Civilization, 2012) Part 3.
[20] See Note 8.
[21] See Shulhan Arukh, Yoreh De’ah 124:2. And especially 124, 24. See also Dr. Asher Ziv, ed., Shu”t HaRama 124, where Rabbi Moshe Isserles is melamed zekhut (judges favorably) those who drink wine produced by non-Jews.
[22] See Rabbi Yosef Messas, Otzar HaMikhtavim vol. 1, nos. 454, 462; Shu”t Mayim Hayim vol. 2, Yoreh De’ah no. 66. Rabbi Messas expresses a similar opinion concerning bishul akum (kosher food cooked by non-Jews). See Dr. Marc B. Shapiro, “Rabbi Joseph Messas,” Conversations – The Journal of the Institute for Jewish Ideas and Ideals, Spring 2010/5770, pp. 100–101. See also Rabbi Ovadiah Hadaya, Responsa Yaskil Avdi, vol. 1, Yoreh De’ah, No. 4.
[23] Eliezer Berkovits, HaHalakha, Kokha V’Tafkida (Jerusalem: Mossad HaRav Kook, 1981). A shortened English version is Not in Heaven: The Nature and Function of Halakha (NY: Ktav Publishing House, 1984) ch. 4.
[24] See Rabbi Shlomo Luria (Maharshal), Yam Shel Shlomo, introduction to Bava Kama and Hulin; Rabbi Yehudah Löw ben Betzalel (Maharal), Netivot Olam 16, end; Rabbi Haim ben Betzalel, Vikuah Mayim Chaim, 7. See also Eliezer Berkovits, ibid., and my essay “On the Nature and Future of Halakha in Relation to Autonomous Religiosity,” Conversations, Spring, 2010/5770, pp. 66–82.
[25] See Eruvin 13b.
[26] See, for example, Shemot 19:5–6; Yeshayahu 42:6. See my book Between Silence and Speech: Essays on Jewish Thought (Northvale, NJ and London: Jason Aronson, 1995) chapters 3 and 5.

The ideal for prayer... is kedusha or holiness... If ten women so desire, they may organize a minyan and conduct tefillah betzibur, public services; and in such a case, if men straggle in to such a synagogue, it is they who are guests sitting behind the mehitzah. I am told that in Boston there is a group of young Orthodox students, all girls, who are highly concerned about their role in Judaism, and have decided to pray every morning while donning the tefillin. I have no objection to that, and would encourage them. There was a time that (according to Rema) such behavior was frowned upon as yuharah, or arrogance, but that was because it was an act of exhibitionism by an individual. However, the case is far different when a whole community of women has decided to accept such a mitzvah. More power to them![1]

Who said this and when? It surely sounds like a quote from a rabbi on the fringes of Orthodoxy in 2013. Think again. This quotation is from a sermon delivered and written by Rabbi Norman Lamm in April 1972, as he courageously railed against 1,200 Orthodox rabbis who condemned the passing of the Equal Rights Amendment. His original vision was correct—that equal rights in the workplace did not undermine a synagogue's right to a mehitza or pose a threat to single-gender religious schools. More importantly, Rabbi Lamm posited that according to the Torah, "Men and women are of equal metaphysical value." He goes on to say:

We have not yet worked out sufficiently all the issues with the role of women in Judaism....There are times when Jewish law does reveal what seems to be a discriminatory attitude against women. What we must do is research, and find out to what extent such problems can be ameliorated.

Ten years later, Israeli intellectual, Yeshayahu Liebowitz wrote:

The question of women and Judaism is more crucial than all the political problems of the people and its state. Failure to deal with it seriously threatens the viability of the Judaism of Torah and Mitzvoth in the contemporary world. [2]

Over 30 years have passed since these words were written. Have we come a long way or are we stumbling along?

I guess that depends on your perspective. Unlike in Israel, the synagogue in North America is a center for the Jewish community, not only a place to pray, which is why a woman’s experience in her synagogue is such a significant issue here. Since 1972, Women's Tefillah groups have proliferated; women's learning has expanded beyond Sarah Schenirer's [3] dreams; Rabba Sarah Hurwitz fully functions as clergy in an Orthodox shul; and there are several female congregational interns in Modern Orthodox shuls. Although we continue to debate whether or not women can or should be rabbis, it seems that this ship is sailing. The Orthodox community calls their female leaders Maharat, Rabba, or congregational intern, while the rest of the world calls them rabbis. Much like the rabbi of a synagogue who delegates leadership of prayer services to male congregants or the cantor, these women do what most pulpit rabbis do: They deliver sermons, teach, counsel, officiate at life cycle events, and give advice regarding Jewish law.

Outside synagogue walls, there is a movement within Israel proposing greater female religious leadership. Aliza Lavie, a member of the Yesh Atid political party, is calling for a “female religious figure to serve alongside” the Chief Rabbis of Israel.[4] As these positions and possibilities expand, female clergy members provide women congregants with a positive role model and a source of Jewish authority with whom to connect, and from whom they can learn and draw personal inspiration. Whether a woman’s ability to serve in this capacity is a halakhic issue or a sociological one will have to be solved by courageous and serious scholars. As for expanding roles for female congregants, many synagogues have taken small steps to find ways to include women in the Shabbat morning services, by adding a prayer for the agunah once a month—even designating a woman to read it for the congregation—or inviting women to deliver a devar Torah. For some, these developments represent a radical and "slippery slope" to some ambiguous evil at the end of the slide—as if having more committed, learned, and observant women is dangerous—but for others, it is too little, too slow, too late.

