National Scholar Updates

Rabbi Chaim Tchernowitz (d. 1949) relates in his autobiography how the synagogues of his youth in Russia were divided by profession. There was the shoemakers’ shul, the hatmakers’ shul, the carpenters’ shul, and the horse thieves’ shul.

We need to look no further than the institution of a horse thieves’ shul for evidence of a breakdown in Jewish moral behavior. What were they thinking during Parashat Yitro when the Torah reader got to “Do not steal?!” This breakdown is symptomatic of a gap that exists between the ideals of Torah and our actual individual and communal behavior. It is the persistence of this gap in the human condition in general that has fueled religio-moral and psychological speculation and research into human behavior for millennia. This gap is a particularly painful for the Orthodox Jewish community, a community committed to the complete fulfillment of the mitzvoth and extra-halakhic ethical demands. How can it be that the otherwise observant father of six and pillar of his Orthodox community has been embezzling funds from his company, breaking federal lobbying laws, or committing sexual improprieties, to name a few of the real-life examples of the gap we’ve seen over the past several decades?

This gap does exist, and we will never fully overcome it. Physical drives, the emotional residue of ways we were hurt as young people, and many other factors lead us to deceive ourselves and exercise bad judgement when balancing competing values. What can we do to bridge the gap and align our behavior as much as possible with the Torah and moral ideals we profess to believe? The answer is actually quite simple but not something most people want to hear. The answer is not to just learn the ethical principles and mitzvoth of the Torah with more diligence. Rabbi Yisrael Salanter (d. 1883) warned us long ago that learning Torah on its own is not enough to overcome our inclination toward self-deception and to change behavior. Rather, we must engage the heart to make the Torah’s teachings part of us to such an extent that they can influence our behavior. We engage the heart through a commitment to evoking emotion, practicing and repeating behaviors, holding each other accountable, inspiring each other, engaging in multiple modalities of learning, and acting with integrity.  

I worked for over a decade at Gann Academy, a community Jewish high school in Waltham, MA, as an instructor of rabbinics and later as the Mashgiah Ruhani (spiritual advisor). Early in my tenure, we wanted to do something to bridge the gap between our professed commitment to Torah values, such as honesty, humility, and compassion—and the plagiarism, sense of entitlement, and social exclusion practiced by some of our students. We looked to Rabbi Salanter and the Mussar movement for inspiration and practical instruction how to bridge the gap. We first identified the six key middot for our school and made those our curriculum. We then created a monthly small group-based program called Chanoch LaNa’ar (CLN) that involved learning Mussar and classic Torah sources about the chosen middot, a rigorous protocol for sharing personal experiences with the middot and taking on daily assignments to practice the middah of the month. Each faculty facilitator had one year of training under my direction before leading his or her own group. Each year we had faculty-only groups, student-only groups, and faculty-student groups. These latter groups were the most popular and provided a rare opportunity for teens and adults alike to learn more about each other’s lives. Groups met monthly during the school day for 75 to 120 minutes. In between meetings, participants would meet at least once with a havruta (study partner) to discuss the middah and their own practice. Group facilitators would write weekly reminder emails to their participants and would track their group members to make sure they were following up with practice and meeting with their havruta.

Over the past eight years, we’ve run over 40 groups involving over 75 percent of the full-time faculty and reaching up to 25 percent of the student body in a single year. During this time, the school’s senior leadership team studied Mussar for two years. In the last two years, classroom teachers began to integrate Mussar concepts and practices into student work in math, English, Hebrew, and other courses. While not as intensive as the monthly small group work, by brining Mussar into the classroom, many more students are exposed to, and get practice with, Jewish wisdom about good character.

Eight years after beginning this effort awareness of Mussar permeates the school and the language of middot are found everywhere from student publications to geometry class. Year after year, graduates of the school are heard integrating an understanding of middot with self-reflections about their own growth as students and their aspirations for life after high school. Department chairs report being able to refer to middot and Mussar concepts when working through difficult relational issues between teachers and students.  At this point the program is firmly rooted in the school culture and continues to grow in participation among students and faculty. This article describes what we learned about applying the multi-modal techniques of Mussar in the school environment and how this approach can be applied to all sectors of the Jewish community.

Why Mussar?

Mussar is the Jewish discipline of ethical character development and is as old as the Torah itself. Kedoshim tihyu and many parts of the Book of Devarim are Mussar texts, urging the Israelites to heightened ethical awareness and behavior. Pirkei Avoth and many passages in the Talmud are also Mussar texts, but we do not get actual instruction about how to develop character traits until the tenth and eleventh centuries, with the writings of Rabbi Saadia Gaon and the Duties of the Heart by Rabbi Bahya Ibn Pequda. The latter provided meditations and practices for developing traits such as humility and trust in God. This book ignited a 1,000-year genre of Mussar literature that grew in every corner of the Jewish word, including the medieval rationalists (Maimonides’ Shemoneh Perakim), Kabbalists of Spain (Rabbeinu Yona’s Sha’arei Teshvua), Kabbalists of Tzefat (Rabbi Moshe Cordovero’s Tomer Devorah), Central Europe (Orhot Tzaddikim), Enlightenment Europe (Rabbi Mendal of Satonov’s Sefer Heshbon HaNefesh), and Lithuanian yeshiva world of the nineteenth and twentieth centuries (Rabbi Yisrael Salanter’s Ohr Yisrael). It was in this latter world that Rabbi Salanter created the modern Mussar movement, reprinting classic Mussar texts and designing a program of practice to internalize Torah and develop the middot.

One key element of Rav Yisrael’s program was that the Torah’s ethical teachings needed to be activated by accessing the emotion. It was not enough to learn a text in a dry, intellectual way. Indeed, he echoed the warning of Rabbi Moshe Haim Luzzato, the author of one of the most popular Mussar books of all time, Mesilat Yesharim. In the introduction, the Ramhal laments that people with the quickest minds tend to pass over classic Mussar teachings such as “love your neighbor as yourself” (Vayikra 19:18) and “Jealousy, lust, and honor-seeking drive a person from the world” (Pirkei Avoth 4:21) because they are straightforward and not intellectually challenging ideas.[i] However, such a learner misses the point of these, and other Mussar teachings. These words are not simply to be understood intellectually, but to be integrated into the heart. This happens when the words come alive. The twentieth-century Mussar master, Rabbi Shelomo Wolbe, describes the Ramhal’s affective style of learning, Hitbonenut, as follows:

Hitbonenut is one of the great secrets of the Torah. This is how it was explicated by Ramhal (Rav Moshe Hayim Luzzatto) in his Derekh Etz Hayim:

“See now that both of them—the human mind, and the Torah which informs it—are of the same character. ‘Torah is light’—actual light, not mere wisdom. The Torah is compared to fire, for all its words and letters are like coals, in that when left alone they may appear to be only coals that are somewhat dim, but when one begins to learn them they ignite. This is what characterizes the human mind as well, for its power of great understanding causes it to glow with the force of hitbonenut.”

This explains what is found in the introduction to Mesilat Yesharim, that “the better-known these things are and the more the truths [of Mussar] are obvious to all, so do we find them being ignored and forgotten.” The reason for this is that, since these facts are so widely known, hitbonenut regarding them is lacking, and therefore they lack the character of light, and are only wisdom, which means that their influence is hardly felt, and they are largely forgotten!

This, then, is the work of Mussar….We may know about Providence, but this knowledge has no light. We may know what our duty is in this world, but this knowledge has no light. Hitbonenut turns knowledge into light.[ii]

Rabbi Yisrael Salanter distinguished between learning Torah related to the middot, which require the generation of this “light,” and learning other kinds of Torah:

The intellect functions to uncover the hidden-most secrets of wisdom.[iii] It stimulates knowledge and council (Proverbs 1:4) to seek and inquire, and to clarify matters that are in doubt. The emotions serve to open the sealed chambers of the heart and to pour waters of understanding upon it; one begins to understand that which he already knows intellectually, but has not entered into the inner sanctum of his heart. Consequently, the study of improving one’s character and purifying one’s negative traits is different from that of all other areas of Torah study and wisdom. Concerning Torah study, knowledge and the knowledgeable person are two separate entities. Man’s mere mastery of Torah knowledge suffices for him to acquire perfection and to conduct himself according to his clear and accessible Torah knowledge. However, such is not the case with character rectification and the purification of negative emotional forces. The mere acquisition of knowledge does not help a person to conduct himself in an upright fashion. Rather, the principles he has learned must be inculcated within his heart—bound and joined to him so that they and he are united as one.

The special method of implanting the wisdom of Mussar within his heart is called hitpa’alut [i.e., the conscious awakening of the heart through fervent recital of Mussar concepts]. The power of hitpa’alut bequeaths a blessing to [change the nature of] people. Even after one ceases from actively employing this exercise, the blessing is neither diminished nor lost; rather, it leaves behind a subtle imprint that continues to inspire the spirit. By profuse engagement in hitpa’alut (particularly at properly organized times, each person according to his or her situation and circumstances), the fruits of their efforts will increase and be intensified, and ultimately their temperament will be transformed for the better. (Ohr Yisrael, letter 30)[iv]

Mussar and any teachings about character development cannot be taught like other Torah subjects. If these ethical teachings are going to actually make a difference in behavior, the pedagogy needs to make the teachings come alive and enter the student in many different ways. This was our charge when created the Chanoch L’Na’ar program at our high school.

Emotion and Experience—Head, Heart, and Hand

My school, like most elite Jewish educational institutions in North America, excels at intellectual, text-based learning. We challenge the minds of our students and they engage in high-level discussions and produce intellectually complex written work. These analytic processing skills and mastery of content are important for many areas of life and Jewish practice. However, they only have a minimal impact on the character development we seek. Indeed, the analytic bias of our educational institutions can actually be an obstacle to achieving our character development goals. Even more hidden is a possible gender bias in the hierarchy of Jewish learning values. Analytic disciplines like Talmud are the gold standard, and an excellence at this discipline is a high-status activity. Study of middot, which is not as analytically rigorous, is lower status and is seen traditionally as a feminine activity because it involves the emotions. I have found this bias to be most acute in the Modern Orthodox world, where status is reserved only for the sharpest analytic minds. We must overcome this bias and embrace the affective components of Torah learning if we are going to make a dent in the character issues in our community. The nineteenth-century Mussar movement and Rabbi Salanter received ferocious attacks for suggesting that time should be taken from straight analytic Talmud study, to spend an hour each day in more affective Mussar learning. Let’s not continue that mistaken attack in our own day.

Rabbi Salanter’s method of learning involved fervent repetition of Torah and Mussar texts after engaging in the regular analytic study of the text. These sessions could include crying, shaking and other emotional discharge. Rav Yisrael described how his thinking would clear after these emotion-filled sessions. Despite the transformative power of this technique, we determined that this practice would be too intense for our high school students. If we weren’t going to use this method, we needed to find some way to engage our students’ hearts in middot study. Relevance and deep personal exploration became our paths to the heart.

Even though we did not employ the full learning regimen of R. Salanter, we did draw on two of his three steps. The first step is to learn a Torah or Mussar text as you would any piece of Torah. You apply all your analytic abilities to understand why those particular words were chosen and what their plain and deeper meanings could be. Once you have a working understanding of the passage, the second step is to create a clear image in your mind of how the teaching relates to your life. This image can come from something present or in your past. It is this second step that makes the teaching personally relevant to your life. The third step is to repeat the verse many times, evoking emotion with each repetition. We left out the third step and focused on the first and second steps, encouraging our students to find personal relevance in Torah and Mussar sources about humility, patience, trust, honor, and other middot. Searching and finding how these ideas actually showed up in their relationships with friends, parents and in their school and extracurricular experiences made these texts come alive in ways that analytic discussion fails to do. This focus on personal relevance contributed to students integrating these teachings into their lives.

The other method we chose was a protocol for creating a trusting environment for people to open up and share vulnerabilities with each other.[v] In this “focus person protocol,” one student at each group session would describe a question about how to apply that month’s middah to a challenge in their life. The faculty facilitator would prepare the student in advance, talking through the middah challenge and helping the student discern how vulnerable he or she could be in front of the group. The other group members, both faculty and students, were trained in a rigorous form of question-asking that would help the presenters explore their inner life. Advice and judgement were explicitly discouraged to cultivate a welcoming environment of trust. The discussion and sharing in these groups were often profound in their content and emotional valence. Students and faculty alike reported gaining important new insights and abilities to integrate the middah into their life. I attribute this success, at least in part, to the ability of participants to access emotions such as fear, vulnerability, hope, intimidation, courage, and shame in the context of studying Torah about a middah.

Practice Is the Language of the Heart

Mussar is not a theoretical discipline. We get the heart to feel what the head knows through practice. Built on the concept of na’aseh veNishmah—“we will do and then we will understand,” an essential part of Mussar practice is something called the Kabbalah—small, concrete challenges done daily to activate the middah. Twentieth-century Mussar master Rabbi Shlomo Wolbe explains that these daily challenges need to fly under the radar screen of the yetzer haRa so as not to evoke a spirit of rebellion and thus become counterproductive.[vi] When we learn that a Torah approach to humility involves being right-sized for any situation, the next step is to create a daily practice for trying out being right-sized. For students who habitually speak first and take up lots of time in class discussion, their Kabbalah will be to let three people speak before they offer their first comment in one class each day. It is not that this student doesn’t have important thoughts to offer to the class. Rather, Mussar practice is designed to shake us out of habit and feel whatever feelings the habitual behavior may be covering. For this student, it could be that speaking first and often covers feeling of inadequacy or impatience. After practicing for several weeks, and reflecting on the experience of challenging the habit, this student should be better equipped to make an appropriate decision when to speak in class free from the habitual drive to immediately raise his hand.

Habit Formation

Habit formation is another key feature of repeating the Kabbalah over a period of several weeks. It is not the flash of insight that changes behavior but regular repetition of the desired behavior or mental process. Professional athletes will testify that they couldn’t perform under pressure the way they do if they hadn’t spent many hours habituating their bodies to making that shot or swinging the bat in that particular way. The same goes for middot and ethical behavior. If I want to curb the way I speak lashon haRa I cannot just decide to stop saying negative things about people. I need to commit to a daily practice, for example, substituting saying something positive when I feel the impulse to say something negative about someone, or catching myself each day during lunch when I notice I’m about to say something negative about a student or colleague. While this practice is forced and artificial, it is no more forced than a baseball player going to a batting cage to take 100 swings every day to get ready for a game. When in the grips of the yetzer haRa, it is nearly impossible to change your behavior. The work needs to happen away from the moments of challenge so that when the challenge presents itself you’ve built the muscle memory to act aligned with your values. Repetition is what builds this muscle and it is why repetitive action is such an important feature of Mussar.

