National Scholar Updates

Don't miss it! Sunday, September 15, from 10:00 am-12:00 pm. At Congregation Kehilath Jeshurun, 125 East 85th Street (between Park and Lexington Avenues) in Manhattan. Free and open to the public. If you are unable to attend, the program will be live streamed on this link:  https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=VBA539YYbwI

 For details, go to

https://www.jewishideas.org/yom-iyyun

(Rabbi Solomon Maimon passed away September 26, 2019. Several months ago, the Sephardic community of Seattle honored him on his 100th birthday; I had written words of tribute for that occasion...and I reprint these words here as a eulogy.)

Words of Tribute in Honor of Rabbi Solmon Maimon's 100th Birthday

From Rabbi Marc D. Angel

Shir haShirim asher LiShlomo:  The Song of Songs of Solomon

Each of us is a composer; through our lives, we write a song. The song reflects who we are, what we value, who we love…everything we are.

There are three kinds of songs.

The first kind has a melody and words. It is an expression of how we interact with others, what we say and what we do.

Rabbi Solomon Maimon—(Uncle Solomon to me and to his many other nephews and nieces)—is composing a magnificent song. It is a song of strength, hope, courage, love of Torah, love of Israel. The Almighty has granted him rare talents of mind and heart. He has devoted a lifetime—and may he be blessed with additional years—to teaching Torah. No other rabbi gives sermons as Uncle Solomon has given. He is a natural story teller, he knows how to capture our attention, to make us think, to make us better human beings. He has brought generations of us closer to Torah and mitzvoth through the resonance of his voice, the wisdom of his words, and the integrity of his personality. He was a guiding force in the establishment of the Seattle Hebrew Day School. He was the pioneer in Sephardic camping. He personified a rabbi who devoted himself selflessly to his congregation and community—in a spirit that blended solemnity and joy.

Moshkheini aharekha narutsa—Draw me in, we will rush to follow you.

The second kind of song has a melody…but no words. It is too deep for words. This song contains our inner thoughts and feelings. It is a kind of song which is private, but that others can still hear even if they can’t grasp its full meaning.  Uncle Solomon began serving Sephardic Bikur Holim many years ago. As a young man, he was filled with ideas and ideals, hopes and aspirations. He worked tirelessly to bring his vision to life among his family and friends, his congregation and community. It is quite usual for rabbis to “burn out” with the passage of time. Although they rejoice in their successes, they grieve at their inevitable failures. The hopes and ideals of youth give way to somber realities. But while many rabbis are crushed by their setbacks, Rabbi Maimon has literally been an eternal light. Uncle Solomon’s song—the one with melody but without words—is a song rejoicing in his many blessings. But we also can hear the sad tones, the losses of loved ones, the unfulfilled hopes and dreams. We sense the well of contentment…and of restlessness.

Ani yesheinah velibi er:  I sleep, but my heart is awake.

The third kind of song has no melody and no words. It is a private song between our souls and our God. No human beings have access to our own deepest song.

Rabbi Moshe Almosnino, a great sage of 16^th century Salonika, wrote a commentary on Shir haShirim. He suggested that King Solomon wrote this book at an advanced age. As a young man searching for truth, Solomon wrote Koheleth. As a more mature man who was king of Israel, he wrote Mishlei to provide moral guidance to his people. But then he reached his highest level when he composed Shir haShirim. In his other books, Solomon identified himself as a king, as the son of a great father. He wanted to impress his readers with his credentials. But he introduced his ultimate song, the Shir haShirim, only with his name—Shelomo, Solomon. He no longer needed to impress people or prove his worth to them; now it was just between him and God. His name, Shelomo, was enough; he didn’t need any other credentials.

And now, Rabbi Maimon sings his own special Shir haShirim. He stands on his own merit, in the eyes of God and humans. He doesn’t need to impress us or recount his achievements. His life speaks for itself. His Song of Solomon is a beautiful, powerful and mysterious song.

Uncle Solomon: the song of your life has been a source of inspiration to all of us. You have impacted on this community and have made truly remarkable achievements for Torah, for Judaism, for society at large. So many of us—and I include myself in this—would simply not be who we are had it not been for your influence.

I would like to add a word of tribute to the memory of Aunty Sarah. We lovingly remember her sincere piety, her graciousness as a hostess. Your living room on 26^th Avenue was like an extension of our own home. You and Aunty Sarah—Cheryl, Abraham, Mordecai and Michael—were—and remain—foundation stones in our own lives. Though so many years and so many miles have separated us, in our hearts and souls we know that we are all part of the same song.

Haveirim makshivim lekoleikh hashmi-ini: Your friends wait to hear your voice…let me hear it.

KEHILA KEDOSHA JANINA IS HONORED TO WELCOME

RABBI MARC D. ANGEL

FOR A SPECIAL PRESENTATION ON HIS LATEST BOOK
A NEW WORLD: AN AMERICAN SEPHARDIC MEMOIR

Orthodox Judaism in the ideal is very different from Orthodox Judaism as it is today.

In the ideal, Orthodoxy is a beautiful way of life that inspires an abiding spirituality and an ethical lifestyle. It links us to thousands of years of Jewish texts and traditions, to time-honored mitzvoth and customs. At the same time, it allows us—and encourages us—to develop ourselves as thinking, feeling and creative human beings. At its best, Orthodoxy provides a worldview that is intellectually vibrant, compassionate, and inclusive. Torah and mitzvoth provide us with a framework for developing ourselves as full and vibrant human beings, drawing on the wide range of our talents and propensities.

When Rabbi Hayyim Angel was still a rabbinical student, he wrote a short statement responding to the question: Who are religious Jews? That statement well reflects ideal Orthodox Judaism. He wrote: “Religious Jews are those whose hearts smile when their mouths do. Religious Jews feel pain in another’s misery, joy in another’s happiness. They know that perfection is impossible, yet they strive for it. They are trees rooted in the earth with their branches extending towards the heavens. Religious Jews are cisterns who do not lose a drop; they are springs of water which steadily increase. They observe the commandments with an adult’s intelligence and a child’s enthusiasm. They act in a manner that is a credit to themselves and which earns them the respect of both Jew and non-Jew. They are prepared to sacrifice for God, their people, their laws, and their homeland. Religious Jews are a unified mass of sand, yet individual stars who shine on the world.”

Fortunately, adherents of ideal Orthodox Judaism do exist and they are models of human excellence.

However, the general tone of Orthodox Judaism today falls considerably short of the ideal Orthodoxy just described. To an increasing degree, it is identified with authoritarianism, obscurantism, conformity, coerciveness, and mechanical observance of ritual commandments. This is true not only in “Hareidi” Orthodoxy but also in “Modern” Orthodoxy.

For us to strive toward an ideal Orthodoxy, we need to clarify our thinking on basic issues of our religious worldview. This essay focuses on ideas and ideals, in the belief that without a clear and firm intellectual foundation, Orthodoxy will continue to drift in less than ideal directions. The hope is that if enough Jews take these ideas and ideals seriously, they will have strong impact in moving beyond the status quo and into a finer Orthodoxy that represents Torah teachings at their best.

How Does Orthodoxy “Brand” Itself?

A popularly used phrase for identifying an Orthodox Jew is shomer Shabbat or shomer Shabbos. Proprietors who wish to attract Orthodox customers put signs in their store windows or on their packaging labels, indicating that they are Shomer Shabbos. The phrase is code for: “We are Orthodox Jews who observe Torah and mitzvoth. If we observe Shabbat, that means we’re serious about observing mitzvoth. You can trust us, we’re one of you.” Orthodox Jews, presumably, will want to patronize such businesses of fellow observant Jews.

Some years ago, I received a letter from a Jewish cemetery in the Midwestern United States, proudly announcing “the establishment of an exclusive area for the burial of Shomrei Shabbos [sic] Jews….It will feature wide paths to ensure that graves are not walked upon, separate burial section for men and women, as well as burial for husbands and wives side by side.” To earn the right to be buried in this exclusive Shomrei Shabbos area, those purchasing graves would need to provide two letters from two Orthodox rabbis testifying that the purchasers are in fact Shomer Shabbos [sic].”

I wrote a letter to the rabbinic group that was involved in sponsoring/supervising this exclusive area of the cemetery. Here are excerpts of that letter (dated October 18, 1994):

"It is exceedingly distasteful to foster distinctions among Jews and to encourage self-righteousness all the way into the grave….[This] will only serve to further isolate Orthodox Jews and to make us appear extremist, exclusionary, self-righteous, and arrogant. These are all qualities that we should find repulsive to us….Moreover, the policy itself is remarkably problematic. What if a person keeps Shabbat, but is a thief, or does not observe the laws of niddah, or is not careful in other very serious mitzvoth? Should we create cemetery spaces only for those who eat glatt kosher, or for those who keep various humrot? Why don’t we leave it to the Almighty to decide where we belong in the overall scale of righteousness?"

If popular parlance identifies religiosity with being shomer Shabbat/shomer Shabbos, this is also reflected in the domain of rabbis and Batei Din. This is especially apparent in the area of conversion to Judaism. Invariably, rabbis/Batei Din require kabbalat haMitzvoth, i.e. that the candidate for conversion accept the obligations of the mitzvoth. Although there is considerable discussion as to the exact nature of kabbalat haMitzvoth—ranging from a general acceptance of commandments to an absolute commitment to observe every jot and tittle of halakha—the common requirements of a candidate are often presented as Shabbat, kashruth, and laws of family purity.[1] The requirements generally also include a commitment to give children a Jewish education, i.e. to send them to an Orthodox Day School.

A major Orthodox Bet Din asks sponsoring rabbis to attest that the candidate “has accepted the yoke of commandments and is fully observant of Orthodox Jewish law, including the laws of Shabbat, Kashruth, and family purity.” In conversations I have had with hundreds of converts over the years, the almost universal experience they have had with Orthodox Batei Din reflects the demands for careful ritual observance. These demands have gone beyond Shabbat, kashruth, and family purity—although these three are always at the top of the list. Candidates for conversion report that they are asked to recite blessings, to identify the parashat haShavua, to give an accounting about the observances of our various holy days and fast days.

Batei Din often go further in their demands upon a candidate for conversion. Here are some cases I have dealt with in recent years. A woman, whom the Bet Din agreed was fully observant and sincere, was rejected for conversion because the Bet Din did not think her intended Jewish spouse was Orthodox enough, i.e., was not careful enough in his Shabbat observance. In another case, a woman was told that she must move into an Orthodox neighborhood in order to qualify for conversion. When she told the Bet Din that she was living in an area where there is an Orthodox synagogue and that she indeed attends that synagogue regularly, the Bet Din told her that they did not think that the members of that Orthodox synagogue were “frum” enough. A male candidate was grilled by an Orthodox rabbi on fine details of Jewish law, including knowing the parashiyot inside the tefillin. The candidate answered correctly but was unable to explain the difference of opinion between Rashi and Rabbeinu Tam on the order of the parashiyot. He was turned away, and told he needed more time for studying before conversion would be possible.

