National Scholar Updates

The Yeshiva or “Metivta”

The institution of yeshiva, or metivta, is a national Jewish treasure in which the soul of the nation resides, a source of living waters for the preservation of the Jewish nation in the form and character unique to it alone. It behooves us therefore to delve into the inner essence of the yeshiva (or metivta[1]) in order to understand its nature and composition, thus enabling us to promote its further development and perpetuation in that unique form that has no analogue among any other nation…..

The Yeshiva of Eretz Yisrael

This yeshiva that was born with Israel and followed it everywhere is the yeshiva of the Sanhedrin located in the lishkat haGazit. It was the nerve center of the nation, holding session even on the eve of Shabbat and of Jewish holidays, as the sages homiletically interpreted the verse (Shir haShirim 7:3) “Thy navel is like a round goblet [aggan haSahar] wherein no mingled wine is wanting”: “Thy navel”—this is the Sanhedrin. Why was it called ‘navel’?—Because it sat at the navel-point of the world” (Sanhedrin 37b). It is to this yeshiva that the Torah refers when it says, “then you shall arise, and go up unto the place which the Lord your God shall choose ... According to the law which they shall teach you, and according to the judgment which they shall tell you, shall you do; you shall not turn aside from the sentence which they shall declare unto you, to the right nor to the left.” That yeshiva was the heart of the nation, the very life source whence all derived benefit. “Your belly is like a heap of wheat” (Shir haShirim, ibid.)—just as all can benefit from a heap of wheat, so did all benefit from the deliberations of the Sanhedrin.[2] This yeshiva was like a promontory whence the Sanhedrin gazed down upon every aspect of the lives of the people, with all of life’s problems that newly arise from day to day. Like faithful sentries, the Sanhedrin remained perpetually on their watch, never straying from it—just as life and its affairs in all their ramifications never cease in their movements and currents, thus requiring those watchmen to stand guard at their posts with ready and constant vigilance.

The supreme Bet Din, the legislative body of the nation, called “yeshiva” because of its permanence, united the people into a single monolithic unit for all Torah rulings and everything affecting the nation. So long as that Bet Din existed, there never was any dispute in Israel on any matter of halakha. However, when the supreme Sanhedrin went into exile—disbanded and relegated to storefronts, as it were—it lost its power and its acknowledged importance, from which time onward disputes of halakha were rampant, and the Torah became more like two or multiple Torahs, in the yeshivot of Shammai and Hillel, and later in the courts and study halls of the greats of each generation, “each in his respective location” (ibid.), but each of which was essentially equivalent in composition and form to the central yeshiva that had resided in the lishkat haGazit. All those yeshivot were united and concentrated around the yeshiva of Hillel and the family dynasty of the Nasi,[3] which, so long as it existed, was the yeshiva that legislated for the Jewish nation, and gave us the Mishna—the legal codex for the entire Jewish people.

The Babylonian Metivta

On the basis of an aggadic tradition passed down by our sages of blessed memory—that since the time of our patriarchs the yeshiva never ceased to exist among the Jewish people—we can assert with absolute certainty that after the destruction of the first Temple, the metivta was established in Babylonia with the same structure and character as the yeshiva in Eretz Yisrael had had. For it would never occur to us to imagine that the Jewish community that was exiled from Eretz Yisrael to Babylonia resided there with no leader or legislator of its own to preserve its continuity of existence and its character.

We find support for this position in a different aggada of our sages, which states,

The Holy One, blessed be He, did a charitable thing for Israel in that he anticipated the exile of Zedekiah while the exile of Jeconiah was yet in being, for it is written (Melakhim II 24:16) with reference to the latter, “And the craftsmen [heHarash] and the smiths [masger], a thousand.” Harash implies that as soon as they opened a learned discussion, all the others became as though deaf; and masger, that when they closed the discussion of a halakha, it was not reopened. (Sanhedrin 38a).