Accountability

Anyone who has tried to change any behavior, be it diet, exercise, or religious observance, will testify how difficult it is to maintain the practice needed to form new habits after the initial burst of motivation wears off. One way the most successful programs like Weight Watchers get people to stick with their commitment is through personal accountability to another person or to a group. Rabbi Salanter built such accountability into his Mussar program. Although Mussar can be studied alone, it is most effective when studied in a group dedicated to middot development. At the end of the group meeting, the members specify their practice goals to each other for the next week. The next session starts with a check-in when members will own up to which commitments they followed through on and which they did not. Additional accountability can be built in by assigning partners to check in between meetings. Rav Wolbe’s Mussar groups included a person who would check in daily with members about their practice.[vii] I can testify from experience that the chance I will do a practice increases when I know I will have to report back. The more frequent the accountability, the more likely practice will take place. Even if we feel a strong desire to grow and change our yetzer haRa makes us forget. Accountability to another person and to the group provides peer pressure in a positive way to help us remember.

Our school-based groups employed a non-judgmental form of accountability based on the belief that participants would feel guilty enough if they did not do their practices and didn’t need others to shame them into compliance. Participants were trained to ask each other about their practices and then listen quietly, giving space to the speaker to explore why they did or did not follow through. Listeners could ask questions to help the speaker explore their motivations. This non-judgmental approach is a distinct departure from classic Mussar groups developed in the nineteenth- and early-twentieth-century yeshivot. There, the discourse in the group was much more critical. According to Rabbi Yitz Greenberg, who attended a Navarodok yeshiva for high school, “We had a va’ad (Mussar group). We kept a spiritual diary of the week that tracked where you failed. Then the group would tear you apart and tell you where they thought you were off.”[viii] Today I think this type of critical approach could easily backfire and drive students away. Rabbi Wolbe emphasized that this generation needs Mussar to be positive. Whether positive, neutral or critical, the main thing is to create a system of accountability that will remind participants of their commitments.

Peer Inspiration

Rebbe Nachman of Breslov (1772–1810) instructed his followers to do three things every day—have a personal conversation with God, study the Shulhan Arukh, and have a conversation with a friend about your spiritual life. The purpose of this last practice, called a sihat haverim, was to inspire one another through listening to each other’s yearning for and process of spiritual growth. While not a classic Mussar movement practice, we integrated this sihat haverim, or spiritual havruta (to borrow the phrase from Rabbi Aryeh ben David’s Ayeka program) into our program. Pairs of students and faculty meet at least once between va’ad meetings to have a structured conversation about their experiences with the middah and the practices. I find these meetings invaluable to help clarify my own thinking and for the inspiration I get hearing someone else talk personally about their spiritual life. We are social creatures. Hearing how a friend is using the middah challenges us, through either a feeling of competition, or an aspiration to grow, to more seriously consider adopting the desired behavior.

Multiple Modalities for Learning

Different learners integrate information in different ways. Traditional Torah learning is both auditory and visual and takes place through individual reading, learning in havruta, listening to a lecture, and class discussion. That is a good start for a multi-modal approach but more can be added. Our sessions always involve havruta learning, personal journal reflection, large-group discussion, presenting in front of the group, and mini-lectures. The kabbalot mentioned above enabled students to bring a physical dimension to their learning, living out a middah through the way they used their bodies and interacted with others.

Modeling Integrity

Hypocrisy undermines all that we teach about middot. Our students are keen observers of our behavior as adults and are constantly on the lookout for gaps between what we preach and how we behave. These gaps can sometimes inspire students to live with more integrity, but more often they function to offer an excuse for students to justify slacking off on their moral commitments or for choosing behavior that allows them to follow their lower, self-preservation instincts. This type of integrity was key to Rabbi Salanter’s Mussar program as testified by the many stories about his championing workers and the poor in the communities of Vilna, Kovno, and beyond. In one example, Rabbi Yisrael was appalled by the way the community let its version of a homeless shelter fall into disrepair. He told the community leaders that he was going to sleep in the shelter until they made improvements. The leaders were horrified that their exalted Torah scholar was going to sleep in such filth. They quickly made the needed improvements. Rabbi Salanter’s Mussar program wanted no daylight between Jewish ethics and Jewish moral behavior.

At our school we knew we needed to eliminate these areas of hypocrisy and live as close as possible to our professed values. One example was the creation of an ethical contractor policy in the early years of the Mussar program. We created this policy after it became clear that the night cleaning crew was not being treated well by their employer. The Head of School charged me and our Chief Financial Officer with creating a policy that would enshrine Jewish values as the guide to behavior for all of our contractors, from janitorial to landscaping. Such values included safe work conditions, training, and fair wages. The policy helped us bridge the gap between our professed value of dignity for all human beings, and the actual working conditions of the lowest income workers in the building. The policy signaled to our students, parents, and all stakeholders that we were serious about living our Jewish values that we would pay more for a contractor who would meet our standards rather than go for the lowest bid. After we created the policy based on our janitorial contract, we had students research the work conditions and communal standards for landscaping. The student leaders came away with a visceral sense that our school walked the talk of Jewish values. This type of integrity is key in modeling for students that middot are not just an ideal, but are something that can and should be lived.

The other way we modeled integrity was by never asking students to do something that the adults in the building were not willing to do themselves. For this reason, our first Mussar groups were for faculty, and students only began to join groups in years two and three of the program. The entire management team of the school engaged in Mussar learning and practice for over two years. I cannot overstate the importance that school leadership and faculty actually practice middot development themselves. This signals to the students that adults are serious about middot and these are behaviors that people with authority try to do.

What we learned about creating a culture of middot has implications beyond our Day Schools. Jewish communal organizations, Federations, and synagogues can implement similar practices to align behavior of their members and staff with professed Jewish values. For example, boards of directors of Jewish institutions could engage in Mussar learning and implement a Jewish Values Alignment Audit to identify gaps between values and behavior. I recommend starting with leadership to signal to the entire organization or community that practicing Jewish values is a serious organizational priority.

I have two warnings for any school or organization considering adopting a Mussar approach to character development. Mussar works best when it is a voluntary commitment. While it is tempting to force all students or staff members to learn Mussar, I’ve seen this backfire. The level of personal commitment and vulnerability required by this discipline calls for an opt-in approach. This is the approach we took at the school and it did not take long to get a critical mass opting in. This year over 25 percent of the student body choose to participate in Mussar va’ads. The other warning is to not cut corners. The lowest common denominator in Jewish character development programs is to teach middot or Mussar in a purely cognitive way. The efforts described in this article demanded a rigorous commitment to process. We needed well-trained faculty who could prepare students and peers to be emotionally vulnerable while creating strong group boundaries. We needed to be serious about organizational integrity, as well as holding each other accountable and encouraging regular practice. If our communal institutions can make these types of commitments to real character development, we will create the conditions necessary to take on some of our biggest communal challenges.

I recently read of a phenomenon known as “inattention blindness.” When people are focused on a particular thing, they tend not to see anything that interferes with their concentration. For example, psychologists asked a group of people to watch a film of a basketball game and to count how many times team members passed the ball to each other. While the people were engaged in viewing the basketball game and concentrating on their assignment, the tape showed a person walking right through the center of the picture in a way that would obviously be noticed. Yet, when the viewers were later asked about the screening, about 75% of them had no recollection of having seen a person walk through the basketball court. They were “blind” to this interruption in their concentration. They did not see someone who was right in front of their eyes.

Sometimes we miss the most obvious things because we are paying attention to something else. We tend not to see or hear anything that disturbs our concentration.

“Inattention blindness” is a good thing when it helps us stay focused on what is really important to us. It is problematic, though, when it leads us to miss important things that are in clear sight.

I think that “inattention blindness” may serve another purpose. By blanking certain things out, it prevents us from seeing these things for the moment; but when we later realize what we’ve missed, we actually pay more attention in the future.
Pessah focuses our attention on the redemption of Israelites from Egypt. But it also omits certain things from our focus, things that we might tend to miss unless our attention is awakened. These omissions, when we realize their absence from our attention, actually become more important to us than if they had been there in the first place. Their absence makes us think about them more carefully.

Leaven: On Pessah we see and eat matzot. Matzot lack leavening. We might overlook the importance of leavening due to “inattention blindness.” But if we think about it, we may derive important lessons. Rabbi Yehoshua Abraham Crespin of 19th century Izmir, in his volume “Abraham baMahazeh,” draws on a rabbinic teaching that leaven is a symbol of egotism and arrogance. Leavening represents the puffing up of one’s self-importance. The redemption from Egypt was accompanied by the obligation to rid oneself of leavening i.e. eliminating haughtiness and selfishness. Even as we focus on matzot during the festival of Pessah, we also need to remember the absence of leaven.

Moses: The Haggadah is devoted to the story of the redemption of the Israelites from Egypt. Yet, the name of Moses appears only once, and that only in passing. We focus on the miracles that God performed for the Israelites. Yet, how can we possibly relate the exodus story accurately without having Moses in the foreground? Moses’ very absence from the text makes him all the more “present” to us. We wonder why his name is missing. A lesson may be derived from the near absence of Moses’ name in the Haggadah. The greatest human beings are also the most humble. They perform wonderful deeds and seek no credit. They are not interested in self-adulation or p.r. opportunities. They do what is right…because it is right. They neither seek nor expect applause. If Moses himself had written the Haggadah, he would very likely have showered praise on the Almighty and kept his own name out of the story. And that is the genuine greatness of Moses. The very absence of his name reminds us of the virtue of true humility.

Contemporary Reality and Elijah: The Haggadah focuses on the marvelous redemption of the Israelites in antiquity. It omits reference to our contemporary condition, except to remind us that wicked people in every generation arise against us. As we sit at a festive Seder table, we seemingly put out of mind all the problems we face today: anti-Semitism, anti-Israel propaganda, injustice, poverty, societal anomie etc. Yet, how can we forget that we are not yet fully redeemed, that our world is still very far from perfection? At some point, probably during the Middle Ages, a custom arose to welcome Elijah the Prophet to our Seder i.e. to introduce a messianic theme to the Haggadah. Elijah, the harbinger of our ultimate redemption, is absent from the Haggadah text…but still very much present in our consciousness. A lesson: redemption may come slowly, only after many generations. Elijah’s name is absent from the text as a reminder that the process of redemption is not readily visible. Ultimate redemption unfolds at its own pace and in its own mysterious way. But our faith is strong: Elijah appears at our Seder and will one day announce the real redemption that we and all humanity eagerly await.

As we focus on the observances and texts of Pessah, we also need to think about those themes that we might have missed due to “inattention blindness.” When we see what seems to be absent, we may find that our spiritual vision increases!

Moadim leSimha.

To our members and friends

On Sunday, February 10, we held a wonderful symposium on the need for our schools and communities to do more to promote ethical behavior as a basic Torah teaching. Our program featured Rabbi David Jaffe, a National Jewish Book Award Winner for his book, Changing the World from the Inside Out; Dr. Shira Weiss, author of several books on ethics; Rabbi Daniel Feldman, a Rosh Yeshiva at Yeshiva University who has authored several books on ethics in halakhah; and myself. You may now view the symposium on YouTube, at https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=OjL_o2e4B68.

If you have not yet seen our symposium on Conversion from October 21, featuring Rabbi Marc Angel, Rabbi Yona Reiss, and myself, please see https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=GG17aaahdPQ.

On Shabbat, February 22-23, I was the scholar-in-residence at the University of Pennsylvania. This is part of our initiative to spread our core vision to university students across the country. It was a sensational Shabbat, as we discussed many of the core religious issues pertaining to the intersection of Jewish tradition and contemporary scholarship.

Looking ahead to upcoming educational programs:

On Sundays: March 3, March 31, April 7, 7-8 pm: I will give one class on Purim (March 3), and two on Pesah (March 31, April 7), at the Young Israel of East Brunswick. 193 Dunhams Corner Rd, East Brunswick, NJ 08816. Free and open to the public.

On Mondays, March 4, 11, 18, 25, April 1, and April 15, 1:00-2:15pm I will teach a six-part series on the Book of Psalms, integrating classical commentary and contemporary scholarship as we learn more about prayer and religious experience. It will be held at Lamdeinu Teaneck, at Congregation Beth Aaron, 950 Queen Anne Road, Teaneck. To register, go to lamdeinu.org.

On Shabbat March 22-23, I will be the scholar-in-residence at the Boca Raton Synagogue in Boca Raton, Florida.

On Shabbat May 3-4, I will be the scholar-in-residence at Congregation Ohab Shalom in Manhattan.

I also am the guest editor for Conversations 34, which will feature a collection of Rabbi Marc D. Angel’s essays in celebration of his fifty years in the rabbinate. We also plan on holding several events in honor of this momentous occasion in the coming year.

As always, thank you for all of your support, and we will continue to spread our vision to educators, university students, and the broader Jewish community.

Man cannot rely on intellect alone to determine his spiritual work. A connection based on intellect alone is not long lasting. He can know intellectually… yet his heart and body remain far behind. He needs to bind his whole soul and life force (to Hashem) and penetrate his soul to elevate and awaken it, so it becomes passionate about all mitzvot, about Torah and tefilla, and find true spiritual delight and joy in them. 

                                                                 Hovot HaTalmidim—Piaseczno Rav

It hurts me so much to see how many Jewish kids from around the world are leaving their Jewish identities behind. Many come from non-observant homes where they were never really given any reason to “stay Jewish.” Many others grew up in observant homes, but something went wrong in their Jewish education, their social or family life—or the lure of the secular world was just too strong.

I speak to many kids who were brought up with a Judaism that was less than warm and inspiring, just being told by well-meaning teachers and parents to do things without really understanding the depth and meaning behind it. They often tell me they grew up with the idea that Hashem is an angry man in the sky, and we have to do what He says otherwise He gets angry. It's hard to build a close personal relationship with a God like that. Halakha can seem restrictive and davening impersonal. Some started questioning things as they got older and came into contact with secular ideas and science, and the adults they asked were not equipped with the knowledge, evidence, or understanding to answer their questions.

In fact, we are facing somewhat of a crisis as many more people are leaving religious observance than returning; there is an extremely high intermarriage rate; many religious Jews report that they are just going through the motions; some ba’alei teshuva run out of steam five years down the road; and many Jews don’t even identify as being Jewish anymore.