Without belaboring the point, acceptance of Orthodoxy is generally seen in terms of halakhot relating to ritual commandments.[2] When people describe someone as being “frum,” this invariably means to convey that the person is careful in the observance of Shabbat, kashruth, and laws of family purity. Surely, ritual commandments are vital components of a religious Jewish way of life; but they are components, not the full picture. Orthodoxy, in focusing so heavily on ritual observance, seems to be ignoring the totality of our human reality.

Religious Worldview

Along with its “shomer Shabbat/shomer Shabbos” self-image, Orthodoxy is popularly represented by “authorities” who identify it with narrow, obscurantist viewpoints. While this is more evident in the “Hareidi” world, it also is reflected in the “Modern” Orthodox community. There seems to be a “religiously correct” movement, which seeks to circumscribe Orthodoxy and to de-legitimize anyone who crosses the lines it sets. The result is to limit the free range of opinions, even when these opinions have proper foundations in traditional Jewish sources. As I’ve written elsewhere,

"We must face this problem squarely and candidly: the narrowing of horizons is a reality within contemporary Orthodoxy. The fear to dissent from ‘acceptable’ positions is palpable. But if individuals are not allowed to think independently, if they may not ask questions and raise alternatives—then we as a community suffer a loss of vitality and dynamism. Fear and timidity become our hallmark."[3]

There is a feeling among a significant segment of Orthodoxy that the Gedolim, great rabbinic sages, are the only ones authorized to propound the “true” views of Torah. Only they have full access to daas Torah/daat Torah. Yet, the only ones who qualify to be in the ranks of the Gedolim are those who pretty much subscribe to the dominant right-wing Orthodox worldview. Other very learned and pious men and women—who are no less erudite than the “accepted” Gedolim—are marginalized as being not “really” Orthodox, or not “Orthodox enough.”

The veneration of Gedolim was clearly expressed by Rabbi Bernard Weinberger, an avatar of Hareidi Orthodoxy:

"Gedolei Yisrael possess a special endowment or capacity to penetrate objective reality, recognize the facts as they really are and apply the pertinent halakhic principles. This endowment is a form of ru’ah haKodesh [divine inspiration], as it were, bordering, if only remotely, on the periphery of prophecy….Gedolei Yisrael inherently ought to be the final and sole arbiters of all aspects of Jewish communal policy and questions of hashkafa…[E]ven knowledgeable rabbis who may differ with the Gedolim on a particular issue must submit to the superior wisdom of the Gedolim and demonstrate emunat Hakhamim [faith in our sages]."[4]

This astounding statement is problematic in so many ways. How does Rabbi Weinberger (or anyone else) know for a fact that Gedolei Yisrael are endowed with supernatural powers akin to prophecy? If they are indeed endowed with divine wisdom, why are there so many disagreements—and outright feuds—among those who are considered to be Gedolei Yisrael? Even if sages are erudite in Torah and halakha, why should anyone accept the notion that these sages should be the “final and sole arbiters” in matters of policy and religious worldview? Does Judaism really demand belief in the infallibility, or even the quasi-infallibility, of Torah scholars? Certainly not!

The veneration of Gedolim, though, is too often presented as an essential feature of Orthodoxy. This tendency leads to authoritarianism, conformity, and passivity. It promotes narrow and obscurantist views as being the sole legitimate views of Orthodox Jews. This is a vast disservice to Orthodoxy in general, and a particular disservice to thinking Jews who seek to live a Torah life without turning off their own brains.

As examples of the problems I am describing, I reprint below several of my “Angel for Shabbat” columns that have appeared on our Institute’s website, jewishideas.org.

The Age of the Universe: Thoughts on Parashat Bereishith, October 25, 2008

The Torah begins with a majestic description of God's creation of the universe. The powerful language is remarkable for its poetic beauty, evocative imagery, and profound spirituality. When we read these paragraphs thoughtfully, we feel that we are in the presence of God at the very moment of creation.

The language of the creation story is religious/poetic, not scientific. The Torah, in its infinite wisdom, wants us to sense the wonder and grandeur of God's creation. It does not present a cold scientific treatise, but a lofty, emotionally compelling account.

Regrettably, the notion has arisen in some religious circles that the creation story in Genesis is to be taken literally—that God created the world in six 24-hour days. Proponents of this view have then made calculations based on biblical narratives and have concluded that the universe is 5,770 years old plus six days. They have declared this to be a non-negotiable religious "truth.” One right-wing Orthodox Jewish group requires that would-be converts answer a question on "the Torah view on the age of the universe.”

One elderly "sage" in Israel was quoted as invalidating religious rites performed by Orthodox rabbis who believe the universe is older than 5,770 years. A number of rabbis and teachers insist that dinosaurs never existed, since scientists claim that dinosaurs lived millions of years ago—an evident impossibility if the universe is only 5,770 years old.

The fundamentalist view is not only scientifically incorrect, but is intellectually flawed on its own terms. Since the sun was not created until the fourth day, how could there have been sunset and sunrise on the first three days? What could the Torah have meant by the words "evening" and "morning" in a universe that had no sun, moon, or stars? Moreover, why do fundamentalists feel compelled to defend a position that is clearly at odds with the unequivocal findings of scientific research? Maimonides taught, quite correctly, that the Torah and Nature (governed by scientifically verifiable laws) were created by the same Author—and cannot be in basic conflict with each other. Scientists have dated the universe at approximately 15 billion years. They have discovered and dated dinosaur fossils going back many millions of years. If these are indeed established facts (and they are), then why would fundamentalists demand that religionists deny clear scientific evidence—especially when there is no theological reason to do so? Why should religious people be asked to become unthinking, unscientific, unreasonable beings?

The "days" in the creation story surely do not refer to 24-hour periods. Rather, they might better be understood as periods of time of undetermined length. They might each have been billions of years long. The universe was created in stages, with each stage involving an evening (erev, a period of mixture) and a morning (boker, a period of clarity, when the mixed state of matter solidified into identifiable things). The Torah does not indicate how long these "days" were, and it makes no attempt to frame the story in scientific terms.

Since these first six "days" might have been billions of years long, there was ample time for dinosaurs to live and become extinct before the creation of Adam in the "afternoon" of the sixth "day.”

Rabbi Aryeh Kaplan cited classic rabbinic texts asserting that the world is far older than the 5,770 years implied by our current dating system. The Sefer haTemunah, attributed to the Tanna Rabbi Nuhunya ben haKanah, suggested that there were other worlds before Adam was created. The Talmud (Hagigah 13b) records the view that there were 974 generations before Adam. Most interesting is the view of Rabbi Yitzhak of Akko, a student and colleague of Ramban, and one of the foremost kabbalists of his time (thirteenth century). Rabbi Kaplan made calculations based on Rabbi Yitzhak's writings, indicating that Rabbi Yitzhak thought the universe was 15.3 billion years old! This is incredibly close to the "big bang" theory posited by modern-day scientists. (For more information on this and related topics, please see my article, "Reflections on Torah Education and Mis-Education," available online at the Institute's website, www.jewishideas.org.)

Rabbi Yitzhak of Akko and the other sages who posited a universe far older than 5,770 years had no theological problem suggesting these views. These opinions were not seen as heretical in any way. It was not felt by these sages, nor by the many others who read their views without raising objections, that it was a vital principle of Judaism to believe the universe is only a few thousand years old.

The creation story that opens the Torah should inspire us to come closer to God, to appreciate His grandeur and unfathomable wisdom. It should excite our minds to want to learn more about God's ways as manifested in the laws of nature. It should help foster a spirit of scientific inquiry, intellectual curiosity, and a profound love and reverence for God. The opening chapter of Bereishith should open our minds with wonder, not close them in a fundamentalist, anti-scientific—and ultimately anti-religious—mindset.

Torah and Evolution: Thoughts for Parashat Bereishith, October 22, 2011

I recently received an email communication from an Orthodox Jewish organization stating in unequivocal terms that “Orthodox Judaism rejects the theory of evolution.” In certain Orthodox circles, it is posited as a matter of faith that “true” Judaism does not and cannot accept evolution. God created the universe; God created Adam and Eve. This is clear from the first chapter of Bereishith, and there is nothing more to say on the subject. Any other position is heresy.

Actually, there is much more to say on the subject. I believe that it is religiously incorrect to state that “Orthodox Judaism rejects the theory of evolution.” This is not only an invalid statement from an intellectual point of view, it is also invalid from an Orthodox religious point of view. The statement reflects obscurantism, not faith.

The first chapter of Bereishith presents a lofty, beautiful, and poetic account of creation. It does not present a scientific account of creation. It does not describe how God created things, only that He did indeed create the world.

It has been pointed out that the six “days” of creation are not 24-hour days as we know them today; the sun wasn’t created until day four! Rather, the Torah poetically speaks of six periods of time—each of which could have been billions of years long—in which the universe came into being. Current scientific calculations place the “big bang” at a bit over 13 billion years ago. These calculations are not based on idle speculation but on carefully studied cosmic phenomena. Religious Jews, along with all thinking people, should feel comfortable embracing the findings of science. There is no contradiction at all between Torah and the “big bang” calculations.

The theory of evolution, which has a strong body of scientific support, posits that life emerged gradually, over the course of many millions of years. Simple life forms gradually evolved into more complex life forms. Human beings ultimately emerged from a long process of evolution. The Torah neither affirms nor denies the theory of evolution. It makes clear, though, that God created the world; things did not develop randomly. God could have created things in an instant; or He could have created things by a process of evolution spanning millions of years. When the Torah states that God created Adam from the dust of the earth, this could mean that God created Adam via a process of evolution spanning a vast period of time—beginning with the simplest cells found in the dust and ultimately developing into thinking human beings. The Torah simply does not provide us with scientific details about the formation of human beings.

Since the weight of scientific information indicates a gradual development of life, we can embrace this information without religious qualms or conflicts. The Torah tells us that God created the world; scientists have been trying to figure out the process of the creation. Thus, the theory of evolution poses no threat whatever to our religious tradition. Rather, it fills in scientific information that was not discussed in the Torah.

Our conflict is not with the theory of evolution per se. Our conflict is with those who claim that evolution happened entirely on its own, without any divine impetus. Religious Jews may properly accept the findings of science, but must always make clear that it was God who fashioned the universe, who set things in motion, and who indeed created the scientific phenomena upon which the scientists are drawing their conclusions.

During the Middle Ages, a conflict raged between science and religion on the question of the nature of matter. Science, as represented by Aristotle, argued for the eternity of matter. Religious tradition, based on the first chapter of Bereishith, argued for a created universe. Maimonides, in his Guide of the Perplexed 2:25, maintained the traditional religious view of God as creator. He argued that it is philosophically impossible to prove the eternity of matter. On the other hand, since it is philosophically plausible to posit God as creator of matter, we can safely rely on religious tradition to teach us that which science/philosophy cannot teach.