When the former Chief Rabbi of France (1981–1988), Rabbi Rene-Samuel Sirat, spoke in Stamford, Connecticut over a decade ago, he called for the removal of the blessing, “she-lo asani isha”—thanking God for not making me a woman—from the liturgy and by extension, from shuls. I approached him afterward and asked him why he would suggest something that would face strong objections and thereby hinder its consideration, not to mention its implementation. He asked me what I would suggest. I thought that people would be more willing to agree that it should be said silently. And then he said something that changed my perspective forever: “Maspik Bishvilech?” (Is that enough for you?) “Yes,” I answered. He looked me straight in the eye and said, “Lo Bishvili.” (Not for me.) He was willing to go the extra mile for what he believed to be right, and I was resigned to asking for less for fear of a negative response. Rabbi Sirat’s suggestion (made before and since by many others) is just one example of some of the ways that Modern Orthodox synagogues may be more inclusive of women. For example, women can be invited to say the Prayer for the Government, The Prayer for the State of Israel, the Prayer for the Israel Defense Forces, and new mothers should be able to recite the gomel blessing in their own voices. There are suggestions that the space for women in shul should be more accommodating—space for children to play quietly, comfortable chairs with adequate room. In the shul I belong to, the chapel where Kabbalat Shabbat, the daily minyan, and Shabbat morning early minyan take place has tables for some men to sit at: Other men sit around a large table in a room off the women’s section. The women have no tables, no space for children, and can’t even use that room on their own side of the mehitzah. It is no wonder that articles titled, “Why Women Don’t Go to Shul” are popping up in Times of Israel and on the Web.

And, Shabbat is not the only time we can be more inclusive of women. More and more women are reciting Kaddish; they need to be welcomed. In fact, there are longstanding halakhic opinions that expressly support women who want to recite Kaddish with a minyan. [5] The women’s section has to be ready, with the lights on, at every service. In addition, the wedding ceremony is ripe with opportunity, from having a woman read the Ketubah, to reading the English translation of the sheva berakhot. For a more balanced experience, I have heard of having the groom encircle the bride either at the bedeken or during the celebration after the huppa; I have personally seen two female friends of the bride called up along with two male witnesses. While it was made quietly clear under the huppa that then men were the witnesses, this is another way to share the public roles (if not responsibilities) with women.

There is so much more that we could do—within the framework of halakha—but it is demoralizing to continually have to ask to be included, to wait for rabbis to “get back to us” with either their own ruling on these ideas or to be put on hold by the veiled delay of having to discuss it with the ritual committee. I once heard of a therapist training other therapists about treating couples in a situation where one partner is engaged in the dance of the relationship while the other was not. He illustrated this by having one student throw a ball at him, which he let hit his chest as the ball dropped to the ground. The student repeated this three or four times until the teacher’s point was made: It takes two to engage. It is clear that when women keep throwing the ball waiting for someone to catch it and the synagogue rabbis just metaphorically stand there, women will eventually stop participating too.

Is this what we want for committed women who want an active role in the synagogue experience to stop participating? That would be a major crisis in the Modern Orthodox community. Right now, the bleachers (and the balcony) have fewer and fewer people sitting in them. The thinning attendance may be imperceptible because as rabbis have told me, “The davening is not technically different at all if women are not present.” And while I am aware that many are quite content as quiet spectators in the synagogue theater, the minority opinion has always mattered in Judaism, and this growing minority cannot be ignored. It may well be the case that by now, this discontent represents the majority opinion. Consider this from Shira Hecht Koller’s article in The Jewish Week, February 15, 2013:

When professional and intellectual women are barred from any meaningful role in shul, it is not the women who suffer, but the integrity of the shul experience. Women have never found a real place within Orthodox shuls, because Orthodox shuls have never found a real place for women. Increasingly, women choose to disengage rather than attend as passive observers. I experience this on Friday nights when my daughter and I are among the few women in the women’s section. As she grows more intelligent and sensitive, it is becoming more challenging to convince her that this is worthwhile. Is it better for women to stay at home and read contemporary magazines on the couch rather than take part in a meaningful religious experience?

Women are staying home in greater numbers, despite a number of steps that could be implemented to enrich women’s experiences and create a culture of inclusion. After speaking to women across the country and in Israel, and scouring articles on the internet, it is clear that rather than spending intellectual capital on what we can do, our rabbis are investing their time and scholarship on what is forbidden, what cannot be done, and almost no time whatsoever on the alternatives. In turn, the rabbis who advocate for innovative halakhic solutions spend their time defending their positions—and sadly, few, if any of them, are pulpit rabbis where they can implement the very views they support.

I believe that both an institutional and grassroots response to this looming crisis is an imperative. In a world where women are still barred from officially serving as synagogue presidents by the National Council of Young Israel, and all senior rabbis of Orthodox synagogues are men, maybe it is unreasonable to keep asking them to rethink their position, their power, and their comfort. Maybe it is unreasonable to expect that in the absence of heavy pressure from major donors and multiple community influencers that any of the suggestions for a change in culture will happen. Women, as Sheryl Sandberg has reminded us, have neglected to “lean in,” to ask for the permissible to be to be permitted. And neither have many of the men. It seems to me to bring about change we need a dual course of action: Pressing for change in the synagogue by and for those men and women who are comfortable with small, incremental modifications in synagogue and ritual services as well as a full court press to build new spaces for congregations whose “tzibur” not only tolerates but seeks out inclusion and empowerment for both men and women, such as the Partnership Minyan model. This congregation is lay-led, with a commitment to halakha and joint spiritual leadership between men and women. It is not an egalitarian service, as women do not lead shaharit, minha, musaf, or maariv. Women do lead pesukei deZimra, kabbalat Shabbat, and the end of the Shabbat morning service, and both men and women receive aliyot and read from the Torah—each from their own side of the mehitzah. It is one of the only current viable scenarios for the women who are slowly disappearing from shul as regular attendees or others, who begrudgingly attend, feeling uninspired and irrelevant.