Looking into Judaism from the outside as I did for the first 29 years of my life, I wasn't too impressed either. On one hand, it was because of my own shortcomings. I realized that even though I had a strong Jewish identity, went to Hebrew School, had a bar mitzvah, Friday night dinners, celebrated the festivals, played on a Jewish football team, visited Israel, and had mostly Jewish friends, I was basically uneducated when it came to what the Torah actually teaches and why we believe that to be true. I had a superficial understanding of the beliefs and the rituals and was easily put off by things I saw in the Torah that went against my western secular moral value system.

I had never interacted with religious Jews, happy to just judge them unfavorably from afar. In short, I was uninformed and assumed things about the religion and its adherents without really challenging myself to look a little deeper. 

On the other hand, I was disaffected because of some shortcomings I saw, and am still faced with in the Orthodox community today. It’s amazing how many conversations I have with highly conscious spiritually seeking Jews who come into Aish HaTorah and want to know why, if the Torah is true and enlightening, there is not more emphasis on things such as physical health, protecting the environment, universalism and an appreciation of art, music, and culture within the religious community.

The truth is that Judaism is a holistic path to perfecting ourselves and the world around us. The Rambam speaks of exercise and healthy eating as prerequisites for spiritual connection[1] and the Torah, Talmud, and Midrash urge us to be environmentally conscious. As far as other nations are concerned, a Midrash tells us that there is great wisdom amongst them[2] and Tanna D’Bei Eliyahu Rabbah[3] teaches that the Holy Spirit rests on man, woman, Jew, and non-Jew, according to their deeds. So, when asked about this, I acknowledge their point and admit that religious Jews are just as human as everyone else, having their shortcomings, challenges, and areas they need to really work on. Being religious doesn't automatically make someone happy and perfect; we all have personal and societal struggles to overcome and have to prioritize what areas of growth to work on. There are also some times when people who are dressed as religious Jews can behave in ways that give the religion a bad name; but they aren’t representative of the religion at all, in fact it’s only when they are going against Torah that the negativity comes out.

However, I then feel compelled to point out that, as a whole, I have found that there is more goodwill, strength in community, welcoming of guests, giving of charity, sense of purpose, focus on growth, learning, and the development and teaching good values and character traits than in any other community I have ever come across anywhere in the world. The amount of charitable organizations, leadership, and growth initiatives and learning opportunities is truly remarkable.

Yet we do seem to be facing one real issue, one that Rav Joseph B. Soloveitchik expressed in his usual clear and insightful manner:  

Contemporary Orthodoxy is well grounded intellectually. In spite of this, its followers lack passion and enthusiasm … from within the allegedly dry confines of Jewish law, there is an awesome, warm, enormous world—there is a definite transition from Halakha to Service of Hashem. [4]

Notwithstanding some issues of philosophy and practice, when one walks into a Buddhist Temple in Thailand you feel an aura of peace and serenity, removed from the hustle and bustle of everyday life. Step into a Hindu Temple in India, and you are met with a profound sense of the heightened spiritual energy pervading the atmosphere. Unfortunately, the same doesn't always seem to be the case when you walk into a synagogue, and it can feel like, as Rav Soleveitchik continued “many Jews don't want to pray, they want to have prayed.”

There are so many really nice, good, religiously observant people, who keep kosher and Shabbat and all the mitzvoth, whose kids go to yeshiva, who learn Torah and dress modestly. All this is crucial—it's who we are and what we need to do and it's keeping Judaism alive. Yet, sometimes, it seems like people lose the center and purpose of it all; a truly intimate, authentic, personal relationship with themselves and Hashem. Sometimes it feels like we have the body of Jewish practice, we're just lacking the heart. The Ramchal (Rabbi Moshe Hayyim Luzzato) laments in the introduction to Messilat Yesharim [5] that

There are those who have entered the realm of the sacred and are studying the Holy Torah … however few amongst them choose to devote thought and study to the total perfection of the Divine Service; Ahava, Yirah, Deveikut, and all other aspects of piety… which is the very essence of what Hashem is asking of us! 

The truth is that just being technically correct, ticking the boxes and going through the motions is not the goal. Doing our religious obligations quickly so we can get back to work or entertainment, which we value more, is not the way it's meant to be. We were created with the express purpose of re-identifying ourselves as souls, feeling close to Hashem in a palpable way, and bringing God-consciousness into the world. The Torah and halakha are the guidelines, leading us toward an experience. It’s easy to get caught up in the laws and lose sight of the destination.

Rabbi David Aaron compares it to just looking at a menu in a restaurant without actually tasting the food, or studying the maps without going on the beautiful hike. Or, as one of my first teachers said “It is like a finger pointing away to the moon. Don’t concentrate on that finger or you will miss all the heavenly glory.”[6]

We could be learning Torah and davening all day, working on our character traits, and doing mitzvoth, yet be sadly missing what it is all for. Torah is a Guidebook leading us to an experience. Just studying the Guidebook without tasting the experience means we could miss the whole point.

 A story is told of the Hiddushei HaRim who was walking with a student and told him that one day there will be a time when there will be a proliferation of yeshivas, study halls, Torah literature, Jewish organizations and shuls, tzedakah, and mitzvoth. Yet at that time there’ll be one thing missing; Hashem.

So what is it that we need to be implementing in our lives? The Talmud in Sanhedrin 106a teaches that the Compassionate One just wants the heart. He wants us to really mean what we do; to do things consciously and build a real deep, loving authentic relationship. The Shulhan Arukh[7] teaches that less done with more intention is better than doing a lot without intention, and the Mishna Berura adds, quoting the Talmud, that “one can do a lot, or one could do a little, just as long as the heart is directed towards heaven.”[8]

Messilat Yesharim[9] teaches that “the master blessed be He is not satisfied with deeds alone in the performance of mitzvoth. Rather, what is most important to Him is that the heart be so pure that it direct itself to true service of the eternal." It all comes down to a question of whether our heart is truly in it, do we really mean and feel it. We say in Aleinu three times a day,

“We should know today and place it in our heart that Hashem is our God in the heavens above and on the earth below, there is nothing else.”

Just knowing, even an intimate knowing, is not enough.[10] It needs to be settled into and make an impression on our heart. One day just before Shavuot I was saying this passage when I noticed it contains the words Daat (knowledge) and Yishuv (to settle). It is teaching us the need to “settle the knowledge” in our hearts. This called to mind a famous teaching in the Likutei Morahan where Rebbe Nachman teaches:[11] The reason the world feels far from Hashem and is not coming close to Him, may He be blessed, is only because they have no Yishuv haDaat— settling/peace of mind.

Putting these two teachings together, it occurred to me that Yishuv haDaat on the one hand means to settle our minds and find some peace and clarity, and it is also expressing the real goal of this exercise which is to Yishuv the Daat, to settle the intimate knowledge into our hearts and live fully with it. Once our mind is calm and still, we clear up space to feel the innate connection we already have in our heart and soul.  Pirkei Avot[12] teaches,

Go and see which is the best trait for a person to acquire. Said Rabbi Eliezer: A good eye. Said Rabbi Joshua: A good friend. Said Rabbi Yossei: A good neighbor. Said Rabbi Shimon: To see what is born [out of ones actions]. Said Rabbi Elazar: A good heart. Said he (Rav Yohanan) to them: I prefer the words of Elazar the son of Arakh to yours, for his words include all of yours.

A true Enlightened Jewish Master is one who compliments a balanced, trained and healthy mind, with a pure, good, and open heart.

The most essential and powerful practice we need to bring our hearts into the picture is what the Talmud[13] calls Avodah SheB’lev—the work of the heart. What is the service of the heart? It is tefillah, prayer.[14]

Prayer itself should come from the heart, and we use it as a time to ask Hashem for help in purifying our hearts to be able to connect even more authentically;[15]  “God, create for me a pure heart, and renew the correct spirit within me; purify our hearts to serve you in truth.”[16]

What this points to is that the most powerful way to build a real authentic, intimate relationship with Hashem is through speaking to Him honestly and openly from the heart. Jewish prayer isn't an attempt to connect to a separate Being, thanking and praising and requesting things from Him. Rather the word for prayer, lehitpallel, is reflexive, i.e., something we are doing to ourselves! Various interpretations teach that we are evaluating ourselves,[17] connecting to ourselves,[18] and envisioning the ultimate state of our lives and the world.[19] To pray is the ultimate expression of our souls. Rav Moshe Weinberger teaches that our connection to our souls and Hashem can be on one of the four levels of life on this earth—mineral, vegetable, animal, and human. For some people it is domem, quiet[20] and stagnant like a rock. Then there are those who are tsomeah—growing; beginning to be aroused to seek for more, more depth, more meaning, more connection. Above that there are those who are hai—truly living with this consciousness; getting up to pray, learning, doing mitzvoth, working on themselves. Yet there is a level even higher than this. He points out that the word for human is medaber—one who speaks. The highest level of connection to self, Torah[21] and Hashem is to be in a constant conversation with Him; to open our hearts and speak directly to Him, like a best friend, twin, father, guide, even spouse. 

Framing the Conversation

One of the most dramatic episodes in the Torah describes the Israelites in a state of panic when their leader, Moshe, doesn’t return from Mount Sinai as early as they expected him. In their haste to fill the void in leadership, the Israelites embark on the theologically disastrous venture of building a golden calf to serve as Moshe’s replacement.

Using this story as a philosophical springboard, Ibn Ezra[1] notes that some “empty-minded” people wondered why it took so long for Moshe to descend from the mountain.[2] What could he possibly have been doing for 40 days and 40 nights? Should it really take that long to receive a list of 613 commandments?

In Ibn Ezra’s view, the people who asked such questions were “empty-minded” because their wonderment was based on a faulty premise. They erroneously assumed that God’s mitzvoth (commandments) are simply a list of rules to be observed solely out of a commitment to divine obedience. As a result, it should not have taken Moshe so long to receive a list of arbitrary statutes. They failed to realize, of course, that mitzvoth are not a random list of actions that the Jewish people are intended to follow simply by virtue of God’s authority. On the contrary, mitzvoth are complex regulations that represent the physical actualization of a divine set of values and ideals.[3] In theory, Moshe could have spent a lifetime on Mount Sinai learning the secrets of divine providence, as well as the philosophical and theological meanings that underlie God’s commandments.

In the view that Ibn Ezra criticizes, observance of the law is an end in itself. Obedience and compliance are God’s ultimate goals for humankind. The spiritual meanings of the mitzvoth are at best secondary, or at worst irrelevant. Ibn Ezra, on the other hand, argues passionately that the primary concern of halakha (Jewish law), is that our hearts are affected by the physical performance of mitzvoth. Performance of mitzvoth without an awareness of the larger philosophical vision of the commandments may be legally effective, at least ex post facto. However, in its ideal vision, Jewish law demands that a person understand the rationale behind the mitzvoth, and therefore be spiritually transformed by the divine messages embedded in mitzvah observance.

The Preference for an Obedience-Based Model

The tension that Ibn Ezra highlights is not new. The question of whether Jewish law should be observed primarily from a place of obedience, or from a vision of halakha that is rooted in deeper meaning and understanding, has been debated since the talmudic period. In the medieval era, for example, rabbinic scholars engaged in vigorous debates about the religious appropriateness of searching for rationales behind divine legislation. Some rabbinic voices expressed strong condemnation of this quest, while others conveyed enthusiastic support. Rabbi Avraham Yitzhak HaKohen Kook,[4] however, notes that although many rabbinic scholars have strongly encouraged the search for ta’amei haMitzvoth (reasons for the commandments), throughout Jewish history, there has been an asymmetry between the small number of books devoted to the meaning behind the law, and the amount of published scholarship devoted to outlining the legal and practical contours of the law itself.[5] This trend has continued into the twenty-first century, which has seen a literary explosion of books dedicated to detailed discussion of practical areas of Jewish law that were rarely given such extensive treatment in earlier eras in Jewish history.[6]

The Disadvantages of Excessive Focus on Obedience

While the increased focus on practical halakha certainly helps to make halakhic observance more accessible and facilitates greater commitment to halakhic detail, it generates its own set of challenges as well. After all, a commitment to Jewish law without a parallel commitment to the meaning behind Jewish ritual runs the risk of turning halakha into a formulaic set of laws without any larger spiritual vision. Moreover, overemphasis on authority without a corresponding focus on meaning creates a fundamental disconnect between the practitioner of the law and the law itself. How can we truly feel a sense of pride in our observance of God’s commandments if we cannot articulate and appreciate the underlying messages of the halakha?

This attitude can also have serious effects on the way in which people observe Jewish law. After all, blind obedience can feel burdensome, and there is a natural tendency to look for ways to lighten the burden. When the focus of halakha is heavily tilted in the direction of obedience, practitioners of Jewish law will naturally seek out ways to avoid the technical violation of halakhic mandates while neglecting to keep in mind the law’s spiritual purpose. One example of this is the current effort to create gadgets that circumvent Shabbat laws. Certain trends in contemporary synagogue life, such as talking throughout services or leaving early for “kiddush clubs,” may also be reflections of this disconnect.

Increased focus on the spiritual substance of halakha will hopefully help to address some of these challenges. If we were to truly understand the religiously transcendent messages that prayer and the Torah reading convey, would we be tempted to talk during the service or leave early in order to gain an additional few minutes of socializing with friends? If we had clarity about the spiritual goals of the details of Shabbat observance, would the possibility of an iPhone app that claims to permit the use of a smartphone on Shabbat sound religiously appealing? Readjusting the delicate balance between meaning and authority, with an added focus on understanding the religious messages of halakha, will not only facilitate a more mindful and meaningful observance of Jewish law, but will also promote a more intense commitment to the details of halakha.

Ta’amei haMitzvoth as the Source of Jewish Pride

Maimonides (the Rambam),[7] one of the most important thinkers of his time, affirmed the need to understand the reasons for God’s commandments (ta’amei haMitzvoth). He argues forcefully that all mitzvoth have some rational basis and serve some ethical, societal, or personal religious function.[8] To substantiate his view, he cites the verse from Deuteronomy that tells of the Gentile nations when they “hear all those statutes (hukkim),” they will respond by saying, “Surely this great nation is a wise and understanding people!” (Deut. 4:6). The Rambam notes that if a significant number of the 613 mitzvoth have no rational basis, what would compel the Gentile world to find beauty in a life dedicated to God’s commandments?

The Maharal[9] goes one step further, utilizing the same proof-text cited by the Rambam to argue that not only do the general categories of mitzvoth have some clearly explicable inherent meaning, but even the seemingly arbitrary details of Jewish practice are rooted in divine ideals.[10] According to the Maharal, just as God has a specific reason for instituting the laws of sacrifices, for example, there must similarly be some religious message inherent in the obligation to use certain animals for specific sacrifices.