At the same time, Maimonides points out that if indeed it could be demonstrated that matter is eternal, then we would necessarily accept scientific truth. Since God is the Author of both Torah and Science, it is impossible for the two to be in conflict. If science could prove the eternity of matter, then the Torah would need to be re-interpreted accordingly:

"Know that our shunning the affirmation of the eternity of the world is not due to a text figuring in the Torah according to which the world has been produced in time. For the texts indicating that the world has been produced in time are not more numerous than those indicating that the deity is a body. Nor are the gates of figurative interpretation shut in our faces or impossible of access to us regarding the subject of the creation of the world in time. For we could interpret them as figurative, as we have done when denying His corporeality."

Maimonides’ methodology is of profound significance. Religious texts do not and cannot conflict with demonstrated scientific truths. If the texts seem to conflict with scientific truth, then the texts need to be re-interpreted.

People are welcome to accept or reject the theory of evolution as they think best after they have actually studied the scientific data carefully. But regardless of their personal opinion, they are not entitled to say that “Orthodox Judaism rejects the theory of evolution.” If the theory of evolution is scientifically valid, then religious Jews—along with all thinking people—should necessarily accept it—with the proviso that the process of evolution itself was God’s means for creating life.

Thoughts about Thinking: Thoughts on Parashat Nitzavim, September 15, 2012

The Torah calls on us to think, to evaluate, and to act righteously. It challenges us to serve the Almighty with our intelligence and personal responsibility; not from blind obedience.

In this week’s Torah portion, we read: “For this command that I command you today is not a wonder to you, and it is not distant….For the thing is very near to you, in your mouth, and in your heart, to do it.” The Torah is not an esoteric document that can be deciphered only by an elite group of prophets or sages; rather, it is the heritage of the entire people. Each of us has access to the truths of the Torah by means of our own intellectual and emotional efforts.

In his book, The Philosophy of Hebrew Scripture (Cambridge University Press, 2012), Dr. Yoram Hazony makes an impassioned case that the Bible is essentially a reasonable and philosophically sound literary corpus. While so many have mistakenly characterized the Hebrew Bible as a simplistic work that demands nothing but blind obedience to the word of God, Dr. Hazony demonstrates that the Bible is actually a very sophisticated intellectual enterprise. If one is able to study the Bible on its own terms, understanding its own literary and philosophical methods, then one will find it to be not only a magnificent collection of literature and laws, but also a profound exploration of ideas and ethics.

The Hebrew Bible includes a wide range of texts, with varying—and sometimes contradictory—viewpoints. Rather than presenting us with dogmatic “truths” in the form of a catechism, it offers historical narratives, laws, prophetic orations, wisdom literature. Dr. Hazony notes that “the purpose of the biblical editors, in gathering together such diverse and often sharply conflicting texts, was not to construct a unitary work with an unequivocal message. It was rather to assemble a work capable of capturing and reflecting a given tradition of inquiry so readers could strive to understand the various perspectives embraced by this tradition, and in so doing build up an understanding of their own….The reader who takes up the Hebrew Bible is thus invited and challenged to take up a place within this tradition of inquiry, and to continue its elaboration out of his or her own resources” (p. 65).

Judaism calls on us to engage in this “tradition of inquiry,” to be seekers of truth. Certainly, the Torah offers laws that we are commanded to obey. But it offers vastly more than this; it offers a spiritual context for life, a respect for our personal religious and philosophic strivings, a realistic and humble awareness of our strengths and limitations as human beings.

Judaism is at its best when its adherents are intellectually and emotionally engaged with its teachings. It is far below its best when its adherents sink into the abyss of blind obedience.

Some months ago, Forbes Magazine published a list of the 10 richest rabbis in Israel. The rabbis’ net worths ranged from 9 million dollars to 335 million dollars! It appears that all (or nearly all) of these rabbis have reputations as wonder workers, Sephardic kabbalists, or Hassidic rebbes of huge dynasties. These rabbis have amassed huge fortunes because the public is willing to pay them for their blessings, amulets, holy water, and so forth. It seems that a considerable segment of the public does not believe in its own ability to pray to God, but wants the intercession of holy men who supposedly have an inside track with God. Many people aren’t interested in a “spirit of inquiry”—they want “truth” as promised to them by wonder working rabbis.

If these wonder working rabbis indeed have such magical powers and can control God, then why don’t they use these powers to disarm Israel’s enemies; to uproot anti-Semitism; to punish the wicked; to provide for all the sick, poor, and hungry of the world?

A tendency has arisen in segments of the Jewish world that grants magical, even infallible, powers to certain “sages.” This tendency leads to a vast perversion of Judaism, and veers in the direction of superstition and cultic behavior. It fosters authoritarianism, obscurantism, and dogmatism. It undermines freedom of thought, religious inquiry, independence of spirit. The fact that cultic rabbinic figures can amass so many millions of dollars is an indication of how deeply this negative tendency has taken root.

It is essential that we reclaim Judaism as an intellectually vibrant, creative, and dynamic religious way of life. This entails personal commitment, a sense of responsibility, and a commitment to the “spirit of inquiry” that characterizes a healthy Judaism. We need to have the self-respect and religious dignity to think...and to keep thinking.

Religion and Superstition: Thoughts for Parashat Vayikra, March 12, 2011

During the past week, I received an email from an organization in Israel seeking donations for which donors would merit success, happy marriage, and good health. The organization offered to have a Torah scholar pray at the Kotel from the Fast of Esther through the seventh day of Passover. They assured donors that this is a "very powerful time for hidden blessings to be revealed."

Not long after getting this spam, I received in the mail a glitzy brochure from another organization seeking donations so that the "gedolei haDor" will pray on our behalf at the Kotel. The brochure features photos of sages with long white beards, who assure us that by supporting this charity we will gain wonderful rewards.

These are recent examples of the ongoing process of cheapening Jewish prayer, and of undermining the spiritual foundations of the Jewish people. The above charities, and many others as well, prey on the gullibility and fears of the public. They claim to have direct access to God—through their "Torah scholars" and "gedolei haDor"— that the rest of us lack. They claim that these prayers at the Kotel will be effective, whereas our own prayers anywhere else will not be as effective. Charlatans abound who promise miracles, if only we will give them ample donations. They will write us amulets, bless red strings, send us holy water or food, pray for us at the Kotel.

There is, of course, a long history of charlatanism and shamanism in religion—including Judaism. There have always been those who claim to have the keys to God's inner chambers, and that—for a price—they would intercede on behalf of those who turned to them.

Superstitious practices and beliefs, even if dressed in holy garb, are inimical to the purity of religion. They blur the line between religion and superstition, degrading and disgracing true religion.

As we approach the Purim holiday, we recall that Esther requested that the Jews fast during their hour of distress. Rabbinic tradition has understood this as a call to prayer and repentance. Esther did not ask Jews to send donations to holy people at the Kotel; or to pay for prayers by supposed saints and scholars. No, she called on each Jew to reach out to God from the depths of his/her heart. And the Jews were redeemed.

Let us each turn to the Almighty in sincere and pure prayer. This is the special privilege and responsibility that Judaism offers us: to stand before the Master of the Universe directly. The Torah of God is pure; we must not allow it to be defiled by misguided superstitious beliefs and practices.

To Be a Human Being

In speaking to Orthodox audiences over the years, I often have made the following statement: “We are not just Jews, we are also human beings.” Some in the audience chuckle, some seem startled, some light up with a flash of happy insight: yes, we are human beings! The thought, even though so obvious, is liberating for many Orthodox Jews. It reminds them that their lives can have broader horizons, and that everything human belongs to them as much as to anyone else in the world. While religious observance keeps us within the four cubits of halakha, it does not limit our minds and spirits, it does not require us to forfeit our intellectual, emotional, cultural and aesthetic selves.

“Hareidi” Orthodoxy looks askance at the study of general subjects such as philosophy, literature, history, the arts, theoretical science. “Modern” Orthodoxy anguishes as it tries to justify the study of such subjects. It feels the deep need to defend Torah im Derekh Eretz and Torah uMadda as legitimate expressions of Orthodox Judaism.

Ideally, though, Orthodoxy should embrace general knowledge as a normal and natural part of the human adventure. Since we are human beings, we should obviously be interested in the entire expanse of human experience. “General studies” belong to us as much as to any other human beings. It does not require any apologetics or intellectual acrobatics to “prove” that it’s kosher to study literature, the arts, science, and philosophy. This is something to be taken for granted as our natural right.

Certainly, our experience of the “secular” world needs to be shaped by Torah values and halakhot. An ideally Orthodox Jew will seek to experience his or her humanity within the framework of his or her religious commitments. The Torah and halakha help us achieve our human potential within a religiously meaningful framework.

Professor Shalom Rosenberg has offered an important insight by distinguishing between humanism and humaneness. “The Torah instructs us in humaneness, not humanism. This trait is one of the defining characteristics of every truly religious person….The humanist believes in man as the ultimate lawmaker, the final arbiter of ethical behavior. The believer refuses to accept that premise. While often agreeing with the humanist regarding the content of his values, he disagrees about their origin. The source of humane behavior is not human; it is divine.” [5]

The goal of Torah is to create humane personalities—kind, compassionate, thoughtful. Humaneness originates in our relationship with God, the Creator and Giver of the Torah. It is our spiritual/intellectual connection with God that imbues mitzvoth with their power.

Jewish folk wisdom has understood the centrality of our being good, upstanding people. In designating the “ideal” type of person, Yiddish-speakers use the word mentsch, literally, a human being! Ladino-speakers use the word benatham (i.e. ben adam), also meaning: a human being! Folk wisdom has recognized that we achieve our ideal personhood when we are fully moral, fully compassionate, fully decent human beings.

Insights from Rabbi Benzion Uziel

One of the great luminaries of the modern period was Rabbi Benzion Uziel (1880–1953), who served as Sephardic Chief Rabbi of Israel from 1939 to 1953.[6] Rabbi Uziel offered keen insights in Jewish law, philosophy, ethics, and worldview.

Rabbi Uziel taught that the Torah tradition calls on us to be engaged in the overall development of society—yishuvo shel olam. We are to be involved in study and deed that advance human civilization. In order to fulfill our specific mission as Jews, it is essential that we play our role on the stage of humanity.[7] Since we are part of human civilization, we necessarily have a symbiotic relationship with other nations—we learn from them, we teach them, we share with them the responsibility for creating an ethical society.