To move forward we need to stop waiting for the blessing of a particular rabbi, and stop bowing to their criticism on this matter. I cannot enter the legal debate on partnership minyanim, which is taking place in blogs, in newspapers, and from synagogue pulpits. The issues extend from kol isha, modesty, obligation vs. no obligation, kavod haTzibur and kavod haBeriot, to the rulings on what is halakhically forbidden and what is permissible. I choose to abide by the rabbinic charge to “Make for yourself a rabbi and acquire for yourself a friend” (Pirkei Avot). Well-respected rabbis such as Daniel Sperber, David Hartman, z”l, Zev Farber, and many more who were ordained at Orthodox institutions support this paradigm. All of these men qualify as good choices when making for oneself a rabbi. In fact, I have prayed at partnership minyanim with many rabbis ordained by both Yeshiva University and Yeshivat Chovevei Torah. As is always the case, there is a long list of others who oppose, who forbid, who say no; rabbis who weigh in with stringency on this issue, deciding law about women without really involving or consulting with the women over whom they exert control. It is frustrating to note that all the rabbis who weigh in with stringency on this issue are deciding law about women without really involving the women over whom they exert control. Our tradition has always valued these kinds of debates for the sake of heaven, and the minority opinion is not necessarily wrong.

It is a moving experience to pray with hundreds of people at Shira Hadasha in Jerusalem, Darchei Noam in Modi’in, Darkhei Noam in New York City, and even with the dozens at the small start-up minyan in Stamford, Connecticut. These minyanim maximize the participation of women within the framework of halakha, and in fact, maximize the participation of the men, as well. Those who attend are committed and observant Jews, passionate about halakha, meaningful, participatory prayer, and ritual observance. Partnership minyanim are growing, which one can see on the list that JOFA has published listing over 20 in North America and beyond. While the debate rages in print, people are voting with their presence. Let’s remember that Sarah Schenirer started her movement for Torah study for women with fewer than 20 girls in 1917. In just 20 years, that number grew to over 25,000. I have no doubt that she initially faced criticism in an uphill battle. The attacks on partnership minyan and its credibility reflect more on the emotional threat these minyanim pose rather than the halakhic issues. We know that traditional Judaism experiences much fear and anxiety when faced with a new model that it perceives as a threat or as being inauthentic. When Hassidism was emerging, it was widely condemned and criticized by great scholars, such as the Vilna Gaon. He could not or did not want to imagine the kind of future that Hassidut has come to realize. Similarly, these minyanim are viewed as a threat as they represent a shift in the existing power structure of institutional synagogues and in addition, openly reveal women as deeply spiritual, scholarly, and religiously passionate. In reality, they do not represent a threat or real change at all; partnership minyanim and broadening roles for women within traditional synagogues is not a call for equality or egalitarianism. It is a call for increased choices and greater accessibility, as is currently provided by teen minyanim, Sephardic minyanim and women’s tefillah groups. It is a call for halakhic and spiritual justice.

We’ve come a long way. We can’t be discouraged by the rabbis who won’t catch the ball. There is too much at stake for the Jewish people. As the Midrash stated, “If it were not for the righteous women (in Egypt), we would never have been redeemed.” The same is true for us and future generations.

[1] “As If Things Weren’t Bad Enough”, April 8, 1972,
available from http://brussels.mc.yu.edu/gsdl/collect/lammserm/index/assoc/HASH5498.dir/doc.pdf
[2] Yeshayahu Liebowitz, Judaism, Human Values and the Jewish State, (Cambridge: Harvard University Press, 1995), p.128.
[3] Sarah Schenirer was the founder of the Bais Yakov schools for girls.
[4] April 18, 2013, available from
http://blogs.forward.com/forward-thinking/175051/a-woman-among-the-chief-rabbis/
[5] For an exploration of sources see A Daughter’s Recitation of Mourner’s Kaddish, (NY: JOFA, 2011).

Please join us for an exploration of religious/moral themes in literature, that enlarge our understanding of religion in general and Judaism in particular. Initial authors to be studied are Ralph Waldo Emerson, Matthew Arnold, George Eliot and Miguel de Unamuno.

The classes will be held on Wednesday mornings, beginning February 17, from 8:30 to 9:15 am Eastern Standard Time. You may register on this link. A reading list will be provided for those who register.

Is having a natural birth advisable, inadvisable, or a value-free decision?

Natural childbirth generally refers to going through labor and delivery without aid of medications and pain relievers such as epidurals. Each woman needs to decide what would be best for herself. Prime consideration must be for her own health and the healthy delivery of her baby. For some women, natural childbirth is a wonderful experience, especially if they had taken suitable classes during pregnancy. Others, though, will prefer to benefit from the advances in medicine that diminish pain.

Natural childbirth classes generally want the father, as well as the mother, to prepare for the upcoming birth. It is advised that the husband be with his wife throughout the labor and delivery.

Although some have raised halakhic objections to a husband’s presence, Rabbi Haim David Halevy, late Sephardic Chief Rabbi of Tel Aviv, offered halakhic justification (Asei Lekha Rav 4:58). Modern research has found that the husband's presence can indeed be helpful to his wife during delivery. Although our mothers and grandmothers were perfectly able to have children without their husbands being present, it is possible that contemporary women may feel the absolute need for their husbands to be present during delivery. Without their husbands there, the women of today may feel that they will suffer greater pain and will be in greater danger. Therefore, for women who feel this way, Rabbi Halevy believes that the husbands should be present in the delivery room since this is a matter bordering on pikuah nefesh, saving another person's life.

Is it ever appropriate to get drunk?

The Talmud (Megillah 7b) quotes Rava’s opinion that one must become drunk on Purim so as to be unable to tell the difference between “cursed be Haman” and “blessed be Mordecai.” But the same passage goes on to report that Rabba and Rav Zeira became so drunk on Purim that Rabba slaughtered Rav Zeira with a knife. The latter was revived only by a miracle. When Rabba invited Rav Zeira to a Purim celebration the following year, Rav Zeira wisely declined.