According to this model, the quest to find the rationale behind the laws facilitates a greater identification with the divine messages that the laws attempt to convey. The Torah imagines that the gentile world will look at the laws of the Torah and marvel at its wisdom. Understanding the transcendent values that the law embodies affirms this vision of the Torah’s self-identity and allows the Jewish people to similarly understand how their God-given set of laws transforms them into a “great nation.”

Ta’amei haMitzvoth as the Vehicle for Accessing the Spiritual Messages of the Law

Articulating a sophisticated vision of ta’amei haMitzvoth affirms the spiritual significance of Jewish law and the critical function of mitzvoth in actualizing these values in the real world. This position is eloquently expressed by the Shela.[11]

In order to fully understand the position of the Shela, let’s imagine what Jewish law would look like if certain physical objects simply never came into existence. For example, Jewish civil law deals with injury cases involving pits, animals, and fire. Imagine for a moment that these things were never created. What would happen to their accompanying halakhot? The Shela answers that the spiritual messages of the halakha exist independently of their physical manifestations. In such a scenario, therefore, these divine ideals would simply find expression through some other physical medium.[12]

The Shela takes this idea even further, arguing that the spiritual substance of the law existed even during the time of Adam and Eve. Since they lived in the spiritual bliss of the Garden of Eden, halakha expressed itself at that time exclusively in spiritual terms. However, as humanity moved away from the intense spirituality of that time towards a more physically-oriented existence, the expression of Jewish law shifted and the practical performance of mitzvoth became the most effective medium to experience divine values in a physical space. The laws themselves thus serve as “spiritual entry points” to experience God. Since halakha is rooted in transcendental divine virtues, each time we observe Jewish law, we also act as a conduit for bringing divine energy into the world.

Interestingly, Rabbi Yehuda Amital[13] argues that the requirement to experience the eternal values of the law through the physical medium of practical halakha is the result of a historical shift that occurred after the Jewish people received the Torah at Sinai. Because of the spiritual greatness of our forefathers, they were able to tap into the religious messages of the Torah even without observing the practical halakha itself.[14] Rabbi Amital notes that “the avot did not observe the mitzvoth in the sense in which we observe them. They did not put on tefillin or shake the lulav. But they understood and appreciated the underlying messages of the mitzvoth.”[15] After the giving of the Torah, by contrast, God insisted that the spiritual messages underlying the law could be accessed only through firm commitment to halakhic detail.

Thus, Rabbi Amital writes:

Avraham, Yitzhak, and Yaakov were able to intuit these basic notions, which Chazal understand as being comparable to performing the mitzvoth in the time before the Torah was given. In the time after the giving of the Torah, these underlying ideas need to be integrated with practice.[16]

Beyond connecting us to the ideals rooted in God Himself, searching for the profound messages that the mitzvoth convey also ensures our connection to the world of the patriarchs and matriarchs and affirms our commitment to seeing our own halakhic identity as a natural outgrowth of their spiritual worldview.

Ta’amei haMitzvoth and the Legal Framework of Halakha

In addition to expressing the themes and messages that underlie observance of the law, analyzing the rationale behind the commandments also helps us to grasp the unique legal framework of Jewish law. For example, in multiple instances, the Torah refers to the requirement for the Jewish people to “be holy.” What is the legal force of this directive? Is this simply a biblical homily, or is there some halakhic consequence associated with this command? The Rambam writes that some codifiers erroneously counted the imperative to “be holy” as its own positive mitzvah.[17] In reality, the Rambam claims, “kedoshim tehiyu” is not an independent commandment, but is rather the meta-value that drives the entire system. The goal of halakhic living is to be holy, and the quest for holiness requires us to perform mitzvoth as if they are meant to be transformative.

Similarly, Rav Kook notes that one of the most distinct features of Mosaic legislation is its ability to link specific commandments to a larger spiritual vision that motivates the legal conversation.[18] According to Rav Kook, the prophets, by contrast, focused nearly exclusively on the overarching vision of the halakha, while neglecting to place a parallel emphasis on the mechanics of the law and how the details serve as an application of the larger vision. Reacting to the failure of the prophetic model of the law, the rabbis of the Talmud placed extraordinary emphasis on the details of halakha in order to ensure the preservation of Jewish identity and society. It is for this reason that the Talmud states, “A sage is preferable to a prophet.”[19] After all, while the prophet can clearly articulate the vision and message that governs the law, it is the sage who is able to guide the people and safeguard the observance of the law itself.

According to Rav Kook’s conception, the ideal model of adjudication is the Mosaic one. This paradigm places the details of the law in context and, as a result, presents a holistic vision of what the law is meant to facilitate. Nahmanides (the Ramban)[20] offers a powerful example of this model, noting that after listing details of biblical monetary law, the Torah concludes by stating that the overarching principle is “to be good and just in the eyes of God.”[21] Similarly, after delineating many of the details of the laws of Shabbat, the Torah articulates the larger directive of Shabbat as “a day of rest.”[22]

What these examples indicate is that the search for the larger religious messages inherent in traditional Jewish observance is not some external exercise imposed on the law itself. Rather, Jewish law is predicated on viewing the mitzvoth as the medium for religious transformation. Therefore, the search for additional clarity regarding the spiritual substance of halakha furthers the Torah’s self-declared goals.

Ta’amei haMitzvoth and the Balance of Meaning and Authority

While this book attempts to shift the contemporary conversation of halakha back toward an increased focus on the search for meaning in halakhic detail, this reorientation still validates the critical role of obedience and submission in forming a holistic commitment to halakha. Viewing halakha from a place of both meaning and authority is crucial in order to facilitate commitment to Jewish law in its entirety. On a pragmatic level, exclusive focus on the world of meaning can create challenges regarding mitzvoth whose rationale is simply not known. In a model devoted solely to the transformative messages of halakha, how are we supposed to be religiously moved by rules whose meaning we do not understand? It is precisely in these moments that our broader commitment to obedience becomes critical.

Understanding the rationale behind the commandments is crucial to ensure that Jewish law facilitates its goal of religious transformation. Nonetheless, the reasons themselves are not why we observe the law. In fact, despite being one of the greatest proponents of ta’amei haMitzvoth, the Rambam declares, “If [one] cannot find a reason or a motivating rationale for a practice, he should not regard it lightly.”[23]

Beyond the pragmatic problem, a halakhic approach that is exclusively committed to meaning is fundamentally compromised from a philosophical perspective. While excessive focus on obedience can create an observance paradigm that is formulaic and dry, overemphasis on meaning can generate a halakhic model that is self-centered and ultimately rooted in the ego. If we were to observe only those rituals that we fully understand and find personally meaningful, we would effectively be engaging in a commitment to ritual in which the self is the primary object of worship. Embracing the need for periodic submission by observing even those commandments that we do not understand ensures that our observance of halakha is truly a self-transcendent exercise.[24] As Rabbi Joseph B. Soloveitchik[25] (“the Rav”) notes, “The religious act begins with the sacrifice of one’s self, and ends with the finding of that self. But man cannot find himself without sacrificing himself prior to the finding.”[26]

The quest to understand the rationale that underlies the mitzvoth assumes that we should strive to articulate the spiritual messages of the halakha. Ideally, we attempt to minimize the number of times that we need to invoke the submission model. Nonetheless, the presence of some laws whose meaning remains mysterious serves an important religious purpose. Such laws provide a periodic opportunity for us to surrender our intellectual capacities before the divine command and remind ourselves that halakha allows us to find our true selves by connecting to values that transcend our own egos. Moreover, by affirming our commitment to those laws whose reasons we may find personally or ethically challenging, we ensure that the Torah is, in fact, the source of our value system, and not simply an ancient text that validates the contemporary zeitgeist.

Additionally, a commitment to halakha that is exclusively rooted in meaning fails to affirm the central roles of trust and confidence in developing a meaningful relationship to God. It is possible to articulate the meaning and rationale behind the overwhelming majority of mitzvoth. The awareness of these ideals should ensure that a practitioner of Jewish law feels confident and proud of the divine values that the halakhic system represents. It is against this philosophical background that we approach those mitzvoth whose rationale is still a mystery. Here, a commitment to an ethic of submission and the observance of these currently inexplicable laws affirm our trust and confidence in God’s benevolence. After all, the same God who is the source of those mitzvoth that we understand is also the source of the mitzvoth that we do not yet fully comprehend. Refocusing our efforts on understanding the transcendent messages of the law, while ensuring that our commitments are not contingent on understanding these values, most authentically captures the spiritual vision of halakha.

To our members and friends

On Sunday, February 10, we held a symposium on the need for our schools and communities to do more to promote ethical behavior as a basic Torah teaching. Our program featured Rabbi David Jaffe, a National Jewish Book Award Winner for his book, Changing the World from the Inside Out; Dr. Shira Weiss, author of several books on ethics; Rabbi Daniel Feldman, a Rosh Yeshiva at Yeshiva University who has authored several books on ethics in halakhah; and myself. You may now view the symposium on YouTube, at https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=OjL_o2e4B68.

If you have not yet seen our symposium on Conversion from October 21, featuring Rabbi Marc Angel, Rabbi Yona Reiss, and myself, please see https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=GG17aaahdPQ.

Looking ahead to our upcoming educational programs:

On Shabbat, February 22-23, I will be the scholar-in-residence at the University of Pennsylvania. This is part of our initiative to spread our core vision to university students across the country. For our latest reports from our Campus Fellows of our University Network, please see https://www.jewishideas.org/article/campus-fellows-report-november-2018.

On Sundays: March 3, March 31, April 7, 7-8 pm: I will give one class on Purim (March 3), and two on Pesah (March 31, April 7), at the Young Israel of East Brunswick. 193 Dunhams Corner Rd, East Brunswick, NJ 08816.

On Mondays, March 4, 11, 18, 25, April 1, and April 15, 1:00-2:15pm I will teach a six-part series on the Book of Psalms, integrating classical commentary and contemporary scholarship as we learn more about prayer and religious experience. It will be held at Lamdeinu Teaneck, at Congregation Beth Aaron, 950 Queen Anne Road, Teaneck. To register, go to lamdeinu.org.

On Shabbat March 22-23, I will be the scholar-in-residence at the Boca Raton Synagogue in Boca Raton, Florida. Our impact on communities across the country has been remarkable, and we have built up a beautiful network of participants in our work as a result.

I also am the guest editor for Conversations 34, which will feature a collection of Rabbi Marc D. Angel’s essays in celebration of his fifty years in the rabbinate. We also plan on holding several events in honor of this momentous occasion in the coming year.

As always, thank you for all of your support, and we will continue to spread our vision to educators, university students, and the broader Jewish community.

Rabbi Hayyim Angel

National Scholar

Institute for Jewish Ideas and Ideals

Why do good people do bad things? It’s a question that has inspired public curiosity—and therefore many books, studies, articles, and talks. In a religious context, it takes on added dimensions. If someone who identifies as a “religious” Jew egregiously violates the law, does it imply that their religiosity was somehow fraudulent? Ineffective? Or perhaps that their brand of Judaism is, at the root, fundamentally flawed. Although religion can be a force for disciplined behavior and moral heroism, it quite often seems to serve as an excuse for obviously immoral behavior. If Judaism is true, why does it not appear more efficacious in producing exemplary moral behavior—including from its rabbinic leaders?

For an initial framing of this broad issue, I’ve found it helpful to begin thinking through the lens of Beruriah’s debate with her husband, Rabbi Meir:

There were these hooligans in Rabbi Meir’s neighborhood who caused him a great deal of anguish. Rabbi Meir prayed for mercy upon them, that they should die. Rabbi Meir’s wife, Beruriah, said to him, “What were you thinking?!” Is it is based on the scriptural verse, “Let sins (hataim) cease from the land?”[1] Is it written as “sinners” (hot’im)? “Sins” is written!”[2]

Rabbi Meir exhibits the common reaction of those victimized by criminal behavior. The perpetrators are evil, and therefore deserving of punishment. In this case, the particular crimes are not the focus, and therefore not even delineated explicitly. It is sufficient and salient to generically note that they caused Rabbi Meir “a great deal of anguish.” His state of anguish is the proximate cause for his prayer to punish the offenders, in this case with death. We tend to presume the view of Rabbi Meir, that sinners are evil people deserving of punishment to atone for the harming of innocents.

Beruriah, though, sees beyond her husband’s pain. She likely sees an inevitable but dangerous folly in praying for the harm of those who act badly; and she perceives different yet uncomfortably common roots underlying the sentiments of both the aggressors and the vengeful victim. More significantly, though, she sees the need to dissociate sinner from sin. Usually, this is quoted contextually as, “hate the sin, not the sinner.” In this sense, it is an interpersonal moral teaching about the need to value even imperfect human beings; to hold out hope for repentance and repair; and to resist the tempting death spiral of victimization–grudge bearing–ego-repairing superiority. But Beruriah’s teaching also contains a coded message about the path to eradicate sin itself. It isn’t merely a normative teaching that the destruction of sin, not sinners, is morally desirable, but rather a practical guide entitled “how to actually eradicate sin effectively,” and it starts with dissociation.

When the focus is on evil people, analyses will yield explanations that focus on the flaws of individuals or the groups with whom they are associated. But this sort of analysis ignores a large field of sociological and psychological data that emphasizes the background conditions that promote sinful acts. For me, one of the hallmarks of a relevant Judaism is one that uses the insights of science, particularly psychology, to understand the motivations and behaviors of human beings. This helps ensure a degree of accuracy in a field prone to many theories and homilies. Truthfully, it’s not mainly about being righteous or evil, but about the underlying communal conditions and pressures that will make sin more or less likely. All of us have moments of inspired altruism and moments of dark desire, to greater or lesser degrees. The relevant questions, then, from the perspective of communal policy, ought to be about the underlying factors that either promote or inhibit sinful acts. In this piece, I hope to introduce several relevant principles with broad application for inhibiting bad behavior in Jewish communities and leadership.

Psychological Compensation

The striving for significance, this sense of yearning, always points out to us that all psychological phenomena contain a movement that starts from a feeling of inferiority and reach upward. The theory . . . states that the stronger the feeling of inferiority, the higher the goal for personal power.[3]

Alfred Adler, famed psychologist, developed a theory of compensation rooted in his own experience of childhood illness. Having suffered from a variety of serious illnesses and accidents, he recognized his own desire to compensate by achieving power and dominion in other areas. A corollary suggests that, if a person has achieved particular excellence in a certain area, it might, consciously or subconsciously, allow for laxity in other areas.