Rabbi Uziel wrote:

"Each country and each nation which respects itself, does not and cannot be satisfied with its narrow boundaries and limited domains. Rather, they desire to bring in all that is good and beautiful, that is helpful and glorious to the national [cultural] treasure. And they wish to give the maximum flow of their own blessings to the [cultural] treasury of humanity as a whole. [Each self-respecting nation desires] to establish a link of love and friendship among all nations, for the enrichment of the human storehouse of intellectual and ethical ideas and for the uncovering of the secrets of nature….Woe unto that country and nation that encloses itself in its own four cubits and limits itself to its own narrow boundaries, lacking anything of its own to contribute [to humanity] and lacking the tools to receive [cultural contributions] from others.” [8]

The distinctive quality of Judaism is its understanding that our goal in life is to serve God, to “walk in His ways.” This spiritual worldview imbues our entire lives. “Our holiness will not be complete if we separate ourselves from human life, from human phenomena, pleasures and charms, but [only if we are] nourished by all the new developments in the world, by all the wondrous discoveries, by all the philosophical and scientific ideas which flourish and multiply in our world. We are enriched and nourished by sharing in the knowledge of the world. At the same time, though, this knowledge does not change our essence, which is composed of holiness and appreciation of God’s exaltedness.” [9]

Rabbi Uziel insisted that we are not just Jews, but are also human beings. As Jews, we must be devoted to a spiritual, righteous life following the teachings of Torah; as human beings, we must play our role in human society, learning what we can from others and teaching what we can to them. We are not to be an enclave separated from humanity, but a nation that is an integral part of humanity.

Thoughts from Rabbi Kook

Rabbi Abraham Isaac Kook (1865–1935), an older colleague of Rabbi Uziel, was a gifted thinker, writer ,and teacher. In 1919, he became the first Ashkenazic Chief Rabbi of Eretz Israel.

He taught that in order to fulfill ourselves as Jews, we need to develop our intellectual, spiritual, and aesthetic potentials.

Commenting on the works of modern literature, Rabbi Kook noted that even though many of them tend toward mundane matters, they “are nothing else than preparatory levels for the supernal purity of the exalted glory that will appear in the world.” [10] Aesthetic and creative endeavors by talented human beings lead to the overall spiritual development of humanity—including Jews. Dr. Pinchas Polonsky, in his commentary on this passage by Rabbi Kook, notes that

"a person who does not grow spiritually, who does not read secular literature, cannot develop a sense of the awe or of love, so as to apprehend God’s glory at the necessary level….[T]he literature and philosophy of one’s generation and the desire to comprehend the beauty and richness of the world are necessary components of spiritual development….In some sense, secular literature and Torah are part of the same spiritual realm."[11]

Rabbi Kook believed that a full religious experience demands a full human experience—a human experience rooted in broad and deep knowledge and a heightened imagination. To attain understanding of God’s greatness “a person must truly study all the sciences of the world, all ideologies of life, all the ways of the various cultures and the content of the morality and religion of every nation and language. [Then] with a greatness of spirit, he will know how to purify them all.” [12] The study of the ideas and cultures of other peoples is a basic component in developing a strong Jewish religious life. Surely, it is not realistic for each Jew to be a world-class scholar in all fields of civilization; yet each Jew can learn what he or she is able to learn, and can at least maintain intellectual curiosity about the many things one is not able to learn. Rabbi Kook thought that our intellects should range as far as possible, with the goal of “purifying” whatever general knowledge we come upon. We can learn profound truths from the arts and sciences, from human civilizations, from history and culture. All these truths can then be incorporated into a grand religious worldview, faithful to Torah, faithful to God.

Narrow Horizons, Narrow Thoughts

It often seems to me that spokespeople for Torah Judaism view Orthodoxy as a sect rather than as a world religion. The “outside” world is viewed with suspicion if not outright denigration. The goal seems to be to stay within our own fortress of faith and leave the rest of humanity to their own devices.

This narrow approach to Torah Judaism is popularly espoused in the Hareidi world, where people live in close-knit neighborhoods, and where “foreign” ideas and teachings are kept out to the extent possible. But it also is prevalent within Modern Orthodoxy, where the “move to the right” has certainly had an impact.[13]

The desire to insulate ourselves from outside influences stems from fear. If we don’t insulate ourselves, then we and our children may become tainted, may lose faith, may stop observing mitzvoth as good Orthodox Jews. Yet, a heavy price is paid for this approach to Judaism. Over the years I (and I’m sure many readers as well) have dealt with Jews who were raised Orthodox, but who eventually rebelled. Orthodoxy seemed claustrophobic; it limited free thought; it limited creativity; it demanded oppressive conformity in thought, action, and dress. It simply didn’t let us be ourselves, but forced us to fit in to a rigid way of life without reference to our own inclinations, talents, and abilities.

Others have rebelled because the “Yeshiva system” did not properly inoculate them to deal with intellectual problems they faced when they attended college. They were shocked when their physics teachers told them that the world was billions of years old; they were stunned when the professor of biblical literature treated the Bible as a literary text composed by various authors at various times; they were baffled when they learned about evolution; they were thrown off balance when they studied history, philosophy, art, and literature—and realized that Jews and their Torah represent an infinitesimal segment of humanity rather than being at the center of human civilization. In trying to “insulate” students from the prevailing intellectual trends, the system actually makes students more vulnerable to “infection” when they ultimately are exposed to these trends. The students would have been much better served if they learned a broad range of topics—including the most problematic and controversial topics—but had learned them from a religious teacher who fully grasped the intellectual currents and scientific knowledge of the day. Then, when they later came into confrontation with these ideas, they would already have had exposure to them and would better be able to grapple with them.

One of the problems of our educational system is that Judaic studies teachers are not always blessed with a solid general education. They themselves don’t know about biblical criticism, or evolution, or philosophy, or art. Since they often have received a narrow Orthodox education, it is not likely that they will have the competence or the interest to enlighten their students on topics beyond their ken.

Moreover, schools—including Modern Orthodox schools—are reluctant to offer an open, engaging general education. They fear that the general studies teachers may not be sensitive enough to religious concerns, and may inadvertently plant seeds of doubt in the minds of the students. They instruct general studies teachers to avoid topics, such as evolution or biblical criticism, that may be deemed “controversial” in some Orthodox circles.

But instead of serving to protect our children’s religiosity, these policies can and do have the opposite result. When the children grow up and come into contact with “threatening” ideas, they have little ability to cope with them. They may conclude that their science, philosophy, and literature professors know a lot more than their rebbes did; and as they lose confidence in what their rebbes did and (and did not) teach them, they are far more likely to fall under the sway of secularist and anti-religious professors.

The Legitimacy and Necessity of Diversity

Orthodoxy does itself a vast disservice if it posits only one correct answer to every question in halakha and hashkafa. In fact, there are many valid opinions and approaches within the realms of halakha and hashkafa. The Torah world has included authoritative teachers in many lands, spanning many centuries, speaking many languages, offering many different insights. We are blessed with an incredible array of teachings representing various ways of interpreting texts and experiencing God—rationalists and mystics, women and men, Sephardim and Ashkenazim, Hassidim and Mitnagdim…and so much more.

Instead of presenting Orthodoxy as a monochromatic way of life, we would be more truthful and more effective if we were to highlight the roominess of Orthodoxy. It is not a straightjacket, but a repository of spirituality and wisdom in which every yearning soul can find a place. We should encourage ourselves and others to learn about and be open to the variety of religious experience within Torah Judaism.
Let us review some of the qualities that are necessary if we are to foster an ideal Orthodoxy:

1. To see Torah and halakha as wellsprings of spiritual wisdom and strength;
2. To avoid defining Orthodoxy exclusively or mainly in terms of observance of ritual mitzvoth;
3. To maintain an intellectually vibrant framework that includes proper study of Torah and halakha, as well as science, literature, philosophy, the arts, and so forth.
4. To avoid turning off our brains by blindly following “authorities” who, in fact, have very limited knowledge beyond their narrow Torah studies.
5. To see Torah and mitzvoth as means of helping us to develop our humanity, our individual talents and predilections, while helping us to live our lives in the context of serving God.
6. To promote an Orthodox vision for the welfare of all the Jewish people, and all society. As Jews, we are responsible for all other Jews. As human beings, we are responsible for yishuvo shel olam—participating in the advancement of all humanity.
7. To teach Torah and general knowledge with confidence, not fear; to help our younger generations understand the best in Torah and the best in the wisdom of the world.
8. To respect, value and learn from the vast diversity of legitimate opinions in halakha and hashkafa; to take pride in the Jewish communities throughout the ages and throughout the world who have contributed to the spiritual treasury of the Jewish people.

If enough of us share these ideals; if enough of us are willing to work to promote these ideals; if we can impact on synagogues, schools, and yeshivot—then perhaps these ideals will actually be realized in our community.

Right now this is a dream in the minds of ideal Orthodox Jews scattered around the world. In due time, though, we believe and trust that this dream will be realized in a Jewish people that is committed to a life of Torah, intellectual vibrancy, compassion, righteousness, and inclusiveness. Bimheira beyameinu.

[1] See my book, Choosing to Be Jewish: The Orthodox Road to Conversion, Ktav Publishing House, Jersey City, 2005; and my article, “Conversion to Judaism: Halakha, Hashkafa, and Historic Challenge, Hakirah, vol. 7, winter 2009, pp. 25–49.
[2] Batei Din often require the candidate for conversion to know Rambam’s 13 principles of faith, but rarely actually enter a serious discussion of these topics. As long as the candidate can recite the main principles by rote, that is generally deemed to be sufficient. See Marc Shapiro, The Limits of Orthodox Theology: Maimonides' Thirteen Principles Reappraised, Oxford, 2004.
[3] See my article, “Orthodoxy and Diversity,” Conversations, no. 12, winter 2012, p. 52.
[4] Cited by Lawrence Kaplan, “Daas Torah: A Modern Conception of Rabbinic Authority,” in Rabbinic Authority and Personal Autonomy, ed. Moshe Sokol, Northvale, Jason Aronson, 1992, p. 17.
[5] Shalom Rosenberg, In the Footsteps of the Kuzari: An Introduction to Jewish Philosophy, vol. 1, Ed. Joel Linsider, Trans. Gila Weinberg, Yashar Books, New York, 2007, pp. 92–93.
[6] For more on Rabbi Uziel’s life and teachings, see my book, Loving Truth and Peace: The Grand Religious Worldview of Rabbi Benzion Uziel, Jason Aronson, Northvale, 1999.
[7] See his Hegyonei Uziel, vol. 2, Jerusalem, 5714, p. 98.
[8] Ibid., p. 127.
[9] See Ibid., pp. 121–125.
[10] Selected Paragraphs from Arfilei Tohar, with commentaries by Pinchas Polonsky, Machanaim, Newton, 2012, p. 70.
[11] Ibid., p. 71.
[12] Ibid. p. 76.
[13] Samuel Heilman, Sliding to the Right: The Contest for the Future of American Jewish Orthodoxy, Berkely, University of California Press, 2006.

To our members and friends

We are hitting the ground running in August-September, as we launch another year of classes and programs for the Institute.