Some people read this passage but stop right after Rava’s opinion that one must become drunk on Purim. Others correctly read the entire passage and recognize that the anecdote is a blatant refutation of Rava. The Talmud’s lesson is: don’t get drunk; terrible things can happen if you become intoxicated.

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

Not only does drunkenness impair one’s judgment, it demeans a person in the eyes of others and in the eyes of God.

Should a frum Jew believe the sun goes around Earth if the Rambam says it does?

In his “Letter on Astrology,” Rambam taught a vital lesson:  “A person should never cast reason behind, for the eyes are set in front—not in back.” He insisted on the pursuit of truth. As a philosopher and scientist himself, Rambam brilliantly applied the best knowledge of his time to the understanding of Torah.

Our knowledge today has been dramatically enhanced by centuries of scientific advances.  We now know that the earth orbits the sun, as do the other planets. We now know that the earth is a tiny planet in a vast galaxy, which itself is only one of many galaxies in the universe. There is no credible controversy over these facts. If Rambam were alive today, he would not cast his reason behind; he would embrace new knowledge with the alacrity of a brilliant mind.

I think Rambam would be deeply embarrassed by those who posit that the sun goes around the earth based on Rambam’s own writings. Such obscurantists lock themselves into medieval scientific thought rather than opening their minds to the ongoing advances in science. One of the great dangers for religion—and for human progress in general—is for people to cling to discredited theories and outdated knowledge. Those who cast reason behind, thereby cast truth behind. And Truth is the seal of the Almighty.

While most books containing commentaries on the bible either focus on all five books of the Torah or just one of the five books, and then gives only the commentaries of about a dozen commentators as well as that of the author of the volume, Koren Mikraot Hadarot offers much more. It is part of a forthcoming series of 55 volumes. Five of the books of Exodus have been already been published, including this one on the portion read in synagogues on Shabbat February 6, 2021, called Yitro, as well as part of it is read in synagogue services during the evening of January 30 and the morning services of February 1 and 4. Each volume contains abridged excerpts from more than forty commentators from Philo (25 BCE-50 CE} and the early Midrashim until the present day.

The books are divided in to two parts. Opening the Yitro book from the right side are 43 pages with the Hebrew Torah text of Yitro, a new much improved translation of the Torah portion by the late Rabbi Lord Jonathan Sacks, the commentary of Rashi in Hebrew with a new very readable English translation by Rabbi Sacks, such as rendering eyl kana in 20:5 not as “a jealous God,” but as “for I the Lord your God demand absolute loyalty,” a three-page discussion on the translation of Rashi, a page with the Ten Commandments with Taam Elyon (an alternate version for how the musical notes are in the prior Hebrew text), and the haftarah for Yitro in Hebrew and English translation. Readers will be delighted to find that Rabbi Sack’s translations make the biblical and Rashi texts clearer than in other volumes because Rabbi Sacks often adds words to clarify what the Bible and Rashi are saying. For example, Rashi’s Hebrew explanation why God stated He rested is unclear. Rabbi Sacks adds in brackets a clarifying sentence: “If God, who neither requires nor takes any respite, nevertheless is said to rest, then certainly people who strive and toil to exhaustion should rest on the Sabbath.”   

Opening the book from the left side readers will find an additional 216 pages divided into four sections. (1) Commentaries from the early time of the sages. (2) The classic commentators. (3) Confronting modernity. (4) Three essays surveying some of the previously mentioned remarks. Each of the first three sections begins with a chart showing the dates of the commentators. The commentaries are translated by Rabbi Jonathan Mishkin.

The first section has the ideas of 17 commentators from Philo, the Talmuds, and over a dozen different Midrashim from the beginning of the Common Era until the thirteenth century. Among the many comments is the view of Midrash Lekah Tov that the Torah was revealed to the Israelites at Sinai on a Shabbat. This Midrash also says that Mount Sinai was given this name because nations of the world were jealous and hated (sina) Israel who received the Torah while they did not. Mekhilta Derabbi Shimon states that there are two distinct prohibition in the Ten Commandments, one forbidding craving and another desiring. Philo contends that male and female servants must be given a rest on the Sabbath to teach them not to despair of better times that lay ahead when they will be free.

The second section contains interpretations from 14 sources from 1040 until 1619 such as Ramban (Nachmanides) saying that the opening words of the Ten Commandments “I am the Lord your God” is a positive command to know about God. Sforno writes that the Decalogue’s prohibition against making an image exists even if the image is not worshipped. Maimonides’ son explains “six days you shall work” does not require people to work, it only gives them permission to do so.

The third section has commentaries from ten sources from the eighteenth century to the present time. Rabbi Samson Raphael Hirsch, for example, states that when the Decalogue says “six days you shall work” the work should be viewed and performed as divine service. Rabbi Joseph B. Soloveitchik writes that the temple altar must not be made of hewn stones; it must contain imperfections that reflect the people offering sacrifices upon it.

In summary, this new series offers readers what could be called an encyclopedia of abridged interpretations from over 40 sources on a single biblical portion. While the original more detailed version of each source would give even more information, and it would have even been nicer if some other sages such as the teachings of the great Maimonides was included, and readers will not always agree with the comments of the sages who are included, what we are given is an enormous gift that will undoubtedly open our eyes and minds to the many ideas in the Torah and Jewish tradition, and will give us a delightful book to read on Shabbat.

January 2021

Despite the COVID-19 era, we are grateful to continue to provide meaningful content via Zoom, publications, and other venues.