This theory suggests areas for awareness and caution on at least two fronts in Jewish communal life. First, observant Jews often feel a certain sense of superiority, moral or otherwise, in relation to other Jews and other groups. Speaking personally, I can state that, although it was never a thought I set out to think, a life of observance did cause a general sense of superiority. For me, this was heightened when I chose to live a ritually observant life (I did not grow up formally observant) and even more so when I attended a yeshiva in Israel post-college. Looking back, I’m sure that the seclusion of a yeshiva environment played a role. And the honorable, proud feeling that I was doing something important, crafting a life of meaning and intentionality, rather than one of rote, certainly played a part. Legitimately, there can and should be a pride in practicing a beautiful religion that helps to transform the lives of individuals and the community. Hubris, though, is the very close cousin of pride, and looms ready to ruin the whole thing. In this sense, feelings of pride in Jewish observance can naturally and easily lead to a sense of superiority, which can lead to laxity in laws not perceived as important to the overall identity.

Although the Torah and prophets do clearly emphasize charity and justice, perhaps the most common trope, the current sociological emphasis of observant communities is clearly ritually-based. Shabbat, dietary laws, and to a lesser extent, laws of family purity determine to what extent one truly belongs to the group of “Orthodox,” “observant,” or “frum” Jews from a social perspective. Therefore, it is natural that there might be self-permission to violate rules that are less emphasized and carry less sociological weight. To change the dynamic, the community would have to educate seriously about business ethics and money in a similar manner as kashruth or Shabbat. In our communities, the finer details and debates about permitted foods engender more excitement and differentiation than the major rules regarding monetary ethics. You can see a person saying to him/herself, “You’re a good person, you keep the Sabbath and holidays, provide for your family, and donate generously to the community, so it’s perfectly reasonable to lie on this IRS form. No one will know, and besides, everyone probably does it anyway. Why should you be worse off, especially when you use your money so righteously?” And the path to sin has been paved, not in evil character, but in psychological negotiation.

Second, theories of compensation have broad implications for those in positions of leadership. The truth is, our religious tradition needs inspired, authentic leaders at all levels. In our society, there is this common notion of “modesty,” which suggests the shunning of leadership is praiseworthy. As Parker Palmer explains,

“Leadership” is a concept we often resist. It seems immodest, even self-aggrandizing, to think of ourselves as leaders. But if it is true that we are made for community, then leadership is everyone’s vocation, and it can be an evasion to insist that it is not. When we live in the close-knit ecosystem called community, everyone follows and everyone leads.[4]

In a sense, there is an egotistic tendency in the knee-jerk modesty that shuns all honor and leadership. It isn’t necessarily rooted in truthful assessment, and might be an expression of a need to remain small, to think of ourselves as modest… which ultimately feeds the ego. We draw strength from self-assessments that are harsh and critical, bit feel soothed and even aggrandized, paradoxically. As Hillel used to say, “In a place where there are no leaders, strive to be a leader.”[5] Updated for a modern audience, it might read, “Acknowledge the urge not to lead and, with honesty, regular self-reflection, and the feedback of true friends, step actively into your role—we need you!”

More plainly, though, we often shun leadership because of the self-serving narcissism with which it is closely associated. “But modesty is only one reason we resist the idea of leadership; cynicism about our most visible leaders is another. In America, at least, our declining public life has bred too many self-serving leaders who seem lacking in ethics, compassion, and vision.”[6] In this way, a dynamic is perpetuated whereby many able-souled individuals fail to campaign for positions of public leadership, while those who do often do so from a sense of narcissism and self-interest. Obviously, this is true in political life, but it is also true to a lesser but important degree in religious and communal life. Which begs the question, why do narcissists seek power in the first place?

The answer is intuitive and simple. Wounded egos of narcissists compensate with dreams of grandeur and power, the promotion of fame and celebrity, consumption, and an interpersonal black hole that strives only to be “bigger” and feed on more. Our institutions and religion become hijacked as part of this internal personal drama. Leadership positions are open, due to the general promotion of an egotistic kind of fake modesty, and narcissists quickly seize the empty seat, seeking to self-soothe and prove their importance. Institutions and even religion fail to respond to deep need, and become forces of competition rather than connection.

Those suffering from clinical narcissistic personality disorder, now in positions of leadership, often behave in a way that overtly ignores rules. Constructed compensatory narratives of self-importance quickly lead to the statement that “I don’t need to follow the rules; rules are for other, lesser people.” With Kantian ethics now rendered obsolete, it’s no wonder that those in power might break boundaries and rules of all types in a desperate and doomed attempt to soothe their wounded souls. In order to protect against this, Jewish institutions must educate about the importance and necessity of leadership, and look out for those exhibiting signs of narcissistic personality disorders eager to grab the reigns.

Milgram and Stanford Prison Experiments

Confirming Beruriah’s intuition, a series of experiments in the 1960s and 1970s produced shocking findings regarding the nature of social role and external pressure in promoting immoral behavior. Stanley Milgram conducted social psychology experiments at Yale University in 1961. His study, coming on the heels of the trial of Adolf Eichmann, sought to examine the validity of a defense that excused guilt because a person was obeying orders from a superior. “Could it be that Eichmann and his million accomplices were just following orders?”[7]

This experiment contained three main actors, the person conducting the experiment, the teacher, and the learner. The learner was strapped to a chair hooked up to electrodes, and instructed to give mainly wrong answers to the questions asked. The teacher was instructed to shock the learner, increasingly, for each subsequent wrong answer in order to help them learn. The person conducting the experiment would nudge the teacher onward to shock the participant with increasing voltage when they hesitated or resisted.[8] All of the teachers, regardless of education or background, continued shocking the learner until the 300-volt level. A full 65 percent of participants reached a level of 450 volts, “killing” the tortured learners for the sake of a simple experiment. Milgram deduced that there are two different modes of acting, an “autonomous state” and an “agentic state.”[9] In the autonomous state, people work from a place of free choice and accept responsibility for actions; most people, though, will allow forceful authoritarians to direct their actions, passing off the responsibility for the result.

The Stanford prison experiments, conducted by Professor Philip Zombardo and funded by the U.S. Navy demonstrated similar results in 1971. Participants were assigned roles as either guards or prisoners in a mock prison, with Professor Zombardo serving as the prison’s superintendent. After just a short while, guards showed authoritarian tendencies, dehumanizing prisoners by giving them numbers rather than names, torturing prisoners with solitary confinement, and engaging in other forms of psychological and physical torture stemming only from an assigned experimental role.[10]

Given the reality that the vast majority of people will follow authoritarian leaders to kill and torture for no reason at all, how does this affect our community? For one, it should serve as an important counterbalance to the trend of enthusiastically following charismatic leaders. In modern times, this tendency has reached a fever pitch politically, but also within many denominations and subsections of the Jewish community. Leaders can, by dint of their own authority, often itself a product of the wounded-ego narcissism described above, shape the views and actions of the masses. We should focus, then, on building empowered communities, with leaders who seek to empower the community—not themselves. Instead of looking to leaders for the course of action, we might instead ask them to offer their reasoned opinions, to deliberate and consider other opinions, to engage in a talmudic style debate. What is needed is a healthier model that values the knowledge, sensitivity, and experience of talented leaders, while also setting up a culture that resists the known dangers of authoritarianism.

When I first took a pulpit position, a close mentor advised me to always take the time to explain the reason for any halakhic decision to a questioner or group, and invite any questions or critique. This has proven to be important advice. In this small way, the dynamic is shifted, and the questioner is forced to think, to engage, to accept agency. Similarly, rabbinic students of Rabbi Joseph Soloveitchik frequently recall how he ensured their own agency, giving his own advice, while maintaining their sense of responsibility over the decisions they would issue. A striking example is a beautifully worded letter from Rabbi Soloveitchik to Rabbi Yitz Greenberg sent in response to Rabbi Greenberg’s apology for not accepting one of the Rav’s positions. The Rav responded powerfully: “There is absolutely no need of apologies or explanations . . . I have never demanded conformity or compliance even from my children. I believe in freedom of opinion and freedom of action.”[11] Evil, then, is often actualized as a result not of poor character but of systems that erode agency and responsibility. We must build sustainable systems that foster and prize their growth.  

Good Samaritan Study

In 1973, Professors John M. Darley and C. Daniel Batson of Princeton University sought to study “highly ethical” behavior. This is a summary of their experiment and its results from their own words in the study’s abstract:

The influence of several situational and personality variables on helping behavior was examined in an emergency situation suggested by the parable of the Good Samaritan. People going between two buildings encountered a shabbily dressed person slumped by the side of the road. Subjects in a hurry to reach their destination were more likely to pass by without stopping. Some subjects were going to give a short talk on the parable of the Good Samaritan, others on a nonhelping relevant topic; this made no significant difference in the likelihood of their giving the victim help. Religious personality variables did not predict whether an individual would help the victim or not . . . .[12]

They divided seminary students into two groups, those who would be giving a sermon on the parable of the Good Samaritan, and those who would be speaking on another topic. Then, they subdivided the two groups further, into low hurry, medium hurry, and high hurry groups. The hurried effect was created by making them travel a distance from the room where they were gathered to the location of their sermon, passing a “shabbily dressed” person in clear need on the way. Surprisingly, their religiosity did not matter much (it did affect the manner in which they helped if they chose to help), nor did the topic at hand. Even those speaking directly on the topic of helping outcast strangers were not more likely to help an outcast stranger on their own way! Rather, 63 percent, 45 percent, and 10 percent, respectively, chose to help, depending on the level of hurry.

It is no secret that we declare ourselves to be busier and busier. Often, when I ask people how they’re doing, they hurriedly respond, “Really busy, I’m fine, but it’s crazy right now.” I often find myself responding, almost habitually, in the very same way. Perhaps, it’s meant to signal that our own time is valuable. Or perhaps, it’s an honest reflection of how we’re generally feeling. It might also be a mark of pride, as if to say I’m not lazy and I’m working hard, I’m doing everything I’m supposed to do and more.

This is, in particular, a problem for leadership. As people are busier and less empowered religiously, they insist that clergy shoulder more of the roles classically performed by laity, including fundraising, marketing, programming, and charitable acts such as visiting the sick. Moreover, the declining cost of sending a letter (email is free and universally accessible) provides religious leaders, in particular, with a flood of correspondence. It’s not just correspondence from within the community, but from all over.

Rabbi Mordechai Torczyner describes the issue well in his blog entry, “Why Do Rabbis Crash?”[13] First, he defends psychologist Roy Baumeister, a proponent of the Beruriah principle, against detractors. “In the comments on his piece, the author is taken to task by readers who think he is exonerating misbehaving rabbis. But I don't think he's finding criminals innocent; I think he is trying to identify a flaw in the system, which is making their crimes more likely.”[14] In addition to citing the problem of fatigue and its relation to impulse control (itself an important topic worthy of further discussion in this context), he notes the impossibility of the modern rabbinic schedule:

Now imagine a rabbi who is involved with congregants on many diverse levels—pastoral, administrative, ritual, social, organizational—for 90–100 hours per week, including Shabbat. And imagine that yes, he owns impulses for grossly inappropriate behaviour. But he doesn't have daily time to flee the situation and recharge. How long will it be before he yields to a grotesquely wrong impulse . . .

The uncomfortable reality, which I observed in my own synagogue rabbinate days, is that the job we have created for synagogue rabbis is impossible. Not "impossible" in the sense of "boy, that's hard." "Impossible" in the sense that there are not enough hours for them to do the job demanded of them, and recharge.[15]

He goes on to describe a moderate modern rabbinic weekly schedule, add up the hours, and list everything still not yet done.

If we want to preserve the possibility for ethical choices, we need to prevent fatigue, but also allow for the possibility of kindness. With an overbooked calendar, without sufficient time, a disposition of lovingkindness and the actions to actualize it are nearly impossible. According to Lurianic Kaballah, God’s first act was to withdraw and create space, tzimztum, for human action, but we’ve overbooked the void.

Communal policy recommendations readily suggest themselves. First, religious leaders must be given an ample amount of time to rest, through regular off-days, vacations, and sabbaticals, with effective and appropriate boundary safeguards (easier said than done) that make sure it actually happens. Time should be reframed, not as time-off, implying some kind of leisurely laziness, but rather as restoration, or empathy cultivation. Time spent on near infinite tasks (such as email) should be limited to a prescribed number of hours, and appointments limited too. Just as doctors often book appointments for weeks and months out, overbooked religious leaders should behave similarly. Not every situation demands immediate attention, and space must be preserved in the schedule if there is to be the possibility of kindness. The schedules of leadership must include unbooked time, allowing for the possibility that God’s plans for our week might include the potential to look and help rather than to hide and shirk.

But it’s also important to be honest. All of the professional safeguards and best practices in the world wouldn’t be truly helpful without addressing the underlying issues of personality disorders and a lack of reflective self-awareness among the leadership. For those with narcissistic tendencies, the position becomes a perch from which power may be seized. Obsessive association with the wealthy machers, powerful players (Jewishly or otherwise), and famous individuals serve to validate the insecure clergy member, becoming the primary and at times obsessive task. Even for those without personality disorders, time studying Torah, engaged in heartfelt prayer, writing and reflection, and meditation, are simply too rare. And they are all activities that serve to advance humility and prioritize Judaism’s core ideals in the mind of the leader.

I notice the internal fight in my own rabbinate very much, struggling at times to prioritize spiritual practice when financial or other organizational matters are (constantly) pressing, and think of the early Hassidic leaders and their spiritual inspiration to reorient and challenge myself. When I became the rabbi of a congregation, so many other rabbis told me I would never pray again in synagogue, as I’d be “on.” Then and now, the premise should be absolutely rejected. At synagogues, one of the central functions is to provide meaningful Jewish prayer experiences, and leadership must participate, inspire, and lead by example. It is crucial to remember that synagogues and other institutions exist to serve peoples’ spiritual and religious needs, and only inspired leaders who find ways to authentically engage with their own experience will have impact on congregants; people see right through power grabs and inauthentic experience. Practically speaking, it would seem vital for seminaries that train clergy to take two steps. First, to engage in basic mental health screening and assistance for the students admitted and ordained. Second, to teach and discuss with students the crucial importance of self-care, of maintaining empathy, of true humility, and of personal spiritual practice. Clergy often cross lines, but the root causes are systemic, broad, and build up gradually and insistently.

Conclusion

Beruriah’s revolutionary insight was to notice the importance of detaching sinner from sin. This serves not only to protect against our judgment of or vengeance against the sinner, but rather to provide a way to actualize the proof-text from Psalms. Only when we resist the urge, ultimately rooted in our competitive desire to feel superior, to spend our energy blaming bad actors and instead recognize the systemic factors that produce bad behavior will we be able to abolish sin from the earth.