Special Symposia on Rabbi Marc Angel’s Thought

We are about to embark on a historic year for our Institute, as we celebrate Rabbi Marc D. Angel’s fifty years in the rabbinate. On Sunday, September 15, from 10:00-12:00, we will hold a symposium on Rabbi Angel’s teachings, featuring Rabbi Angel, who will offer personal reflections on his fifty years in the rabbinate, and I will give a lecture on the core teachings of Rabbi Angel. The program is free and open to the public, and will be held at Congregation Kehilath Jeshurun in Manhattan (125 East 85^th Street between Park-Lexington Avenues). The symposium also will be posted on YouTube. At the event, we will distribute complimentary copies of Conversations 34, a newly-published collection of essays by Rabbi Angel.

Looking ahead to Sunday, May 3, the International Rabbinic Fellowship, which was co-founded by Rabbi Angel, will hold a special study program at their annual convention that will be open to the public exploring the thought and contributions of Rabbi Angel. The program also will be held at Congregation Kehilath Jeshurun in Manhattan. We will give more details of this unique program as it gets closer.

Scholar-in-residence Shabbat in Deal, New Jersey

On Shabbat August 23-24, I will be the Shabbat scholar-in-residence in Deal, New Jersey. Hosted by the Sephardic Community Alliance, I will be speaking on “Rambam and other Rabbis on Jewish Belief,” and “Afterlife in Jewish Tradition and Implications for Today.” Talks are free and open to the public. For more information, go to https://www.scaupdates.org/home.

Classes in September

On Mondays and Wednesdays, September 4, 9, 11, 16, 18, 23, from 12:00-12:45 pm, I will give a six-part series on the Book of Jonah and other Haftarot of the Holiday Season for the Beit Midrash of Teaneck, at the Teaneck Jewish Center (70 Sterling Place, Teaneck, NJ). Free and open to the public.

On Sunday, September 8, 10:30-11:15 am, I will give a lecture on “The Binding of Isaac: Extremely Religious without Religious Extremism.” It will be held at CareOne Teaneck (544 Teaneck Road, Teaneck, NJ). Free and open to the public.

On Mondays September 9 and 16, 1:00-2:15 pm, I will give a two-part series on “Insights into Kohelet.” They will be at Lamdeinu Teaneck, at Congregation Beth Aaron (950 Queen Anne Road, Teaneck, NJ). For registration, go to https://www.lamdeinu.org/.

University Network

We have lined up a wonderful group of college students as Campus Fellows for our University Network. We welcome the following fellows for the 2019-2020 academic year:

Yona Benjamin (Columbia University), Matt Jelen (Harvard University), Mikey Pollack (University of Maryland), Aryeh Roberts (University of Maryland), Zachary Tankel (McGill University), Sara Evans (Queens College), Raffi Levi (Rutgers University), Ben Nechmad (Rutgers University), Jakob Glogauer (Ryerson University), Ora Friedman (Stern College, Yeshiva University), Ari Barbalat (University of Toronto), Ayelet Rubenstein (University of Pennsylvania), Daniel Fridman (Yale University), Yoni Abrams (Yeshiva College, Yeshiva University), and Steven Gotlib (Yeshiva University, RIETS).

If you know of qualified college students on other campuses who would be good leaders and ambassadors for the Institute, please have them contact me, [email protected].

Sephardic Initiative

Over the past two years, we have run several very successful Educators Conferences in New York-New Jersey and in Los Angeles. Educators learned how to better incorporate Sephardic voices into their Elementary and High School classrooms, and reported back on how they have implemented the ideas we provided in their classrooms. We hope to expand our network significantly and run further educators conferences, distribute our publications, and further our efforts to teach the wholeness of Judaism through its plethora of great thinkers from all ages and locations.

As always, thank you for your ongoing support of our programming and efforts to disseminate our ideas and ideals throughout North America and beyond.

Rabbi Hayyim Angel

National Scholar

More than 20 years ago, as an undergraduate at Princeton University, I found myself rooming with a bright, young religious Lutheran from Iowa. It was, to be sure, a somewhat unusual mix, and he never could quite comprehend why I was rushing off to prayer services every day or checking the ingredients on various food packages. But he was a cosmopolitan and studious sort, one whose desk was constantly piled high with books, and his curiosity about the world and impressive intelligence often made for some intriguing conversations.

So when I asked him once how many Jews he thought lived in America, I was more than a little stunned when he insisted, in all seriousness, that "there must be at least 50 million Jews in this country." Asked to explain the basis for his calculation, my friend shrugged and told me, "Well, I grew up in a town in middle America, and our family doctor was Jewish, my dad's lawyer was Jewish and so was his accountant. And," he added," there are so many prominent Jews in various fields, that there simply must be 50 million or more of you guys out there." Only after I showed him a reference book which listed the world Jewish population at approximately 13 million, was he satisfied that his estimate had been wide of the mark.

            I often reflect back on that conversation, as it touched on key questions such as the perception of Jews, our role in society and the impact that we as a people have on the world. But I think that it also raises still another, perhaps even more compelling issue, one that is rarely if ever addressed with the seriousness that it deserves: does it matter how many Jews there are in the world?

Traditionally, of course, we have never placed a great deal of emphasis on the size or dimensions of the Jewish people. For the past 2000 years, living at the mercy of others, we tended to focus more on quality rather than quantity. That, quite possibly, is why many Jews tend to discount or minimize the importance of our numbers, arguing that what really matters is whether we are working effectively to fulfill our national destiny.[i]

But I believe this mode of thinking is a product of exile, a function of the fact that we were more concerned with surviving, rather than thriving, during the long, dark night of our wanderings in foreign lands. In the process, we tended to lose sight of the important role that numbers can and do play in the life of a nation. And we have even gone so far as to elevate our numerical weakness into a value, infuse it with meaning, and now hold it up as the ideal.

Neither Jewish sources nor Jewish history justify this view, and it is time that we revisit the question, not merely because it is an interesting intellectual exercise, but rather due to the critical importance that it has to shaping our community's policies, future and world-view.

It is a well-known principle of Jewish belief that the Creator chose the Jewish people to be His unique instrument in this world. "And you shall be unto Me a kingdom of priests and a holy nation,"[ii] God instructs Moses to tell Israel just prior to giving them the Torah at Mount Sinai.

Later, in the book of Devarim, Israel's special relationship with God is described in even more intimate terms: "You are the children of the Lord your God… you are a holy people to the Lord your God, and the Lord has chosen you to be His own treasure out of all peoples that are upon the face of the earth"[iii].

From these verses, it is clear that God did not choose a family or a small tribe to serve His purposes in this world. He chose an entire nation, the people of Israel. Obviously, then, a critical mass is essential to carry out our sacred mission, for if it were not, then He could easily have placed the responsibility on just a handful of shoulders.

In other words, numbers do matter. Critics often assail this line of thinking, asserting that quantity without quality is of little value in ensuring the Jewish future. But what they fail to realize is that the opposite is equally true. A tiny and shrinking Jewish people, consisting only of a small core of committed members, will hardly be able to meet the challenges and threats to our survival, be they physical or spiritual.

And that, perhaps, is why God promised the patriarchs, Abraham, Isaac and Jacob, that the Jewish people would one day be as numerous as the stars in the sky or the sand by the sea. For only then can we possibly be in a position to fulfill our role.

Indeed, even a cursory look at the Torah and the commentaries reveals that the demographic prowess of the Jewish people is repeatedly emphasized in God's pledges to our forefathers.

"And I will make your seed as the dust of the earth," God assures Abraham, telling him, "so that if a man can number the dust of the earth then so shall your seed also be numbered".[iv]  Rashi understands this promise to be literal, not metaphorical. He explains the verse as follows: "Just as the dust cannot be counted, so too shall your seed be beyond counting."[v]

Similar pledges were made to Isaac and Jacob,[vi] and when Moses addressed Israel before his death, he too prophesied that God would multiply them "a thousand times over".[vii] This, says the Netziv, is a promise that relates both to the quality and quantity of the Jewish people.[viii]

            Over a millennia later, during the Herodian period, the Jewish people had in fact grown to be a sizeable force on the world stage. As historian Paul Johnson has pointed out,

One calculation is that during the Herodian period there were about eight million Jews in the world, of whom 2,350,000 to 2,500,000 lived in Palestine, the Jews thus constituting about 10 percent of the Roman empire. This expanding nation and teeming diaspora were the sources of Herod's wealth and influence.[ix] (emphasis added)

It is interesting to note that at around the same time, what historians have described as the earliest preserved census in the world was taken in China, in the eighth month of the year 2 C.E.[x] It found that there were a total of 57.5 million Chinese, or seven Chinese for every Jew then living.

Jump ahead 2000 years to the present, and the numbers are of course quite different, with China having soared to more than 1.1 billion people, even as world Jewry barely numbers more than 13 million souls.

Needless to say, the difference is attributable to all the expulsions and persecutions that have been our lot, which have shorn away untold numbers of Jews from our ranks, leaving just a small remnant of what might have been.

This sad reality was brought into even sharper focus last year, when distinguished demographer Sergio Della Pergola of the Hebrew University released a chilling study which concluded that had it not been for the Holocaust, there would be 32 million Jews in the world today.[xi]

The Holocaust, he wrote, had "struck a mortal blow particularly at the Jews of Eastern Europe because of their especially young age structure." This, he said, had caused "significant long-term demographic damage" with ramifications "far beyond what we think."

Indeed, as Della Pergola pointed out, the percentage of Jews in the world today is steadily declining. Whereas prior to World War II, there were eight Jews per thousand people in the world, the figure now stands at just two per every thousand, and it is heading southward.

The findings are a timely and distressing reminder of the unfathomable destruction which the Holocaust wrought. Not only did it claim the six million who were murdered by the Germans and their collaborators, but it also took away their children, grandchildren and all of their descendants, forever depriving the Jewish people of untold millions of precious souls. In other words, the scope of the killing, magnified over time, becomes ever more extensive and incomprehensible.

Just imagine a world in which a vibrant and ample Jewish people, more than double its present size, were not beset by the constant threat of demographic diminution and assimilatory attenuation.

Consider for a moment the cultural and spiritual riches that we would be producing, the mighty intellectual and cerebral contributions to mankind that we could be making, and you begin to realize the extent of what has been lost.

SOMEHOW, while we were getting collectively beaten up in the Diaspora over the centuries, we seem to have moved away from this approach. But now might be just the time to start rethinking it. After all, size does matter, whether in basketball, business or international diplomacy. And to make a difference in the world and live up to our Divine national mission as Jews, we need a much larger and more diverse "team" at our disposal.

            This means that we not only need to work harder at keeping Jews Jewish, but we also must expand our horizons and look for ways consistent with halakha to boost our numbers.