I am excited to give a three-part series on Israel and the Bible. The Zoom classes will be held on Thursdays: December 31, January 7, and January 14, from 12:00-1:00pm. The classes are free but advanced registration is required. Please register here: https://www.jewishideas.org/article/zoom-class-rabbi-hayyim-angel-israel-bible

These classes also are being held in honor of the publication of my recent book, Cornerstones: The Bible and Jewish Ideology. The book contains twelve essays that explore aspects of our core values at the Institute.

The book is available at amazon: https://www.amazon.com/Cornerstones-Jewish-Ideology-Hayyim-Angel/dp/1947857436/ref=sr_1_1?dchild=1&keywords=hayyim+angel&qid=1603212552&sr=8-1

On Monday, December 28, I will be giving a teacher’s training class to the Bible Faculty at Naaleh High School in Fair Lawn, NJ. Teacher’s trainings continue to be one of the most effective ways of promoting our ideology into the community, as a result of the multiplier effect when teachers transmit these values to their students.

I am teaching a series of classes on the Book of Psalms with the Beit Midrash of Teaneck. For more information and to join the Zoom sessions please contact Leah Feldman at [email protected]. These classes are free.

We are working on Conversations 37, which contains an excellent array of essays on Judaism and Critical Thinking—values cherished by our Institute! Stay tuned for its upcoming release in the spring.

As always, I profoundly thank the members and supporters of our Institute for enabling us to disseminate our vision around the globe. We are constantly corresponding with interested people and are making a genuine impact with our classes and publications.

May God bless us all with good health,

Rabbi Hayyim Angel

National Scholar

A three-part Zoom series with Rabbi Hayyim Angel on Israel in the Bible. The series serves as a celebration of his newly published book: Cornerstones: The Bible and Jewish Ideology.

The series will be held on Thursdays: Dec 31, Jan 7, Jan 14, from 12-1 pm EST.

To join, please register here: https://www.jewishideas.org/rabbi-hayyim-angel-israel-bible

Introduction

God communicated to people through prophecy for nearly the entire biblical period, from Adam until Malachi. According to a prevalent Jewish tradition, prophecy ceased with Malachi, not to be renewed until the messianic age. In this article, we will consider a few traditional explanations of why prophecy ceased and some spiritual implications for Judaism over the ensuing 2,500 years and counting.

Overview of Malachi

Unlike Haggai and Zechariah, whose prophecies pulsated with messianic potential, Malachi lived a generation or two later—a generation in which that messianic potential appears to have been lost. At that time, the people’s political and economic suffering contributed to:

their feelings of rejection by God (1:2–5),
corruption of the priesthood (1:6–2:9),
rampant intermarriage (2:10–16), and
laxity in tithing (3:8–12).
God-fearing people were losing heart as well. Why remain righteous? Their sinful compatriots were successful, while God-fearing people suffered (2:17; 3:13–21)! All Malachi could answer was that for now, the mere fact of Israel’s continued existence proved that God still loved them (1:2–5). Only in some unspecified future would God bring complete justice (3:13–24).

According to a prevalent Jewish tradition, Malachi was the last prophet (see, for example, Tosefta Sotah 3:3; Yoma 9b; Sanhedrin 11a). That his book is positioned last in the Twelve Prophets does not prove he was the last prophet, since the book is not arranged in chronological order. However, it seems from textual evidence that he likely was the last of the Twelve. Radak and Abarbanel observe that unlike Haggai and Zechariah, Malachi does not mention the Temple construction; it was in use already. Malachi also condemns intermarriage (Mal. 2:10–16), a shared concern of Ezra and Nehemiah (458–432 B.C.E., see Ezra 9–10; Neh. 13:23–28). The widespread laxity in tithing (Mal. 3:8–12) also likely dates to Nehemiah’s time (Neh. 10:35–40; 12:44; 13:5, 10–12).

Even if Malachi were the last of the biblical prophets, there is no statement at the end of his book or anywhere else in the Bible stating categorically that prophecy had ceased. For example, Nehemiah battled false prophets (Neh. 6:5–7, 11–13) but did not negate the existence of prophecy in principle.

Nevertheless, the tradition that Malachi was the last prophet opened the interpretive possibility that Malachi was conscious of the impending end of prophecy.

A pronouncement (massa): The word of the Lord to Israel through Malachi (Mal. 1:1).

Most commentators understand the book’s opening word massa as another generic term for “prophecy.” However, Abarbanel notes that the term could also mean “burden.” One Midrash similarly understands massa in this vein:

?[Prophecy] is expressed by ten designations…And which is the severest form? ... The Rabbis said: Burden (massa), as it says, As a heavy burden (Ps. 138:5) (Gen. Rabbah 44:6).

Within this interpretation, it is possible that Malachi viewed his mission with additional weight, conscious of his being the last of the prophets.

Similarly, several interpreters understand the book’s closing verses as a self-conscious expression that prophecy was about to end:

Be mindful of the Teaching of My servant Moses, whom I charged at Horeb with laws and rules for all Israel. Lo, I will send the prophet Elijah to you before the coming of the awesome, fearful day of the Lord. He shall reconcile parents with children and children with their parents, so that, when I come, I do not strike the whole land with utter destruction (Mal. 3:22–24).

Kara (on 3:22), Ibn Ezra (on 1:1), Abarbanel (on 1:1), and Malbim (on 3:22) explain that Malachi was aware that prophecy would stop with him. The word of God would henceforth be available only through the written word of the Bible. Malbim links the exhortation to observe the Torah to the prediction of Elijah’s coming. With the end of prophecy, the Torah would sustain the people of Israel until the messianic era, at which point prophecy will resume.

Why Prophecy Stopped

We now turn to three leading trends in traditional Jewish thought as to why prophecy ceased: sin, the destruction of the Temple, or a metaphysical spiritual transition.