The concepts and factors introduced in this article represent a small fraction of the prominent causes for bad behavior. Under the right conditions, most people will behave with horrible cruelty, and leadership provides additional challenges, temptations, and pitfalls. It is therefore incumbent upon the community to engage in serious, evidence-based discussion and education, and institute policies and procedures that promote Torah u’mitzvot. Just as the Rabbis utilized a creative, emergent halakhic system to safeguard the commandments and promote their observance, we must continue the holy task in this time and place. As the Psalm concludes, “Praise—my soul—the Lord; Halleluyah!”[16] Examining the systems and external pressures that affect behavior can help reduce sin, allowing us to direct the energy of victimization toward God as a form of praise rather than pain, effective, honest, and connected to God’s vision of an increasingly holy world.  

INTRODUCTION

Émile was a popular name for Jewish boys in the Twentieth Century because of the important role that the French writer, Emile Zola,  played in the Dreyfus Affair during the 1890’s. To commemorate  the 108^th anniversary of Zola’s death (September 29, 1902) I would like to tell how Emile Zola was the quintessential whistle-blower of his day and use this case as a model for a discussion of Jewish thinking on the subject, which is  the exposure of  ethical wrong-doing  in public or private life.

The whistle-blowing  I will discuss is a series of articles in newspapers and published pamphlets in which Zola exposed the criminal  wrong-doing committed by the military courts against the  Jewish Army Captain, Alfred Dreyfus,  falsely accused of treason. At this point I would point out that Zola also exposed himself to scorn and personal danger  despite his not having known Dreyfus or his family.  In short he risked   reputation, fame, and safety  to do something that was the right thing to do.  This paper will concentrate on some of Zola’s writing and then discuss their content with respect to Jewish ideas..

Emile Zola was not Jewish but his heroic support of Captain Alfred Dreyfus is a very courageous example of  ethical engagement.  I will show how the points made in each paper was a part of the overall act of whistle blowing.  I will develop this structure in the following outline in which each ethical point of the overall argument is listed next to the title (in italics)  of the respective writing in which it is expressed:

1. Defending the innocent (M. Scheurer-Kestner)
2. Accusing the general culprit and the root of all evil (The Proceedings)
3. Proving his point (The Syndicate)
4. Calling to the conscience and ethics of France while warning of the danger of racism, hypocrisy and intolerance  (Letter to France)
5. Addressing the future (Letter to the Young)
6. An unrestrained offensive: the facts of the case in detail for each malefactor, a summary of all the other papers. (J’Accuse)

The progressive  nature of the argument serves to indicate  the evil in the case and  its danger for  France. He calls on the entire country to do the same.  Let us now focus in on each of these writings.

It seems that most Jews know something about   Emile Zola’s 1898 newspaper article,  “J’accuse”.(1) That legalistic,  but very literary, document  exposed one by one each of  the judicial crimes of  the military Court Martial involved in the 1894 Dreyfus trial and conviction by court martial.   However, few know of Zola’s articles and pamphlets that just preceded “J’accuse” at the end of 1897.  They were the first outbursts of his  moral outrage at the injustice rendered to this French officer simply because he was Jewish.   

These works are Zola’s exhortation  to the conscience of France.  Although not written in the form of a dialogue, because there is no riposte, they are written to that large, almost abstract, body called “France”.  Prophetic exhortations to the Jewish people who have strayed from God are similar to this style of writing.  Without invoking  God, but reason alone, Zola implores his readers to return to an ethical way of thinking and acting, all in the name of truth, benevolence, and justice. His whistle-blowing  is an accusation of the powers that be – in this case,  the military Court Martial.  I will show how Jewish thinking about ethics would encourage this  kind of moral outrage to and overt exposure of  criminal behavior, even on the part of the highest court of the land.

BACKGROUND HISTORY TO ZOLA’S 1897 WHISTLE-BLOWING

In 1897 Zola joined other notables (like Senator Scheurer-Kestner)  who supported Dreyfus’ defense. Their efforts had already stimulated a vicious  reaction among pro-clerical, pro-military  newspapers that  labeled “the traitor Jew” Dreyfus a  Judas Iscariot who had sold his loyalty to country and  deserved to be rotting in solitary confinement on Devil’s Island. An ongoing investigation of the judicial aspects of the case had disclosed errors in the form of misidentification of the handwriting on the critical piece of  evidence –  a memorandum sent to the German Embassy.  Another French officer, Commandant Marie Charles Ferdinand Walsin- Esterhazy, was implicated and was to be tried by a military court on January 10, 1898.

At this point in time, the end of 1897, Zola was relying on Esterhazy’s conviction to free Dreyfus.  With this in mind, he began to blow his whistle by publishing the series of letters and brochures (M. Sheurer-Kastner, The Syndicate, The Proceedingsl Letter to France, Letter to the Young,). (2)  For Zola each was  a  strategic, low intensity  shot over the bow of the enemy forces, making one ethical point very strongly.  The victory was  considered imminent after the forseen  outcome of the Esterhazy trial.   Each shot was directed to a particular target and the whole produced a very effective volley of exposure and incrimination.

Notwithstanding these publications, Esterhazy’s  court martial trial ended in his disquieting acquittal,  a crushing blow to the  Dreyfus-Zola forces.  Zola’s immediate response   was to compose and publish within two days,  for a public still shaken by the aftermath of this new, unexpected shock wave, his devastating accusation, fully blasting each of the members of the collusive military court for their lies, misrepresentations, dismissal of evidence, and other calumnies. (“J’accuse” 13 January, 1898) 

This beautiful, political work of art is an open letter to the President of the French Republic.  It  forced the government to try Zola himself for libel.  This would  bring the Dreyfus case out of military jurisdiction and  place it squarely in the civil arena with Zola himself,  the new target.  At last the Affair became a matter of open, transparent, civil proceeding before a civilian jury.  The beginning of the final victory was in sight!  As Zola said, “Truth was finally on the march; nothing could stop it now”.

THE ARTICLES AND BROCHURES

In this essay I will  discuss only  the three articles and the two brochures that preceded “J’accuse”.    I selected and translated certain sections  to show  how Zola artfully focused his  attacks on the various evils and injustices that he had uncovered.

What is in these five papers?  They  tell the story of  a judicial error in the Dreyfus trial, which must be corrected.  They call for  public outrage to save the nation. 

“M. Scheurer-Kestner”

« M.  Scheurer-Kestner »   tells the reader about this popular, elderly, politically untarnished Senator who was being slandered by the anti-semitic press because he had expressed concern about a judicial error in the Dreyfus trial.  Zola points out the blatant stupidity of these accusations which described Scheurer-Kestner as a mercenary sell out to the Jewish-Protestant-Masonic cabal, despite his being  an independently wealthy businessman, and a great supporter of the French Army which was reorganized  after the humiliating defeat by Prussian forces in 1870.  In fact, Zola emphasizes that his decision to express public doubt was based on his independent review of the facts and not by solicitation by the Dreyfus forces.  

Zola  points his finger at “brainless anti-Semitism” as the cause  of public blindness to the foolishness  of  slandering Scheurer-Kestner’s good name.  “Here we are in this terrible mess where all emotions are false and where one cannot seek justice without being treated like a senile person or one who has sold out for money…(…)….The stupidest stories are written by the serious newspapers, the entire nation is stricken with madness, when only a small amount of common sense would put things back in place. ….(…)….When Scheurer-Kestner spoke of his duty…. he had only this to say,  ‘I could not live with myself knowing he was innocent’  All of us, mixed up in this Affair, must say the same thing to ourselves.  That we too would not be able to live if we did not seek justice.”

“The Proceedings”

“The Proceedings”” ridicules the accusation of Dreyfus’ selling out France for money, noting that he is independently wealthy and has no mercenary motive.  Zola points the finger of accusation at anti-Semitism itself.  It is the root of the evil.  It is the evil culprit in this case.

“The guilty party is anti-Semitism itself.  This  is a  barbarous campaign, which I have said throws progress back 1000 years,   revulses me and insults my basic need for fraternité, my passion for tolerance, and for human emancipation.  The return to religious wars, of one race killing off another, is such nonsense in our age of liberation that such movements seem imbecilic to me.”  Zola concludes that after the judicial error had been revealed and published by others, the court should have been doing his work for him – that is, convicting Esterhazy. 

«The Syndicate »

In “The Syndicate”  Zola simply makes his point again using the technique of ridicule.   He ridicules the popular opinion that there is a very rich Jewish conspiracy  that will pay off all concerned to  protect Dreyfus.  He describes to the reader what this syndicate, this conspiracy, would look like, who would be part of it, and how they might be coerced to falsify truth.  This is a  satirical reductio ad absurdum. 

Speaking as if her were  in favor of the alleged syndicate, Zola says,  “The traitor was judged by a military court.   He is responsible not just for the present treachery but for all past historical examples that have brought defeat on the French nation (this assumes that our army  could only be defeated by internal treachery).  So, Dreyfus is also responsible for the defeat of France in 1870.  Dreyfus is an abominable shame for the Army because he is of the race that sold his God.  By this token, his family, being Jewish, is also guilty. All Jews are guilty in this Affair.  The proof is that his family is spending money to save his name and to expose the French army to slander.  Since they have brought witnesses with good character and reputation, they must have spent large sums of money because there is limitless money in the Jewish cabal.”

Here, Zola, emphasizes his own objective, ethically impeccable, position in the Affair.  He states that he has no close Jewish friends, wants to let the reader know that he is treating Dreyfus with a calm, objective reasonableness -- e.g., “I, Zola, talk about the Jews calmly because I neither hate nor love them.  Indeed I have no intimate friends among them.  For me they are only men, but that is enough to protect them from injustice.   So, if there is a syndicate that is organized to save an innocent prisoner and expose a judicial error on the part of the military High Command, then I too, Emile Zola, want to be part of it.”  

“Letter to France”

This is Zola’s call to the conscience of France to do something to oppose evil and injustice.  He tells them not to believe the lies about a conspiracy.  He says, “How have the good and humble people of the provinces been swayed by the righteous lies of the reactionary press?  They are simply not capable of weighing the questions we put before them and they believe what they read.  Why do they get sucked into the fear, intolerance and hate so they will refuse to listen to the argument that a condemned innocent man might be suffering his agony for a crime he did not commit?

I am trying to warn you of the gravity of the error, of the power of the tempest that will follow.   What is happening is outright duplicity and stupidity, enough to make an honest reader very angry.   Any child can see that the memorandum and Esterhazy’s handwriting sample are one and the same.    If the conviction of Dreyfus was made on the basis of showing that his handwriting was  on the memorandum, and if now, it has been shown that it is not, does his release not follow immediately?  Why is the court sitting again if not to decide on this question alone?  Is it only sitting to make another point of fact – that it, the court, is and was correct, even though this conclusion is based on more lies?  Is this why we are seeing so many lies piled up over the issue of the memorandum which is, when all is said and done, the whole Affair itself?.......(…..)………But the facts are worse, there are a collection of serious symptoms for those who know, see, and can judge what is happening to you.  The Dreyfus Affair is not just a deplorable incident…..(…)… it has affected your behavior and your health.  You know how someone goes about looking healthy, but suddenly, little eruptions are seen on his skin: one can see death in the process. The  political and social  poisoning is seen on your face.” 

He is aware of  a deep love of dictatorship in the French soul.    “I see here an unconscious return to  military dictatorship.  This is not republican behavior; you seem ready to fall in love with the first king who presents himself before you.  No, it is not the army you care about; it is the general you want in your bed, again.” 

He admonishes the return to medieval intolerance.  “Where are you headed, France?  Back to the Church, back to the medieval past, one of theocracy and intolerance that your children fought to vanquish with their blood.  Today the tactic of anti-Semitism is very simple. The Church tried in vain to bring people together as working-man societies, pilgrimages,  but could not lead them back to the altar. It was a fact. The Churches were empty; people would no longer go and no longer believed.  So, circumstances permitted  the kindling in the people of anti-Semitic rage, and poisoned them with this fanaticism, pushing them into the streets, crying ‘Down with the Jews.  Kill the Jews’.”

“Letter to the Young”

This is an emotional exhortation to the future, to the passionate twenty year olds who bring out Zola’s memory of his own youthful energies and his fantasies of righting all wrongs in an unjust world.  Again he makes an explosive, violent attack against Church anti-Semitism as a “..cynical, brutal plan to bring  the disenchanted Catholic French public back to the Mass.”  He then repeats the simple facts of the case. “Look   at the Dreyfus Affair and the simple facts.  A man is condemned on the basis of handwriting on a memorandum. He is now rotting on a desert island subjected to the world’s worst tortures.  He would be there for good if a man of integrity, reexamining the facts of the matter, did not have grave doubts that afflicted his conscience.  So a judicial error was claimed and now the process of working that out is ongoing, slowly, systematically, and a new trial is in process,  concerning another person whose handwriting seems so identical  that a two year old child could see the similarity without having to call in experts.  If he is convicted, the matter will be put to rest and Dreyfus will be freed and the other will take his place.”

He closes by raising again the danger of anti-semitism, when he says, “But look at the harmful quality of anti-Semitism.  Look at the  Affair.  Can there be young antisemites? Can such poison obscure the clear reason of the young mind?  Can the poison of the press control them? ”  He is asking the youth if they will accept anti-Semitism in the new Century and if they will poison themselves and their nation with it.

 He closes on a very prophetic tone.  “Oh young people, our youth, I beg you to think of the task ahead.  You are the future working class, you are those who will govern the future assemblies of people, we have deep faith in you, you will resolve the problems of truth and justice we have left for you…..(…)….. We only ask that you open your minds and be more generous than even we were  toward the lives that will be lived,  by your efforts entirely placed in work, fecundity and working the earth,   from which shall bloom forth the overflowing harvest of joy under the shining sun.” (3)

THE ETHICAL DILEMMA

What can we learn from these examples of Zola’s  moral outrage and whistle blowing?

On a political level media exposure  can be effective in calling attention to an abuse, a wrongdoing, a criminal act, or a judicial error.  There are examples in recent American history.  There is  the  courageous journalism  of Bob Woodward and Carl Bernstein in the Watergate Affair that led to the resignation of a President.  There were many who wrote and spoke out    about abuses in the South during early school integration.  They stimulated others to sacrifice personal  comfort and safety to participate in bus rides and marches into the land of Jim Crow.   There are many other examples.

On an ethical level Zola’s  whistle-blowing relies on reason for its moral authority.   Zola, like Enlightenment thinkers, does not invoke God but only the forces of reason – that is, the ideals of   truth and justice.  He is saying we must do what is right because it is right.  The reward for doing right will be its own reward.  He also says, in his way,  that the reward for a sin will be a sin.  In his words, the prosperity or the degradation of the French nation is at stake.