A good place to start would be with descendants of Jews, with communities that have a historical connection with the Jewish people and are now interested in returning. These include the Bnei Menashe of northeastern India, who are descended from a lost tribe of Israel, the Bnei Anousim of Spain, Portugal and South America (whom historians refer to by the derogatory term "Marranos"), the "Hidden Jews" of Poland from the Holocaust-era, as well as others.

Through no fault of their own, these people's ancestors were taken by force from the Jewish people, and we owe it to them and their descendants to embrace them and give them the opportunity to come home. Doing so will not only right a historical wrong, but it will strengthen us numerically and spiritually as well.

This is not a call to missionizing, nor a plea to start converting gentiles. It is about opening the door to our lost brethren, known as Zera Yisrael ("the seed of Israel"), and reinforcing the bond between us.

Take, for example, the Bnei Anousim, whose ancestors were forcibly converted to Catholicism during the 14^th and 15^th centuries in Spain and Portugal, but who continued to preserve their Jewish identity in secret down through the generations. Five centuries later, a growing number of their descendants are now emerging from the shadows, seeking to reclaim their long-lost Jewish heritage.

It is a phenomenon of unprecedented proportions, stretching from Lisbon to Lima and from Madrid to Mexico. People throughout the Spanish- and Portuguese-speaking world are now choosing to explore their families' Jewish roots, which were often buried under the weight of history.

The extent to which that legacy still lives on was underlined by the findings of a noteworthy paper published in the American Journal of Human Genetics in late 2008, in which a team of biologists declared that 20% of the population of Spain and Portugal has Sephardic Jewish ancestry.[xii] Since their combined populations exceed 50 million, that means more than 10 million Spaniards and Portuguese are descendants of Jews.

These are not wild-eyed speculations, but rather cold, hard results straight out of a petri dish in a laboratory. The study, led by Mark Jobling of the University of Leicester in England and Francesco Calafell of the Pompeu Fabra University in Barcelona, analyzed the Y chromosomes of Sephardim in communities where Jews had migrated after the expulsion from Spain in 1492. Their chromosomal signatures were then compared with the Y chromosomes of more than 1,000 men living throughout Spain and Portugal. Since the Y chromosome is passed from father to son, the geneticists were able to measure the two groups up against each other, leading to the remarkable finding that one-fifth of Iberians are of Jewish descent.

Think about it: it is as if a large mirror were suddenly being held up in front of every Spanish and Portuguese person, forcing them to look at themselves and see the reality of their national, and individual, history.

But even more compelling than what it says about the past is what it might just say about the future. If Israel and the Jewish people undertake a concerted outreach effort toward our genetic brethren in Iberia, it could have a profound impact in a variety of fields. The very fact that such large numbers of Spaniards and Portuguese have Jewish ancestry could have a significant effect on their attitudes toward Jews and Israel.

As Chairman of Shavei Israel, which works with "lost Jews" around the world, I have seen it time and time again - when a person discovers, or rediscovers, their Jewish roots, they inevitably develop a certain affinity to the Jewish people and a greater sympathy for Israel and Jewish causes. Obviously, not all of the millions of people of Jewish descent will rush to convert back to Judaism or seek to make aliyah. But some undoubtedly will return to our people and strengthen our ranks.

The idea that such "lost Jews" will ultimately return is both long-standing and deeply-rooted in Jewish thought, even if most of us may not realize it.

Take, for example, the prophet Isaiah's vision that, "It shall come to pass on that day, that a great shofar will be blown and they that were lost in the land of Assyria shall come and they that were dispersed in the land of Egypt, and they shall bow to God on the holy mountain in Jerusalem".[xiii] According to Rashi, the first part of the verse - "they that were lost in the land of Assyria" - means those "who were dispersed far beyond the Sambatyon river"[xiv], a reference to the Ten Lost Tribes of Israel who went into exile more than 2700 years ago.[xv] In other words, their descendants, despite being lost for so many centuries, will in fact come back.

The same holds true for the Bnei Anousim. The great Don Isaac Abarbanel, who witnessed the expulsion of the Jews from Spain in 1492, writes movingly in his commentary to Sefer Devarim that many of the Bnei Anousim "shall be mixed in among them [i.e. the nations] and considered like them, but in their hearts they will return to God…. and those who leave the religion [i.e. Judaism] because of compulsion, about them does it say, 'and He will return and gather you from among the peoples'".[xvi]

The illustrious Rabbi Tzadok HaKohen of Lublin goes even further, stating that all descendants of Jews will one day return to our people. In his work Resisei Layla, he writes that this includes even those who are of Jewish descent but do not know it: "for everyone who is from the seed of Israel, none shall be banished".[xvii]

From its very inception, the nation of Israel was divided into 12 tribes, each with its own unique traits, talents and blessings. God, in His ultimate wisdom, deemed it necessary for our people to be forged into unity through diversity, like an orchestra comprised of different musicians, each playing his own instrument even as he follows the same book of music.

We are living in a world that is growing smaller by the day, thanks to the reach of the Internet. In order to thrive in this global village, we need Chinese Jews and Indian Jews and Polish Jews no less than American and Australian Jews. We are one nation, with many faces, and we have to learn to leverage our diversity and view it as a strength rather than a weakness. We might never be able to match China's demographics, but we can and should look for new opportunities for growth. That is why the time has come to undertake a concerted outreach effort to descendants of Jews.

Our precarious state as a people, and the threats we face at home and abroad, demand as much. And so, I might add, does our destiny.

 It was a Torah lesson on Track 13-W. 

And none of the “teachers” were Jewish.

Settling into my seat, I barely heard the two women, 20ish, speaking across the aisle from each other, one row in front of me, on a southbound Amtrak train, in the second-last car from the rear, one recent afternoon.

But a woman in a seat behind them did.

“This is a Quiet Car," she said firmly but friendly, pointing to one of the ubiquitous signs in the Amtrak car that designated that venue as a respite from cellphone conversations or discussions between seatmates that can be overheard by other travelers. "You can't talk so loudly that other people can hear you,” she added, making her point clear – she had heard them.

The woman, wearing an Amtrak uniform (she was off-duty, enjoying a free ride, one of the perks of an Amtrak job), bore an air of authority.

She was stating company policy. But the train had not started its route out of New York City, it was still taking on passengers in the depths of Penn Station, and I was sure that the two women engaged in audible palaver would take offense or protest that the trip technically had not begun.

Instead, they ceased their talking. Immediately. They did not frown or sulk or cop an attitude.

They apparently understood the posted rules of the space they were occupying, and, caught in the act of violating them, corrected their miscreant behavior. Not a further word was exchanged between them as the train rolled for hours toward Richmond. They had been wrong, they knew it, and sheket prevailed.

They held their tongues. No pilpul about the details of the railway’s etiquette regulations.

Their almost-whispered words had not bothered me; their conversation had been tolerable. But on Amtrak, rules are rules; no almost-Quiet-Car.

I opened a book and started to read.

In the ensuing silence, my mind drifted to synagogue. To several synagogues where I have prayed.

How many times, I thought, have I witnessed people (primarily men, because that is the section of shul in which I always sit) talking loudly and disturbingly in violation of fellow worshipers' kavana and the shul's unwritten and often-written (posted in conspicuous Hebrew signs ) warnings about the halachic impropriety and derech-eretz implications of talking during times of Shemoneh Esrei, leining of the Torah and other times when spoken interruptions are inappropriate.

The signs don't work.

Neither does humor; in one shtiebel I once spotted a sign in Hebrew that stated, “It is forbidden to pray or read the Torah during time of talking.”

Nor rabbis’ frequent reminders and sermons and shiurim.

Nor gabbais’ halting of the Torah reading and/or the chazores haShatz until the buzz in the seats ceases.

Nor the why-not-to-talk-during-davening booklets distributed in many places of tefillah, and various organizations’ similar awareness campaigns.

Nor the stares or glares or "shaa!"s of people trying to pray.

The talkers are usually indifferent to all of this; maybe they are speaking too loudly to pay attention.

What's the difference between Amtrak’s Northeast Regional and our corner congregation? Why do Amtrak passengers obey, literally without a peep (my experience aside, you rarely hear an out-of-line sound in the Quiet Car), especially when corrected?

And it’s not only the Quiet Car.

It’s taken for granted that silence rules in some other places. Like a library. Who would raise his or her voice there? Or a movie theater? Or a classical music concert? Or the fans’ gallery of a major golf tournament where a contending player is lining up an important putt?

Why is a minyan exempt?

Many explanations come to mind: a shul is the daveners’ home, they’re not guests, they determine what goes; the people shushing them are friends, who can be ignored, unlike the strangers sharing a train coach; the people doing the talking aren’t necessarily interested in the worship experience of the morning in shul, unlike the shushers; away from work, the talkers aren’t about to take orders from anyone; they resent the challenge to their machismo; davening is long, especially on Shabbat and yom tov, and maintaining one’s level of concentration for several hours can be a challenge; there’s no penalty for out-of-place talking – no one’s likely to be asked to leave.

Basically, they talk because they don’t think about illicit words’ wider ethical implications, and they know they can get away with it.

Unlike the situation on Amtrak, where Quiet Car talking is not an assertion of one-upmanship.

The capitol’s monthly Washingtonian magazine offered a history of the national carrier’s “silent oasis” a few years ago. A blessedly quiet car has become a feature of every pricy Acela train and its slower-and-less-expensive cousin, the Northeast Regional because of “that greatest of American traditions: mob rule.”

Almost two decades ago, according to the magazine, some regulars on the Northeast Direct 151, an early-morning run from Philadelphia to DC, “decided they’d had enough of other riders yakking on their cell phones while they tried to sleep.” So the offended riders asked the crew to unofficially designate a noise-free car for the trip. An instant success.

When Amtrak bosses saw how effectively the gang had managed to enforce the silence, they agreed to institutionalize the practice and keep it self-policing.

A Quiet Car was an idea whose time had come. Today, if a passenger is listening to something on an electronic device, the sound must not penetrate beyond the headphones.

Today, nothing above a whisper.

“Nowadays,” Washingtonian reports, “the quiet car is the most prized spot on any train, and its culture is one of strict constructionism. Make a peep and the mob will crush you with icy glares, aggressive shushing, and … a ton of subtweeting.”

To reinforce this, Amtrak has produced “Shhh” cards in English and Spanish to be handed to talkative riders who may not have noticed the ever-present signs.

The Quiet Car’s atmosphere is conducive to silence – subdued lighting like in a classy restaurant; pages of books or magazines are quietly turned; loudness simply seems out of place.

The article also cited, on a bipartisan nature, some previous prominent offenders of the no-talking culture – FBI Director Louis Freeh, New Jersey Gov. Chris Christie (Republican) and Sen. Al Franken (Democrat).

All were shamed, by fellow riders or by rigorous Amtrak employees, into curtailing their obtrusive remarks or moving to another car, where talking is permitted.