Sin

Some sources suggest that the loss of prophecy was punishment for sin. Over 200 years before Malachi, the prophet Amos predicted the cessation of prophecy:

A time is coming—declares my Lord God—when I will send a famine upon the land: not a hunger for bread or a thirst for water, but for hearing the words of the Lord. Men shall wander from sea to sea and from north to east to seek the word of the Lord, but they shall not find it (Amos 8:11–12).

Avot D’Rabbi NathanB:47 explains that prophecy ceased as a consequence of people mocking the prophets.

Radak (on Hag. 2:5) suggests more generally that lack of fidelity to the Torah resulted in the loss of prophecy. A Midrash (Pesikta Rabbati 35) states that many Jews failed to return to Israel after Cyrus gave them permission, and therefore prophecy ceased. Commenting on Yoma 9b, which blames the lack of redemption in the Second Temple period on the fact that many Jews did not return, Maharsha similarly states that prophecy ceased as punishment for the non-return from exile.

Destruction of the Temple

Ezekiel chapters 8–10 describe a vision wherein God shows the prophet the rampant idolatry in Jerusalem. God’s Presence abandons the Temple and goes into exile. Radak (on Ezek. 9:3) explains that the absence of God’s Presence ultimately contributed to the disappearance of prophecy.

Although Haggai, Zechariah, and Malachi prophesied after the destruction of the First Temple, a number of sources consider the destruction to have dealt a fatal blow to prophecy.

?In five things the first Sanctuary differed from the second: in the ark, the ark-cover, the Cherubim, the fire, the Shekhinah, the Holy Spirit [of Prophecy], and the Urim ve-Thummim [the Oracle Plate] (Yoma 21b).

As Benjamin is the last tribe, so Jeremiah is the last prophet. But did not Haggai, Zechariah, and Malachi prophesy after him? R. Lazar says: they had limited prophecy. R. Samuel b. Nahman says: [Jeremiah’s] prophecy already was given to Haggai, Zechariah, and Malachi (Pesikta D’Rav Kahana 13).

The last prophets were diminished or, alternatively, were mere transmitters of Jeremiah’s message. Malbim (on Zech. 1:5–6) presents a more benign form of this approach:

I will not send new prophets, since there is no longer any need for prophets as you have seen all the prophecies of doom fulfilled against you…there is no longer any need for prophecy since you already understand God’s hand in history.

According to Malbim, there no longer was any need for prophecy since the message had already been given through earlier prophets.

Metaphysical Transition

Seder Olam Rabbah30 states that prophecy ceased in the time of Alexander the Great. Based on the rabbinic chronology, the Greek Empire began immediately following the end of the biblical period, so this time frame would synchronize with Malachi. Following this chronological assumption, R. Zadok HaKohen of Lublin observed that a metaphysical transition to an age of reason occurred in Israel and in Greece at the same time:

The proliferation of idolatry and sorcery in the gentile world paralleled divine revelation and prophecy in Israel. When prophecy ceased and the era of the Oral Law commenced, there appeared Greek Philosophy, which is to say, mortal wisdom (Resisei Laylah, 81b, Bezalel Naor translation).

This idea meshes with a talmudic statement that at the beginning of the Second Temple period, the temptation for idolatry ceased being the force it had been during the First Temple period (Yoma 69b). R. Yehudah HeHasid argued that once the urge for idolatry vanished there no longer existed the need for prophecy to counterbalance magic (Sefer Hasidim, Wistenetzky ed., p. 544; cf. R. Elijah of Vilna, commentary on Seder Olam Rabbah 30; R. Zadok, Divrei Soferim, 21b).

Similarly, a certain spiritual intensity was lost. Once the urge to idolatry had declined, prophetic revelation would have too much power if left unchecked. To preserve free will, prophecy had to cease as well (R. Eliyahu Dessler, Mikhtav me-Eliyahu III, pp. 277–278).

Religious Implications

According to the sin approach, the deprivation of the supreme gift of prophecy was a devastating punishment that has diminished the connection between God and humanity for the past 2,500 years since Malachi. Within the destruction of the Temple approach, the disappearance of prophecy was a necessary corollary of that cataclysmic event.

Although the loss of prophecy was a spiritual catastrophe, there still are some spiritual benefits to its suspension particularly within the approach that there was a divinely ordained metaphysical shift from prophecy-idolatry to human reason. In 1985, Professor Yaakov Elman published two articles analyzing the position of R. Zadok HaKohen of Lublin in reference to the transition from the age of prophecy to the age of Oral Law. According to R. Zadok, the end of prophecy facilitated a flourishing of the development of the Oral Law, a step impossible as long as people could turn to the prophets for absolute religious guidance and knowledge of God’s Will. Sages needed to interpret texts and traditions to arrive at rulings, enabling them to develop axioms that could keep the eternal Torah relevant as society changed.

Although the decline of revelation distanced people from ascertaining God’s Will, it simultaneously enabled mature human participation in the mutual covenant between God and humanity. This religious struggle is captured poignantly by the talmudic passage:

And they stood under the mount: R. Abdimi b. Hama b. Hasa said: This teaches that the Holy One, blessed be He, overturned the mountain upon them like an [inverted] cask, and said to them, ‘If you accept the Torah, it is well; if not, there shall be your burial.’R. Aha b. Jacob observed: This furnishes a strong protest against the Torah. Said Rava, Yet even so, they re-accepted it in the days of Ahasuerus, for it is written, [the Jews] confirmed, and took upon them [etc.]: [i.e.,] they confirmed what they had accepted long before (Shabbat 88a).

Rather than explaining R. Aha’s question away, Rava understood that revelation in fact crippled an aspect of free will. He proposed Purim as the antidote, since that represents the age when revelation ceased.