There is the problem.  How can ethical responses be expected from those who have opposing beliefs and feelings?  What Zola calls truth and justice is not what his opponents see as truth and justice.

Even if you, the reader, find that  Zola’s arguments are valid and see that Dreyfus has been convicted mistakenly, that Esterhazy is guilty, and that anti-Semitism is the evil force, why would you expect a change on the part of the those who believe differently? Equally passionately, the anti-Dreyfusard coalition believed that  Dreyfus had sold France to the enemy and that the pride and security of the nation was at stake?  Is Zola’s expression of moral outrage not just another  example of preaching to the converted?  Does man not need the authority of  some force, other than reason alone, to convince others of the righteousness of his own ethical position?

Is a religious ethic necessary?    Do we  have to follow  God’s commandments to accomplish our daily ethical goals and to be sure that we are  following the higher (Divine) Law?  Must we seek a reward from God  when we pray that evil and injustice be overcome?    If  the court in question were the  highest religious court, the bet din, representing the Law of God on earth, would we be able to encourage a Jewish Emile Zola, an individual in the Jewish community, to rebuke an unjust, perhaps criminal, decision?  Could that individual Jew blow his whistle to expose it? What does halakhah

 say about     it?  Does        it      extend the principle of rebuke (tochacha) of man by God to the rebuke of  any, one man of the learned, respected scholars who make up the bet din?  Does my using Zola and the French high military court serve as a valid model in the discussion of tochacha and similar Jewish ideas?

These are all difficult questions that are worthy of an answer.

My brief personal discussion of the question with a respected rosh yeshivah taught me that an individual outside the court is commanded to expose injustice, even when committed by highly learned scholars.   If the court were to commit a misjudgement leading to an injustice, the individual would be obliged to  expose and to rebuke it  He must not accept wrong-doing in any form without a reaction.  He must not do business with someone who is fraudulent, lying, and hypocritical. (4)

This lesson can be extended to  individual  American Jewish citizens faced with injustice in daily personal and communal life.    They should feel that the reward of doing a good act, of which appropriate whistle-blowing is an example, will be the reward of doing the right thing itself.

Our children should also be taught this mitzvah at home and in the classroom.  But the problem is to know how to teach them to  speak up bravely to expose injustice, lying, and hypocrisy?     The individual, child or adult, who does this will run the risk of mockery, humiliation and ostracism by his peers.

I would suggest that the classroom might take suitable models from secular life as well as from Tanach.  I would propose that this combined approach can be an effective way to teach  ethical principles.  One can examine the relative importance of  religious belief to the reasonableness of daily thinking and action.  Zola’s relying on the authority of reason alone is one such example. 

More intense classroom instruction about the Dreyfus Affair itself might be useful to students in the 21^st Century.   In this context one could have lessons from the life of the Jewish communal leader, Rabbi Zadoc Khan, during the Dreyfus Affair.  In that way one could examine critically the leadership roles in the Parisian Jewish community during that particular crisis. ( 5  )  French anti-Semitism around the Dreyfus Affair could be integrated into the unfolding historical background of the Shoah, the most extreme example of evil and injustice in Jewish (and human) history.  Using that approach one could demonstrate convincingly perhaps that the principle of  early exposure of  evil is preferable to accepting and suffering its ultimate consequences.

By studying and discussing the Shoah scientifically we could determine if religious Jews could and would accept a demystification of the nature of catastrophic evil, and particularly, of  the Shoah. We might be able to learn something more by examining the Shoah from socio-psychological standpoints, human perspectives, without  demeaning its Jewish significance or necessitating  God’s presence (or absence) in it. (6) I would propose this approach in order to  shift the focus of fate and destiny from God to man?   Would it be effective and acceptable to teach children that prayer does not consist wholly of  man’s beseeching God for favors but also of man’s  beseeching himself to make the choices that will enable his prayers to come true?   Such an approach would include the principle of whistle-blowing.  In this way  Zola’s  example  would teach our children  that a society perverting justice,  not actively helping  the plight of the poor and downtrodden, and losing its focus of national purpose, cannot endure.  This was Zola’s message in his 1897 writings but also the message transmitted in his masterful fiction.   

Whistle-blowing in our daily professional life is a real issue.  Examples of purposeful misrepresentation, hypocrisy, and malfeasance can be found.   These are problems for individual conscience to solve when confronting injustice and evil.  Can we rely on our own conscience to choose correctly and to  regulate the personal impulses that might drive ourselves or others to commit  unfair, unjust, and even,  criminal actions?

This question reminds of a Shabbat morning drush in our shul on the subject of regulation presented by a congregant who works in banking and finance.  He explained that regulation was unjustified because “only Hashem should regulate our moral decisions”, including those made in business.    If Hashem were the only regulator of all mens’ affairs,  I would ask  how it would be possible for human beings to expose and make transparent future  Madoff-type scandals,  prime mortgage crises, abuse in some yeshivas, and  other tragic examples of wrong-doing.  What kind of external human regulation is justified to help the function of individual conscience?  When is  whistle-blowing to be encouraged, when not? 

As a physician I am concerned with the ethics of  colleagues and  students.  I would like to teach  professionalism that places the patient’s interest above one’s own.  This would include rebuke by peers and superiors for  behaviors that deviate from accepted professional standards.  

The current dilemma in health care practice and reform is an example of an ethical conflict between professional interests of physicians and those of the insurance industry that has become the medical paymaster-gatekeeper.  This agency function has evolved to contain costs, and guarantee profits, for the paymaster-gatekeeper.

The conflict arises from the fact that professionalism for physicians places  patients’ interests above all else.   The complete care of  sick human being is a responsibility that often goes beyond reasonable demands on time.   The professional interest of the insurance industry is to control risk and to maintain profit. 

For the caring physician this conflict produces an injustice to the patient and a misrepresentation of fact, all to the detriment of an effective system of medical care.  The ethical physician is obliged to rebuke both, to blow the whistle, to become engaged outside the confines of his office.  It is unfortunate that cost-containment and other aspects of caring for patients are not discussed in the arena of ethics, but in political and economic ones, where the ethical parameters of the issue are never brought to light.  In the ongoing health reform debate, the ethical issues cannot be dissociated from the bottom line issues relating to cost, profit and control of the medical profession.

We are left with the gnawing question of how and when we, as ethical business,  medical, or other professionals,  and  everyday members of a community,   should engage ourselves in exposing these things in daily life without being vengeful, excessively morally righteous, or simply ineffectual.    This kind of  behavior will always be difficult, soul-searching, and ultimately, unpopular and possibly, harmful to one’s self-interest.    Zola himself was the butt of  unseemly jokes,  posters, and newspaper attacks.  His  ultimate death by asphyxiation in his own house was most likely  a premeditated act by his political enemies.

How do we teach these moral lessons to our children and how should the schools that we support teach them to our community’s children?   Perhaps Zola’s  100 year old exhortation to France can  be understood by  today’s yeshiva children vis-à-vis  current problems in their own lives.    I might close by suggesting that Zola’s  engagement in the search for truth and justice might be incorporated into their school curriculum.    The reading of normative literature can be an excellent model for the discussion of the kinds of questions I have raised.  By using a set of secular, ethical writings as models, I have attempted to  link  a  religious discussion of  ethical and moral problems to a true historical event.

With all of this in mind, I would close by recalling the resonance of Zola’s voice in our ears:  “Truth is on the march, nothing can stop it now”.  His exhortation is similar to   Jeremiah’s exhortation to the Jewish people (9:22-3)  to emulate  the  attributes of the

“…….Eternal, who exercises mercy,

Justice and righteousness on earth;

 For in these things I delight,

 Says the Eternal”.

NOTES

1. « Lettre à M. Felix Faure, Président de la République » was the signed newspaper article published on January 13, 1898, in L’Aurore, with the block letter headline « J’ACCUSE” – that is, “I ACCUSE” each of the malefactors in the Dreyfus case.   Subsequently, it has become known by its two word title.
2. The three newspaper articles were published in Le Figaro on November 25, December 1, December 5, 1897. The brochures were published as independent documents on December 14, 1897, and January 6, 1898.

3. These ideas recur in Emile Zola’s fiction, especially in his utopian novels that            follow the Rougon-Macquart volumes after 1880

  4)  This halakhic principle was explained to me in a personal conversation with Rabbi Hershel Schachter at Yeshiva University in April, 2010.  Rabbi Shachter explained that even though the scholarly level of the rabbis in the Bet Din is authoritative, wrongdoing by them must be rebuked, even by an outsider.  This would not be a violation of the din of respect for the scholar.  He cited the principle of not doing business with “crooks”.  I would like to thank my son, Daniel Lauchheimer, for his introducing me to his respected teacher, Rabbi Schachter.

5)   Thanks to my friends, Emeritus Professor Henri Mitterand of Columbia University and the Sorbonne, and Rabbi Stephen Berkowitz of the Liberal Jewish Synagogue of Paris, for their directing me to published studies about  Rabbi Zadoc Kahn

6)       I helped to organize a colloquium about a particular new Holocaust novel by a young French-American, Jewish author, Jonathan Littell.  This took place at Hebrew University, Jerusalem, in June, 2009.  Please see my comments at the web site of the colloquium under “Afterview” (http://bienveillantes.huji.ac.il/)

Introduction

One of the overarching goals of the Torah is to refine people’s moral character. Many laws and narratives overtly focus on morality, and many others inveigh against the immorality and amorality of paganism. The biblical prophets place consistency between observance of God’s ritual and moral laws at the very heart of their message.

Rabbi Saadyah Gaon insists that God chooses only good things to command. He rejects the position of the medieval Islamic school of Ash‘ariyya, which maintained that whatever God commands is by definition good.^[1]

Similarly, Rambam asserts that every commandment teaches justice and noble qualities, or corrects philosophical errors (Guide 3:27). Rambam cites God’s desire to have all the nations of the world perceive the moral superiority of the Torah:

Observe them faithfully, for that will be proof of your wisdom and discernment to other peoples, who on hearing of all these laws will say, “Surely, that great nation is a wise and discerning people.” For what great nation is there that has a god so close at hand as is the Lord our God whenever we call upon Him? Or what great nation has laws and rules as perfect as all this Teaching that I set before you this day? (Deuteronomy 4:6–8)

Many other Jewish thinkers likewise adopt the position that the Torah promotes the highest moral values.

In recent generations, this position has been augmented with the discovery of many ancient Near Eastern laws and narratives. Leading scholars of the twentieth century demonstrated how the Torah promotes moral values vastly superior to those of the prevailing cultures of that day.^[2] Contemporary writers also have demonstrated the extent to which the Torah’s values have exerted a decisive influence on contemporary Western morality.^[3]

Contemporary readers, though, confront a troubling question. Does the Torah promote the highest morality? Several commandments appear to conflict with modern moral sentiments. Although there might not be unanimity on what contemporary moral sentiments are or should be, we can point to several areas that have attracted serious attention among traditional thinkers.

For example, the Torah permits slavery and polygamy. It permits the blood relatives of one who is killed accidentally to kill the manslayer without trial if he or she fails to reach, or subsequently leaves, a City of Refuge. The Torah commands the total eradication of the Canaanites and Amalekites. Granting that both societies were depraved and evil, and that these laws are not applicable today, God’s stark commandment to kill men, women, and children remains in the Torah. There is a clash between the Torah’s severe prohibition of homosexual relations and the sentiments of many people today. While the sacrificial order of the Temple raises different issues, it also is difficult for many in the modern era to fathom.

Over the past two centuries, Jewish thinkers have engaged in a thoughtful conversation about these and related issues. Some of these discussions have roots in ancient and medieval thought, but these questions have received far more attention in the modern era, driven at least in part by humanistic values.

Rabbi Yaakov Medan, one of the Roshei Yeshiva at Yeshivat Har Etzion, rejects the dangerous fundamentalist approach that we must blindly draw our morality from Tanakh without further inquiry. He also rejects the position of Professor Yeshayahu Leibowitz (1903–1994), who insisted that there is no connection between God and morality, and that Jews simply must obey God’s laws. Rabbi Medan states that there are two basic approaches for those who believe that the divinely revealed Torah is moral: (1) Apologetics, reconciling what we see in the text with our moral sentiments. This approach is dishonest, as it imposes the will of the reader onto the text. (2) Attempting to understand God’s word on its own terms, while simultaneously retaining our own moral sense. God is beyond our comprehension, but we never stop struggling with these complex moral issues.^[4]

In this essay, I adopt the latter view of Rabbi Medan. Although it is impossible to be objective, it appears that the evidence supports the notion of an evolutionary morality regarding certain tolerated practices. At the same time, the Torah’s mandatory commandments may reflect realities of its ancient setting, but remain eternally binding as God’s word. In the latter case, there is room for evolving interpretations of the law.

Ancient and Medieval Precedents

Talmud

            The Torah gives laws pertaining to a “beautiful captive” (yefat to’ar) taken in battle (Deuteronomy 21:10–14). Commentators debate the plain meaning of the biblical text. Some maintain that an Israelite soldier may have one-time sexual relations with her immediately at wartime (Rambam, Hilkhot Melakhim 8:2–7, Abarbanel), while others insist that the soldier first must wait 30 days and then decide if he still wants to marry her (Ibn Ezra, Ramban). The Talmud supports the former view, and therefore the one-time sexual union with the captive is permissible in halakhah. Why would God allow this act, instead of prohibiting it outright? The Talmud answers:

With respect to the first intercourse there is universal agreement that it is permitted, since the Torah only provided for man’s evil passions. (Kiddushin 21b)

In this approach, God would have outlawed this sexual union, but knew that many ancient soldiers would violate the prohibition. Therefore, God chose the lesser of the two evils and permitted but discouraged the act by focusing on the humanity and humiliation of the captive. God thus legislated for a flawed human reality, provided a realistic law and circumscribed it, and simultaneously taught the ideal value and mode of conduct, that no soldier ever should perform this act.

Rambam

Rambam maintains that God revealed many laws to wean the Israelites away from pagan culture to the service of God (Guide 3:29). Having spent so long in pagan Egypt, the Israelites had a strong predilection to offer animal sacrifices. God recognized this propensity and therefore instituted animal sacrifices. God further prescribed specific boundaries for this form of worship by insisting that animals could be sacrificed only in authorized shrines such as the Tabernacle or later the Temple. Prayer and contemplation, which are higher forms of serving God, thereby were encouraged as substitutes for animal sacrifices (Guide 3:32).