The talkers reluctantly comply with the prevailing respectful atmosphere.

If only public censure and disapproval were as effective in shul.

While the talkers in the pews are selectively deaf to the expressed concerns of their fellow daveners, they decidedly are not mute.

This is not a recent phenomenon. Chazal have been discussing this topic and offering suggestions to counter it -- apparently without success -- for hundreds of years. Articles in heimish newspapers and magazines often offer suggestions.

No panacea has turned up.

This is not a location-specific phenomenon, not only present in big-city congregations.

Several years ago, I davened in a small, "out'-of-town" synagogue that had as members a large number of Jewishly educated men who alternated giving drushas on Saturday mornings. One week, when one of those men returned from shacharit, his wife asked, "Who talked in shul today?" In other words, who was thedarshan de jure?

"Everybody," her husband answered. In other words, it was not a quiet davening.

Common courtesy dictates that one should be still when any noise distracts others. Halacha sets higher standards; our prayers should be audible to ourselves – and to G-d – but not to the person standing next to us. Besides being rude and contrary to Jewish law, talking when silence should prevail undoubtedly hinders one's kavana. How many of us have the power of concentration to focus fully on our tefillot when our neighbors in the pews are talking about the stock market, the previous night's ballgame, their kids, their upcoming trip to Eretz Yisroel or other sundry matters best left for Kiddush time, over a plate of kugel?

I’ve seen some people protest such talking infractions.

A friend of mine in a shul near New York told me he had once proposed a seating plan to the congregation's rabbi: have signs displayed in certain areas, like state markers at a political convention, indicating that area's topic of conversation during davening -- "Sports," "Careers," "Weather," etc. My friend did not get the rabbi's permission, but the rabbi got the sarcastic point. A WWII D-Day veteran who did not consider himself the most stringent of halacha observers, my friend took his time in shul seriously. During davening, he wanted no distractions.

At a large congregation in Brooklyn's Boro Park neighborhood, a young chassid, shtreimel atop his head, will ask his fellow mitpallim, when the decibel level during tefillah becomes intolerable, "If you come here to talk, where do you go to pray?”The question is rhetorical.The answer should be also -- shul is for talking only to the One Above.

A rabbi in a Berlin synagogue where I attended Shabbat services several years ago had an effective idea. In the years after large numbers of Jews immigrated from the Soviet Union, many ended up in Germany, particularly in the country’s major cities.

The rav of the shul, wanting to strengthen the Yiddishkeit of emigres who had spent decades in a culture where any practice of religion, or any education thereof, was strictly verboten, sought to attract the Jewish newcomers -- especially the senior citizens who had some sentimental memories of Judaism in their home -- to his synagogue. But he recognized that they would have little inclination to properly spend time in unfamiliar, hours-long worship services. And if they came, they would talk.

Instead, he offered an alternative during minyan time – a social hour or two that would include some schmoozing with their landsleit, some snacks, some divrei Torah and some explanations of the prayers that were taking place, without interruptions, elsewhere in the building.

Everyone gained.

The sanctity of the tefillah was preserved; and some of the ex-Soviet Jews, once they learned about the meaning of the contents of the siddur, in time came to minyan. As worshipers, not talkers.

Some schnapps and herring did the trick. Reminders and scolding and lectures wouldn’t help.

For the short-run, is it better that people interested in being in shul on Shabbat but not in minyan have another option? Literally lo b’shma ba l’shma; they might come eventually for the right reason.

The problem is that minyanim frequented by talkers tend to be friendly, welcoming minyanim, where people feel at home. They’re the minyanim someone would want to join. On the other hand, the quieter minyanim are, I have found, largely cold and unwelcoming. In the former, a stranger is likely to be approached by the regulars, offered a tallit or an aliyah or a Shabbos meal invitation; in the latter, you’re more likely to be ignored.

The friendliness, which is laudable, breeds the comfort to talk.The challenge is to combine the best of both worlds.

The Amtrak example, and some observation of various minyanim I’ve attended, suggests some methods to reinforce the desired behavior:

Display “No talking zone during davening” signs in conspicuous spots throughout the sanctuary so no one can plead ignorance.

Have the gabbai or rabbi announce at the start of every worship service that “this is a no-talking minyan.”

If you’re the person being disturbed by the talking, don’t compound the situation by being rude; simply, and quietly, indicate that you’re in a no-talking minyan. The purpose is silence, not embarrassment.

At least simply establish an official, identified, recognized no-talking zone in the sanctuary or beit midrash where davening takes place, rows of pews where adherence to that policy is the norm. In other words. Make that the prestigious makom in shul.

Make no talking the norm; so the talkers become the outliers.

If someone tries to talk to you during davening, don’t respond; smile, put your finger to your lips and point to your place in the siddur.

Teach these type of gentle reminders to the folks who want to pray, so they can politely but effectively and consistently get the point across.

Provide options – a room where the people who prefers talking to tefillah can go while staying in shul; offer shiurim there so those folks can gainfully spend their time outside of the Beit HaKnesset.

Position non-talkers throughout the pews, so the talkers cannot congregate among themselves.

Make the talkers pay – literally. While a writer in Fortune magazine suggested that a seat in a (coveted) Quiet Car might cost more than one in an undesignated car, the reverse should be the case in shul; charge more to sit in a talkers’ minyan. Maybe the onus, if not the financial penalty, will serve as a deterrent.

Reward the people who refrain from inappropriate gabbing; maybe a frequent-complier certificate.

On the other hand, no aliyot or other honors for habitual talkers.

Thank the people who have changed their gabby behavior.

Finally, institute a penalty for the incorrigibles. A friend, who years ago served as a gabbai in his congregation’s hashkama minyan, pleaded at length with a member of the minyan, a prominent member of the synagogue, to curtail the constant chatter during davening. To no avail. My friend then sent a letter to chatterer, uninviting him from attending the minyan. The chatterer was predictably offended by the banning, but he complied, and the sanctity of the minyan was preserved.

Amtrak has the right idea – there’s a time and place for friendly conversation, but a Quiet Car and a minyan are not the place; a minyan certainly is not the time.

Maybe we don't need rabbis to enforce decorum in shul. Maybe we should invite some Amtrak conductors and passengers to our minyanim.

All aboard?

The Conversion Scandal

By Rabbi Haim Amsalem

We have a scandal in Israel relating to the evil practice that is spreading: the annulment or non-recognition of conversions performed by private rabbinical courts in their localities. These conversions are performed according to the halakha, with circumcision, ritual immersion in the mikva, and acceptance of the mitzvoth.

This unprecedented aspersion of halakhically valid conversions emanates from Israel’s Chief Rabbinate which sees itself as though it were the great Sanhedrin of old. The Rabbanut unjustly invalidates conversions not performed under its authority or by those who are obedient to its authority. They annul or invalidate halakhic conversions [not done under their authority], something unprecedented and blatantly against the halakha. This position is in violation of the Talmud’s clear statement (Yevamot 47b): ”One who has immersed and emerged from the mikva is a Jew in all matters. What is the legal implication of this statement?  If he later repudiates [his conversion] he is to be considered as an apostate Jew. If he marries a Jewish women, the marriage is valid [since he is Jewish].”

Maimonides rules according to this Talmudic passage (Laws of Forbidden Relationships 13:18), as does the Shulhan Arukh (Y.D. 268:12).  Even if the convert repudiates the conversion—the conversion is not annulled! Yet, today, the Rabbanut [and its followers] invalidate and annul conversions with a light hand even when the convert loudly proclaims that he/she is Jewish!!! Maimonides ruled that even a convert with many shortcomings is still a valid convert. Even if the rabbinic court did not check on his motives, even if he did not openly accept the mitzvoth, even if it was known that he converted for ulterior motives, and even if he later changed his mind—even so, such a person is a valid convert!

Maimonides (Ibid., 15 and 16) explains that even though the Great Court was not pleased with conversions done for Samson and King Solomon, [these conversions were done under private auspices], the Great Court did not invalidate them….

Rabbi Shimon ben Tsemah Duran, in his Responsa (3:47) acknowledged the principle that conversions are valid and not subject to annulment even if the convert changes his mind immediately after the conversion. But now the Rabbanut and its followers overlook the previous halakhic rulings and issue unfounded and incorrect rulings that annul and don’t recognize conversions done by other rabbis.

This creates a situation of absolute desecration of God’s name….It simply has not happened in recent history that a conversion performed by proper and learned rabbis has been invalidated.  Rabbinic authorities have urged that one should not be overly lenient in accepting converts etc; but to actually invalidate a conversion once it has been performed—this is unheard of!...

It is an obligation for all those who seek truth and upright thinking to rise and protest loudly against this great sin that entails an absolute desecration of God’s name. Certainly in this matter there is not only a desecration of God’s name but also the sin of oppressing converts.  Terrible problems arises when halakhic converts are deemed to be non-Jewish. Those who [so oppress converts by not accepting the validity of their conversions] stand guilty and they will have to face the judgment of Heaven.

Is it important to wear a black hat from a hashkafic perspective?

The answer depends on one’s hashkafa! If one thinks it is desirable to have “frum” men all dressed in the same uniform, then it’s important.

However, if one’s hashkafa favors diversity, personal responsibility, individualism…then one must be troubled by the insistence that “frum” boys and men wear black hats and the rest of the “hashkafic” uniform that goes with the hat. Conformity of dress tends to conformity in thought, a surrender of one’s own thinking to the demands of the group and/or the group’s authorities.

Diversity is a positive value. The Talmud (Berakhot 58a) teaches that one recites a special blessing when witnessing a vast throng of Jews, praising the Almighty who is hakham harazim, the One who understands the root and inner thoughts of each individual. Their thoughts are not alike and their appearance is not alike. Respect for individuality and diversity is a sine qua non of healthy human life.

Insistence on the “black hat” uniform leads to artificial stereotyping. People are judged by how they dress, not by who they are. Moreover, boys and men from non-Ashkenazic backgrounds feel pressure to adopt the Ashkenazic “frum” look, leading to needless intra-family and intra-communal tensions. Why not allow people to dress as they think best within the bounds of modesty? Why ostracize those who refuse to conform to an artificial standard of religious garb?

The black hat fedora first appeared in 1882 as a female hat, worn by a character in a French play named Princess Fedora Romanoff. In 1924, Prince Edward of Britain adopted it as a male head covering. It’s difficult to see why the “frum” community would find a hat with this history to be a mark of proper Torah hashkafa!

If a Jew wins the lottery, should he continue working?  Or should he quit his job and study Torah all day?

The real question is: if a Jew—male or female—is wealthy enough, what is the ideal way to spend one’s life? The answer is: each person needs to decide for himself/herself what will be most meaningful, most constructive, most appropriate in the eyes of the Almighty.