Although prophecy was the ideal state—and we pray for its return—its absence enables the flourishing of human reason, as we no longer have access to absolute divine knowledge. We must take initiative in our relationship with God or else the relationship suffers. R. Zadok applied this human endeavor to the realm of Torah study. Rabbi Joseph Soloveitchik understood prayer as replacing prophecy, precisely with the imperative of our responsibility to keep the lines of communication between God and humanity open:

In short, prayer and prophecy are two synonymous designations of the covenantal God-man colloquy. Indeed, the prayer community was born the very instant the prophetic community expired and, when it did come into the spiritual world of the Jew of old, it did not supersede the prophetic community but rather perpetuated it…If God had stopped calling man, they urged, let man call God (The Lonely Man of Faith [New York: Doubleday, 1992], pp. 57–58).

Institutionalizing prayer rescued intimacy with God by creating a new framework for this sacred dialogue.

Although prophecy disappeared some 2,500 years ago, the underlying spiritual struggle continues to be manifest in contemporary society. Many people long for absolute knowledge of God’s Will. Consequently, there exists a compelling pull toward holy men (rebbes, kabbalists) or the over-extension of a da’at Torah concept that accords near-infallibility to Torah scholars. Though that appeal may be understandable, it must be remembered that (a) these individuals are not prophets and therefore do not have the certain divine knowledge that many accord to them; and (b) in an age lacking prophecy we have a far greater responsibility to learn Torah and pray, and to take that spiritual energy to infuse every aspect of our lives with sanctity. This requires a healthy dose of human reason and effort, coupled with an ongoing consultation with spiritual guides who can help us grow.

For further study, see:

Hayyim Angel, “The First Modern-Day Rabbi: A Midrashic Reading of Ezra,” in Revealed Texts, Hidden Meanings: Finding the Religious Significance in Tanakh(Jersey City, NJ: KTAV-Sephardic Publication Foundation, 2009), pp. 217–226.
Hayyim Angel, “The Theological Significance of the Urim VeThummim,” in Through an Opaque Lens (New York: Sephardic Publication Foundation, 2006), pp. 195–214.
Gerald Blidstein, “In the Shadow of the Mountain: Consent and Coercion at Sinai,” Jewish Political Studies Review 4:1 (1992), pp. 41–53.
Yaakov Elman, “R. Zadok HaKohen on the History of Halakha,” Tradition 21:4 (Fall 1985), pp. 1–26.
Yaakov Elman, “Reb Zadok HaKohen of Lublin on Prophecy in the Halakhic Process,” in Jewish Law Association Studies I: Touro Conference Volume, ed. B. S. Jackson (Chico, CA: Scholars Press, 1985), pp. 1–16.
Lawrence Kaplan, “Daas Torah: A Modern Conception of Rabbinic Authority,” in Rabbinic Authority and Personal Autonomy, ed. Moshe Sokol (Northvale, NJ: Jason Aronson Inc., 1992), pp. 1–60.
Bezalel Naor, Lights of Prophecy (New York: Union of Orthodox Congregations, 1990).

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Since the beginning of the modern era, the halakhic community and its decisors have had to grapple with the question of what halakhic status to give to the majority of Jews who were now non-observant. The Talmud (Eiruvin 69b) had ruled that a public desecrator of Shabbat was considered invalid to perform certain halakhic acts and Rambam (Laws of Shabbat 30:15; Laws of Divorce 3:15) declared that he was categorically invalid, going so far as to state that such a person was to be considered like a non-Jew in all areas of halakha.

What, then, was to be done in the period following the Haskalah, when most Jews were no longer Sabbath observers? Were the large majority of the Jewish people to be considered halakhically as non-Jews? While a number of decisors did, and continue to, rule in such a way, other great decisors found halakhic means to adopt a more inclusive policy.

The groundbreaking responsum on this issue was penned in 1861 by Rabbi Jacob Ettlinger, teacher of Rabbi Azriel Hildesheimer and Rabbi Samson Raphael Hirsch, and author of the Arukh La-Ner. Rabbi Ettlinger posits using the principle of tinok she’nishba, the infant taken captive and brought up in a non-Jewish household, and who, as an adult, is unaware of his Jewish identity. The Talmud (Shabbat 68b) had ruled that such a person was not to be held liable for his transgressions, and Rambam, later in his life (gloss to Mishna Commentary, Hullin 1:2, gloss to Laws of Rebels 3:3), had applied this category to Karaites who grew up in Karaite homes and could thus not be held responsible for not adhering to Rabbinic beliefs and commitments. [It is worth noting that in those passages Rambam only ruled that we were not to seek out their destruction, and did not actually use this principle to argue for genuine inclusion. See, however, his responsum #449, where he does promote a proactive inclusive policy in regards to Karaites.] While Rambam’s ruling had been debated, it was by-and-large accepted by later decisors (see, for example, Mishneh Berurah 385:1). On the basis of this precedent, Rabbi Ettlinger ruled that the children of the Reformers who had broken away from traditional Judaism, but who themselves had been raised in a Reform household and did not know any better, should be placed in the category of tinok she’nishba (Binyan Tzion HaHadashot 23).

Following his lead, almost all poskim who have adopted a more inclusive position have used the principle of tinok she’nishba to justify their rulings. While the tinok she’nishba category would seem to exclude a now-secular person who was raised in an observant household, Rav Kook called for a welcoming and inclusive stance here as well, using the principle of ‘ones, involuntary compulsion, and stating that even such people have been seduced by the almost irresistible cultural and intellectual forces of the larger society (Iggrot Reayah I:138). It would seem, then, that for those wishing to adopt a more inclusive policy, the halakhic groundwork has been well laid and firmly established, and no more conceptual grappling or deliberations are left to be done.