Ramban (on Leviticus 1:9) attacks Rambam on this assertion: “Behold, these words are worthless; they make a big breach, raise big questions, and pollute the table of God.” He maintains that the Temple, sacrifices, and related laws are ideal means of communing with God, and not concessions to the ancient Israelites’ historical setting. ^[5]

In addition, Rambam’s view raised the fundamental question: Now that we have become more sophisticated, what would be the relevance of these ritual commandments in our times? Living in the nineteenth century, Rabbi Samson Raphael Hirsch lamented the terrible misapplication of Rambam’s thought among assimilating German Jews. Many were using Rambam’s logic in the Guide as precedent for abandoning other ritual commandments as well.^[6] Rambam himself was concerned with the possibility of the masses’ losing respect for many commandments if their reasons were revealed (Guide 3:26).^[7]

Elsewhere in his writings, Rambam stresses the value of animal sacrifices, considering them among the commandments that we cannot fully understand (Hebrew hukkim, Hilkhot Me’ilah 8:8). He maintains that in the messianic future, sacrifices will be restored with the rebuilding of the Temple (Hilkhot Melakhim 11:1). More broadly, Rambam maintains that all of the Torah’s commandments are eternal, including into the messianic era (ninth principle of faith; cf. Guide 2:39; 3:34).^[8] Rambam’s placing sacrifices in their historical setting, then, never renders them obsolete as laws.

To summarize, the Talmud discusses an instance where the Torah tolerates behavior as a concession to human weakness. Instead of outlawing the undesirable behavior, it circumscribes the action and makes it clear that one ideally should not do it at all. In Rambam’s explanation of the rationale behind the Temple and sacrifices, the eternal observance of the commandments is absolute regardless of the time-bound aspect of the Torah responding to its ancient pagan setting. God developed an evolutionary educational program to teach Israel certain religious ideals over time.

Regarding conventions that the Torah permits, one may pit the Torah’s ideal values against ancient social reality and explain that the Torah created an evolutionary program with the goal of eliminating certain practices that were too difficult to abolish at the time of God’s revelation of the Torah to Moses. With mandatory commandments, we may change our interpretations, but not the commandments themselves.

We now turn to a few examples where modern thinkers interpret certain tolerated practices of the Torah as parts of the Torah’s evolutionary educational program for Israel and for humanity.

Less-than-Ideal Actions Tolerated by the Torah

Polygamy

            The Torah permits polygamy; yet one may argue that this permission was a concession to ancient reality and is distant from the Torah’s ideal of monogamous relationships.

            The Torah introduces the concept of a loving monogamous marriage at the very beginning of human existence:

And the Lord God fashioned the rib that He had taken from the man into a woman; and He brought her to the man. Then the man said, “This one at last is bone of my bones and flesh of my flesh. This one shall be called Woman, for from man was she taken.” Hence a man leaves his father and mother and clings to his wife, so that they become one flesh. (Genesis 2:22–24)

Biblical narratives that involve polygamy such as Abraham-Sarah-Hagar, Jacob-Rachel-Leah, and Elkanah-Hannah-Peninah invariably yield tension in the household. Tellingly, the biblical word for wife-in-law is tzarah, tormentor (I Samuel 1:6; Leviticus 18:18).

            Given the Torah’s ideal portrayal of a monogamous marriage in Eden, its negative portrayal of polygamy, and the fact that there is no mandatory commandment for a man to marry more than one wife, we may consider polygamy an institution that the Torah tolerated as a concession to ancient reality. A monogamous society is the Torah’s ideal from its inception. The Torah set out its ideal values so that one day, they could be realized and polygamy would be abolished.

Blood Vengeance

            The Torah permits a close relative to kill an accidental manslayer without trial. The manslayer must escape to the City of Refuge and remain inside that city for safety (Numbers 35:9–34; Deuteronomy 19:1–13).

            The nineteenth-century commentator, Rabbi Samuel David Luzzatto (Shadal on Numbers 35:12) asks: Why does the Torah not simply outlaw vigilante justice and leave the matter to the courts? He suggests that the Torah presents a weaning process. In the ancient world, people would have felt like they did not love their deceased relative if they would refrain from killing the accidental manslayer. Many therefore would violate the Torah and kill the manslayer anyway. Acknowledging that reality, the Torah circumscribes blood vengeance by protecting the accidental manslayer and emphasizing his or her innocent blood. Ideally, the relatives should not engage in blood vengeance.

            Professor Nehama Leibowitz (1905–1997) agrees with Shadal, and adds that the Torah succeeded in its evolutionary educational program. The talmudic Sages refer to going to the Cities of Refuge as “exile” (Mishnah Makkot 2:1), replacing the Torah’s usage of the term “to flee” (Exodus 21:13; Numbers 35:15; Deuteronomy 19:5). Professor Leibowitz suggests that this change in terminology stems from the fact that the Torah eradicated the urge for blood vengeance. No longer did accidental manslayers “flee” the blood relatives out of fear being killed, but instead went into “exile” as a consequence of the Torah’s legislation.^[9]

Slavery

            The Torah’s legislation regarding slavery is vastly more humane than any other form of slavery in the ancient world.^[10] And yet, why does the Torah permit slavery at all? Several contemporary rabbinic thinkers, including Rabbis Norman Lamm and Nahum Rabinovitch, discuss this phenomenon and reach similar conclusions.^[11] The following is a brief amalgam of their views.

            The ultimate goal of the Torah is for humanity to realize that slavery is wrong, and should be abolished. From Creation, the Torah teaches that all people are equal. All people derive from the same ancestry, and are created in God’s image. However, humanity went astray. Men subjugated one another and distinguished between slaves and masters. When God revealed the Torah to Moses, the world economy depended on slavery, so the Torah could not realistically outlaw slavery. Rather, it taught society to advance step by step, until the goal of the elimination of slavery could be fully achieved. 

            Many laws remind Israel to care for the downtrodden of society, since the Israelites were slaves in Egypt. Shabbat gives a taste of the ideal world, where slaves rest also. While tolerating slavery, the Torah revolutionized the institution. It set a floor that prevented descent to the vile abuses practiced by other nations. Its ultimate goal is that over time, people should question why we have slaves at all. The abolition of slavery in most of the world today is a realization of the ideals taught by the Torah.

            To summarize, God responded to a flawed human reality by revealing laws that outlawed many ancient practices immediately, while tolerating and modifying/restricting other undesirable practices with the goal of eliminating them over time. In an ideal world, God would not have permitted soldiers to take beautiful captives, polygamy, blood vengeance, or slavery. God tolerated these practices as concessions to ancient reality, and simultaneously taught ideal morality so that Israel and humanity could evolve and abolish these practices over time. The fact that many people today consider these practices morally unacceptable is a tribute to the success of the Torah’s long term educational vision of ideal divine law.

Conflicts between Mandatory Commandments and Contemporary Moral Sentiments

Sacrifices and Other Temple Rituals

            As discussed above, Rambam viewed the Temple and its sacrifices as a necessary aspect of God’s evolutionary approach to reaching the ideal society. Ancient Israelites were unable to receive a religious system devoid of a Temple and its sacrificial rites. Yet, Rambam also wrote that the Temple will be rebuilt and sacrifices restored in the messianic era (Hilkhot Melakhim 11:1). This position is no different from Rambam’s suggestion that the prohibition of cooking a kid in its mother’s milk also served to wean Israel away from pagan practices (Guide 3:48), yet those laws are fully applicable for all time.

            Beyond Rambam’s general view on the eternality of the Torah’s commandments, Professor Menachem Kellner offers additional reasons why the restoration of sacrifices is critical for Rambam’s position on the messianic era. Rambam’s messianism is non-supernatural, and idolatry is an ever-present threat even in the messianic era. Therefore, sacrifices are necessary to continue to wean humanity away from the immorality and foolishness of paganism. Additionally, the messianic era is restorative, returning all institutions from the time of David and Solomon to their former glory. The reinstitution of the Temple, sacrifices, and the Sabbatical and Jubilee years are central to that vision.^[12]

            Professor Micah Goodman adds that Rambam maintains that Abraham’s religion without commandments failed to preserve his philosophical monotheism for the long term among his descendants (Hilkhot Avodat Kokhavim 1:1–3). Absent rituals, God’s ideal religious values cannot endure in society. Rituals that uphold group identity and reinforce its core principles are required for long-term survival and religious flourishing (cf. Guide 2:31).^[13]

            Despite what appears to be Rambam’s position, some extend Rambam’s approach and conclude that there will not be sacrifice in the messianic future. One contemporary thinker who has expressed his struggle from different perspectives is Rabbi Nathan Lopes Cardozo. In one article, he concludes that were God to reveal the Torah today, it would not include laws of slavery or sacrifices:

[N]ot only would the laws concerning sacrifices and slavery be totally abolished once the people outgrew the need for them, but they would actually not have appeared in the biblical text had it been revealed at a much later stage in Jewish history.^[14]

Rabbi Cardozo makes no distinction between the Torah’s toleration of slavery, which is not commanded; and sacrifices, which are mandatory commandments. He does not address Rambam’s other writings that insist on the eternality of all of the Torah’s commandments or that the sacrificial order will be restored in the messianic era. Rabbi Cardozo’s leap from tolerated practices to mandatory commandments appears to go beyond the evidence in the Torah and in Rambam’s writings.

            In a different essay,^[15] Rabbi Cardozo restates his position that the Torah contains concessions to human weakness, and sets out an evolutionary road toward higher forms of worship. What of Rambam’s ruling that the sacrifices will be restored in the messianic era? Rabbi Cardozo submits, “I believe he thus expresses his doubt that the ought-to-be of Judaism will ever become a reality in this world.”^[16] This position resonates with the view of Professor Kellner stated above, that Rambam maintains that the idolatrous urge will remain even in the messianic era so sacrifices will be necessary to counter that urge.

            To summarize, Rambam maintains that the laws of the Torah are eternal, and that the Temple and sacrifices will be restored in the messianic future. The law remains unchanged, but the religious meaning one ascribes to the commandments can change. When the messianic era arrives, we will be in a better position to judge what actually will happen.^[17]

Homosexuality

            A similar approach can apply to the Torah’s unequivocal prohibition against male homosexual relations. The prohibition is unchangeable, but there has been a meaningful evolution within rabbinic responses in certain sectors of the contemporary Orthodox community. While there remains a wide range of opinion and approach within the Orthodox rabbinate and community, it is encouraging to see these more inclusive positions.^[18]

War Against Canaan

            Granting that the Canaanites and Amalekites were depraved and evil, the Torah’s command to exterminate their populations, men, women, and children, remains stark. A full discussion of this issue goes beyond the parameters of this essay. It is noteworthy that of our medieval commentators, only Rabbenu Bahya (14th century) raised the moral question of the Torah’s command to kill even the children. His answers likely would not satisfy modern sentiments: It was a divine decree; once God decrees their doom they are considered as dead; they no doubt will grow up to be like their parents. Like amputating a limb to save the body, the elimination of Canaanites and Amalekites was good for humanity.^[19]

It is not until the 20th century that rabbinic thinkers began to address this moral question more systematically.^[20]  Rabbi Abraham Isaac Kook (1865–1935) maintains that this commandment was restricted to the biblical period, and reflects ancient conventions of warfare. If Israel did not eliminate the Canaanites and Amalekites, they would regroup and attack Israel. The only way to stop enemies in an immoral world is to subdue them completely. As the moral expectations of the world regarding war improve, Israel must follow the highest moral standards and not apply the rules of the war against Canaanites and Amalekites (Iggerot HaRei’ah 1:89).

Rabbi Kook thus understands the parameters of the Torah’s commandment as God’s concession to the moral limitations and reality of the ancient world. The Oral Law enables later generations to improve moral standards, rather than remaining fixated on the ancient standards of war and applying them in later periods.^[21]

Rambam vs. Abarbanel on Monarchy

We have discussed the distinction between less-than-ideal non-mandatory practices that the Torah tolerated versus commandments where interpretations change while the law is eternal. One debate that proves this rule is the disagreement between Rambam and Abarbanel regarding monarchy (Deuteronomy 17:14–20).

Rambam considers monarchy to be a positive commandment (Hilkhot Melakhim 1:1–2). Abarbanel rejects Rambam’s view based on several textual considerations and maintains that although monarchy is permitted if requested, it is viewed negatively by the Torah. Abarbanel likens monarchy to the laws of the “beautiful captive” (Deuteronomy 21:10–14) where the Torah tolerates certain less-than-ideal actions to forestall worse eventualities. He invokes the talmudic principle discussed earlier in this essay, “the Torah states this in consideration of the evil inclination” (Kiddushin 21b).^[22]

Monarchy reflected the prevalent form of government in Israel’s ancient setting. The Torah and the people in Samuel’s time explicitly state that Israel wanted a king “as do all the nations” (Deuteronomy 17:14; I Samuel 8:5). For Rambam, however, the Torah commands this form of government so it transcends that ancient setting and is mandatory whenever it is politically feasible. For Abarbanel, monarchy is a tolerated negative practice until such time as people develop alternative forms of government.^[23]

Conclusion

            The prophets and ancient and medieval rabbinic thinkers recognized the centrality of ethics in the Torah’s vision and law. In the modern era, many traditional thinkers perceived a growing gap between the morality of some of the Torah’s laws and the ideal morals of Western humanism.

            The talmudic analysis of the beautiful captive (Kiddushin 21b) provides the precedent for later thinkers to conclude that certain elements in the Torah tolerate a less-than-ideal reality as a concession to ancient mores. Rambam’s discussion of the Temple and sacrifices provides the precedent for later thinkers to distinguish between practices that the Torah tolerates as a concession, while simultaneously providing its ideal vision so that over time the Jewish people and all humanity can move closer to the ideal morality of the Torah.

            For matters that the Torah tolerates but does not command, such as polygamy, blood vengeance, and slavery, one may ascertain a gap between the Torah’s tolerance and its ideal to abolish these practices. For mandatory commandments, such as a Temple and sacrifices and the prohibition against male homosexual relations, the laws are eternal but there remains room for different interpretations of these commandments so that our attitudes and religious-moral experience can evolve with time.

            This essay outlines several areas that have drawn the attention of modern thinkers. These discussions are a healthy and vital aspect of our relationship with God and our desire to live in accordance with the Torah’s ideal moral values.

            The world has a long way to go to realize the messianic ideal. We pray for a growing embodiment of the Torah’s ideals: A loving faithful marriage as the central bond for raising a family and transmitting religious values; a universal commitment to law and justice; a realization that all human beings are created in God’s image, with no racism, sexism, or other forms of discrimination; a universal desire to connect to God through living a life of holiness; and a world where all evil is eliminated, and humanity serves God and lives ideal moral lives.

Notes

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