There is no one ideal path, not even studying Torah all day. Each person is endowed with particular talents and inclinations, and must find the best path forward based on his/her realities. Some may find their fulfillment by devoting full time to Torah study. Others may find different ways to serve Hashem, based on the gifts that Hashem has given to him/her.

It is obviously desirable for everyone—whether employed or so rich as not to need a job—to spend time each day studying Torah. But it’s also important to follow one’s own path in life.

Should a wonderful rabbi, Torah teacher, kiruv professional quit the job and thereby abandon all those he/she is influencing for the good?

Should a gifted research scientist abandon scientific work that can lead to improvement of the lives of millions of people?

Should a successful business owner close his/her business and thereby deprive employees of their livelihoods?

Should people who genuinely find satisfaction in their work be told to quit their jobs in order to study Torah full time for the rest of their lives?

“If I were a rich man”…couldn’t I do wonderful hessed work, make massive improvements in yeshivot and day schools, finance Torah publications, support the needy here and in Israel etc.? Couldn’t I devote time and resources to art, music, medicine, environmentalism, social justice, world peace?

Suggesting one ideal road for all people is inherently misguided…and unjust.

Is it proper to plan a vacation in a location that doesn't have a daily minyan?

Here are a few things a man must consider when planning a vacation.

Will there be a daily minyan—preferably according to my minhag—in the vacation destination?

Will my wife and children be happy vacationing there? Does my wife have a different preference?

Even if the locale has a daily minyan, is it really a place where I want to spend my vacation time? Is it beautiful? Does it provide proper facilities for rest and recreation?

What if I and my family enjoy camping, where there will be no daily minyan? What if we wish to travel to National Parks or other scenic destinations where we can’t be sure of finding a daily minyan? May we travel to various countries where we will surely learn a lot about other cultures and see world famous landmarks…but where no daily minyan may be available?

The answer to these questions is: each person must make a personal decision. One must weigh the pluses and minuses of each option, and then make plans that will be appropriate for oneself and one’s family.

Whatever decision is reached, please enjoy your vacation…and remember to pray with kavana and gratitude.

n…and remember to pray with kavana and gratitude.

The book of Ezra-Nehemiah (viewed by Jewish tradition as a single book, to be called EN) chronicles some of the final episodes of the biblical era. The Return to Zion and the rebuilding of the Temple lie at the heart of the first period in EN (538–516 b.c.e.). Zerubbabel, the political leader, and Jeshua, the High Priest, lead the community in tandem. These men are generally mentioned together, and they both work closely with the people.

In contrast, the two great leaders of EN’s second period (458–432 b.c.e.)—Ezra, the priest-sage; and Nehemiah, the political leader—model distinct leadership typologies in their attempts to guide their community to a more committed religious life.

EN introduces Ezra with an extended pedigree tracing all the way back to Aaron the Priest (Ezra 7:1–5). Ezra emigrates from Babylonia to Israel in 458 b.c.e., bearing a document from King Artaxerxes of Persia according him virtually unlimited halakhic authority over the people (Ezra 7:11–26). Given this remarkable introduction, one may expect Ezra to dominate the narrative and exert power over the people, both as a priest and as a sage. Yet, the opposite proves to be the case.

The first half of Ezra 8 lists those who returned to Israel along with Ezra. Ezra involves others and gives them credit for their participation. At the conclusion of the roster, Ezra invites others to help bring Levites to Israel (Ezra 8:15–20). A certain Levite named Sherebiah is a particular success story for Ezra. He remains prominent throughout EN after having been empowered by Ezra (see Ezra 8:18, 24; Neh. 8:7; 9:4–5; 10:13; 12:8, 24). Ezra similarly appoints twelve other priests—though he is one himself—to care for the Temple treasures (Ezra 8:24–30). Despite the immense power and authority granted to him by King Artaxerxes, Ezra involves others and is surrounded by name lists. These features of Ezra’s leadership set the tone for his transferring most of his authority to the people.

Ezra’s reaction to the scourge of intermarriage follows the same pattern. Upon learning of the problem, Ezra pulls his hair in grief and prays on behalf of his people. Members of the community spontaneously join him:

When I heard this, I rent my garment and robe, I tore hair out of my head and beard, and I sat desolate. Around me gathered all who were concerned over the words of the God of Israel because of the returning exiles’ trespass…. (Ezra 9:3–4. All biblical quotations are NJPS translations.)

While Ezra was praying and making confession…a very great crowd of Israelites gathered about him…the people were weeping bitterly. (Ezra 10:1)

After the completion of this prayer, the people propose and implement the solution, with Ezra simply endorsing their plan (Ezra 10:2–4).

According to Ralbag on Ezra 10:44, Ezra was a brilliant strategist. He realized that confrontational top-down rebuke would not be effective, and he therefore contrived an alternate plan to bring members of his community into the process. However, one could argue that Ezra believed in this model of leadership as the ideal. He was not an authoritarian leader. He wanted others to take active leadership and participatory roles. He also wanted to create a leadership that could perpetuate itself, rather than forcing the community to become entirely dependent on him. Ezra is an exemplar of the dictum attributed to the Men of the Great Assembly in the first Mishnah in Avot: Ve-ha’amidu talmidim harbeh— raise up many disciples.

Nehemiah also is a strong God-fearing leader, but he is characterized differently from Ezra. When Nehemiah comes from Babylonia to Israel in 445 b.c.e., no other names are listed with him. Nehemiah dominates the narrative and forcefully exerts his own power and authority.

When Ezra had come to Israel thirteen years earlier, he declined a military escort, since he wanted to sanctify God’s Name to the King of Persia:

I proclaimed a fast there by the Ahava River to afflict ourselves before our God to beseech Him for a smooth journey for us and for our children and for all our possessions; for I was ashamed to ask the king for soldiers and horsemen to protect us against any enemy on the way, since we had told the king, “The benevolent care of our God is for all who seek Him, while His fierce anger is against all who forsake Him.” So we fasted and besought our God for this, and He responded to our plea. (Ezra 8:21–23)

In contrast, Nehemiah accepted a military escort:

The king also sent army officers and cavalry with me. (Neh. 2:9)

            We have seen that Ezra pulled his hair in sorrow upon learning of the intermarriage in his community. In contrast, Nehemiah threatens and uses physical force against the people:

Also at that time, I saw that Jews had married Ashdodite, Ammonite, and Moabite women; a good number of their children spoke the language of Ashdod and the language of those various peoples, and did not know how to speak Judean. I censured them, cursed them, flogged them, tore out their hair, and adjured them by God, saying, “You shall not give your daughters in marriage to their sons, or take any of their daughters for your sons or yourselves. (Neh. 13:23–25)

Ezra tears out his own hair; Nehemiah tears out others’ hair.

Another significant contrast between the two leaders arises during the one occasion they are seen together: the religious revival and covenant recorded in Nehemiah 8–10. The people gather together and invite Ezra—their accepted teacher—to read from the Torah. Ezra is not the one who initiates the ceremony. Ezra is flanked by thirteen other people (Neh. 8:4), again highlighting his allowing others to initiate and share center stage in every aspect of his leadership. The people voluntarily turn to Ezra because they respect him as a teacher, not because he exerts his authority over them.

Despite the narrator’s assertion that the people initiated the reformation and covenant (Neh. 8–10; cf. 12:44–47; 13:1–3), Nehemiah casts himself differently in his first-person report (Neh. 13). He repeatedly gives himself credit, almost as a poetic refrain:

O my God, remember me favorably for this, and do not blot out the devotion I showed toward the House of my God and its attendants. (v. 14)

This too, O my God, remember to my credit, and spare me in accord with your abundant faithfulness. (v. 22)

O my God, remember it to my credit! (v. 31)

And also:

O my God, remember to my credit all that I have done for this people! (Neh. 5:19)

Nehemiah’s repeated stress on his personal accomplishments stands out starkly, especially after the narrative in EN, which credits the people for their initiatives. Additionally, Nehemiah makes it appear that the religious state of the people was entirely dependent on him. He attributes the spiritual decline and other woes on the fact that he had left the community and returned to Babylonia (Neh. 13:6).

            To summarize, Ezra was given immense authority—but deliberately moderated it. Instead, he raised new leaders and engaged the members of the community to take active roles in their spiritual development. He surrounded himself with people and shared or transferred authority to others. He raised many disciples, thereby broadening the base of the leadership and also ensuring continuity rather than dependence on him. In turn, the people voluntarily gravitated to him for guidance and teaching. Nehemiah, on the other hand, tended to occupy center stage. He gave orders to others, and often threatened them and used physical force to implement his goals. He credited himself for his accomplishments, even though the narrator credits the people for their initiatives. He portrayed himself as an indispensable leader whose community failed as soon as he left them.

Both Ezra and Nehemiah were God-fearing individuals dedicated to rebuilding Israel physically and spiritually, and both were effective to a large degree. There are no explicit evaluations of either Ezra or Nehemiah by the narrator, typical of biblical narrative. Several rabbinic traditions give clear preference to Ezra, while showing ambivalence toward Nehemiah.

Rabbi Yosei said: Had Moses not preceded him, Ezra would have been worthy of receiving the Torah for Israel. (Sanhedrin 21b)

When [Hillel] died, they lamented over him, “Alas, the pious man! Alas, the humble man! Disciple of Ezra!” (Sotah 48b; cf. Sanhedrin 11a, Sukkah 20a)

By likening Ezra to Moses and by using Ezra as a paradigm for their beloved Hillel, these Sages enshrine Ezra as one of the greatest biblical figures.

Working on the assumption that Ezra and Nehemiah co-authored EN, the Sages wondered why the book was called only “Ezra” (as they referred to it). One responded that Nehemiah was penalized for his self-aggrandizement by having his name excluded from the title of the book:

The whole subject matter of [the book of] Ezra was narrated by Nehemiah the son of Hacaliah; why then was the book not called by his name? R. Jeremiah b. Abba said: Because he claimed merit for himself, as it is written (Neh. 5:19), “O my God, remember to my credit.” (Sanhedrin 93b)

Another believed that Nehemiah viewed himself as indispensible, while denigrating all other leaders as ineffective, though some of his predecessors certainly were righteous and competent:

R. Joseph said: Because he spoke disparagingly of his predecessors, as it is written (Neh. 5:15), “The former governors who preceded me laid heavy burdens on the people, and took from them bread and wine more than forty shekels of silver, etc.” (Sanhedrin 93b)

            It appears that the aforementioned Sages have balanced Nehemiah’s positive and negative traits when compared and contrasted with Ezra. These exceptional individuals from the biblical period, as interpreted in traditional rabbinic sources, have much to teach contemporary Jewish leaders about leadership.

For further study, see my article, “The Literary Significance of the Name Lists in Ezra-Nehemiah,” Jewish Bible Quarterly 35:3 (2007), pp. 143–152; and Tamara Cohn Eskenazi, In an Age of Prose: A Literary Approach to Ezra-Nehemiah (Atlanta: Scholars Press, 1988).