This is not the case. For while the desired end result has been achieved, the path that has brought us there and the resultant discourse that we have created is less than ideal. Is not the use of tinok she’nishba vis-à-vis our coreligionists patronizing and infantilizing? Imagine if the situation were reversed. Consider a responsum from one of the other denominations deliberating on whether it was appropriate to count an Orthodox Jew towards a zimmun, or whether one could fulfill one’s obligation of keriat megilah if the megilah were read by an Orthodox Jew. Given that Orthodox Jews affirm such “unethical” religious institutions as mehitsah, mamzerut and agunah, this responsum would argue, they should be excluded from performing such religious functions. This imaginary responsum (and responsa such as this do, in fact, exist) would conclude, however, that Orthodox Jews are indeed valid inasmuch as they cannot be held responsible for their “unethical” beliefs, as they are all tinokot she’nishbu.

What would be our reaction to such inclusiveness? Would it be satisfaction with the end result, or anger and frustration over how our beliefs and commitments had been trivialized? The truth is, that if non-Orthodox Jews are tinokot she’nishbu as a result of their education and upbringing, then Orthodox Jews are as well. Indeed, every person on this planet is a tinok she’nishba, to the degree that his or her beliefs and commitments are historically, societally, and environmentally conditioned. If we are prepared to make this claim regarding others, we must make it regarding ourselves.

Both out of self- respect for my own convictions, and out of respect for the differing convictions of others, I, for one, am profoundly reluctant to use the category of tinok she’nishba or its related category of ‘ones. Whether these are the arguments we give to our congregants and colleagues, or whether they are just the arguments we articulate to ourselves, they produce a discourse that does not do justice to a truly inclusive and respectful approach towards our fellow Jews.

What other justifications for inclusion, then, are available? Interestingly, in Rabbi Ettlinger’s responsum two other justifications appear before he posits the tinok she’nishba category. Those two arguments warrant revisiting. The penultimate argument he gives is that in the past, Sabbath observance was a critical boundary issue because to violate the Sabbath was to deny God and Creation (see Rashi, Hullin 5a. See also Rambam Laws of Shabbat 30:15). Today, he argued, Sabbath violation does not necessarily reflect a rejection of these faith principles, as many non-Sabbath observers recognize Shabbat in some way and may, regardless, believe in God. Such Jews, then, should not be halakhically excluded.

This approach, which recognizes the religious beliefs of other Jews, produces a very different discourse. It is a discourse which is inherently validating rather than patronizing, and one that is much to be preferred (there is some precedence to this approach in discussions regarding Karaites – see Responsa Radvaz 2:796. See, also, Ramban Bemidbar 15:22, regarding an alternate belief system embraced by a community.) It is, however, more limited in scope, in that it would not warrant inclusiveness regarding Jews who avowedly do not believe in God or in Creation. Here we must turn to Rabbi Ettlinger’s first argument. The Talmud in a number of places deals with the phenomenon of omer mutar, one who believes that a given forbidden act is permissible. The Talmud (Shabbat 72b, Makkot 7b and 9a) at times relates to such a person as ‘ones, free from any blame, at times as shogeg, negligent, and at times as shogeg karov le’meizid, negligent on the verge of willful violation. The difference seems to be the degree to which one can say that such a person should have known better (see Tosafot Makkot 9a s.v. d’omer and Ramban, Makkot 7b, s.v. prat). Rabbi Ettlinger accurately described the non-Sabbath-observant Jews of modernity as omer mutar.

Here was an entire category of Jews – the majority of the Jewish people – who did not believe that the traditional categories of prohibited work on Shabbat were binding. What status of omer mutar should apply to them? In dealing with first-generation Reformers, Rabbi Ettlinger considered them as karov le’meizid­­ – they should have known better. However, in our current post-advent-of-Modernity reality, where religious truths have completely lost their taken-for-granted nature, it is impossible to argue that anyone who is not observant – even someone who grew up observant – should have known better than to hold his beliefs. It is true that such a person may very well know what the beliefs of observant Jews are, and may well know that observant Jews believe that he is also obligated, but how can we argue that he should have known well enough to have adopted this belief as his own? No matter how strongly we personally aver our own beliefs and convictions, is it not – in today’s world – just as reasonable for a person not to believe as to believe? A look at the ratio of non-observant Jews to observant-Jews should certainly clear up any lingering doubt in this matter.

This argument, then, is structurally similar to that of tinok she’nishba, but in terms of the discourse it is drastically different. Rather than taking a patronizing stance vis-à-vis other Jews, we are actually adopting a more humble and self-aware position. We recognize – we are saying – that since the advent of Modernity there is no presumption of the truth of a given community’s religious claims. As such, while we firmly believe in our religious truths, we have no expectations that someone else would believe them to be binding.

We must, however, ask ourselves how our halakhic system treats people who do not believe, and are not expected to believe, that this system applies to them. To this, our answer is that such people are not to be held liable or excluded as a result of their non-compliance with this system. Omer mutar accurately describes today’s reality of the multiple and competing faith claims (and non-faith claims) that exist within Judaism. It is perfectly descriptive and non-judgmental, and should be a major part of our inclusive discourse.

The use of these two arguments, then, is an important and critical part of reshaping our discourse of inclusion. Recognizing that many non-Orthodox Jews are also believers in God and Creation, and approaching the non-observance of other Jews in descriptive, and not judgmental or patronizing, language, is necessary if we are to create an inclusive discourse that is also a discourse of respect. What these two arguments share is an affirming of the traditional halakhic boundaries of the community (belief and observance), but succeeds in including those who might otherwise be considered outside of those boundaries (by recognizing shared belief, or by not judging non-observance). What remains unexplored in this article is the possibility of defining the boundaries of the community in other ways, in ways which would be inclusive in the very drawing of the boundaries themselves. The discussion of this approach – both the halakhic feasibility of it and the pragmatic and religious costs and benefits that it entails – will have to await a future article.