The harash and the masger were the Sanhedrin, legislators and guardians of the nation, and it was they who founded and perpetuated the metivta during the first Babylonian exile.

The evidence is persuasive: The ascent of Ezra the Scribe, who was among the first wave of repatriates gone up to Eretz Yisrael to build the Second Temple, and about whom Scripture says (Ezra 7:10): “For Ezra had set his heart to seek the law of God, and to do it, and to teach in Israel statutes and ordinances.” King Artaxerxes too called him (ibid. 7:12): “the priest, the scribe of the Law of the God of heaven.” There can be no doubt that Ezra received his Torah traditions in Babylonia, where he served as the head-of-metivta. And this is evident also from Hillel’s ascent to Eretz Yisrael. For although he was a disciple of Shemaiah and Avtalyon[4] in Eretz Yisrael, he certainly received his foundational learning from the yeshiva of Babylonia. Likewise, when Rav ascended from Babylonia he found the metivta in Pumbeditha headed by Samuel, who had been known also in Eretz Yisrael as among the greatest of his generation, and the leader of the Babylonian community.

After Rav's arrival yet another metivta was founded under his leadership, from which time onward there existed two metivtot with their respective titular heads—Geonim who banded together and rendered decisions in all aspects of halakha and communal practice. Those rulings were publicized to all enquirers, signed by one or the other of the Geonim of Pumbeditha or Sura. They issued decisions regarding halakha, communal leadership, Torah learning, and interpretation to the entire Diaspora.

The Yeshivot of the Diaspora

With the destruction of the metivtot of Babylonia the final central authority of the metivtot disintegrated, except that their brilliance was not extinguished entirely; rather, the metivtot splintered into rays of illumination that were dispersed to the length and breadth of the Diaspora—each community with its own yeshiva, which continue to exist even in our own day, both in Eretz Yisrael and the Diaspora. These yeshivot bear the stamp of the yeshiva of Eretz Yisrael and the metivtot of Babylonia, under the leadership and direction of the metivta heads who can be described as “dammesek eliezer,”[5] homiletically interpreted by our sages (Yoma 25a) as one who draws of his master’s teachings and gives of it to others to drink. He draws water from deep wells and gives drink to all his disciples, quenching their thirst, refreshing and invigorating them by spreading the words of Torah that he has received from his own teachers. Thus, he imparts the life spirit to the entire nation, like rain from heaven that falls in timely fashion and just where it is needed, satisfying the thirst of the earth and causing it to bring forth its produce in a great multitude of variations of blossoms and flowers, bringing healthy and verdant life and eternal youthful vigor to all who reside there.

The Internal Structure of the Yeshivot

Now that we understand the essence of the yeshivot as called by their proper name, and their enormous influence on the Jewish people generation after generation and in every community, let us probe into the inner nature of the yeshivot, in order to perceive the hidden illumination that is stored within them.

We learn from the extant written sources that the later yeshivot were copies, in miniature, of the central Yeshiva that served all of Israel from the lishkat haGazit in Jerusalem, from the earliest periods of Jewish history and through all its ten exiles in Eretz Yisrael (Rosh Hashanah 31).

Each yeshiva had its head-of-yeshiva or head-of-metivta, who would draw pure, lucid waters from the depths of the living Torah wellspring—water clarified and purified of any clod of clay or other dross that could cloud its appearance or impair its quality. The master would draw from these wellsprings of living waters and give drink to his students, taking a graded approach in accordance with their ability to assimilate the material, until such time that the students would themselves become, as the result of their master’s efforts, “inexhaustible founts” in their own right. But that was not all. The head of the metivta, being a compassionate father as well, would be wholeheartedly solicitous, even anxious, for the future of his yeshiva and the material upkeep of its permanent students. Sustaining Talmudic scholars and their disciples was the perpetual concern of the head of the metivta, who bore upon his own shoulders the full burden of their support, because he clearly understood that yeshivot like his were the citadels for preserving the Jewish nation in its unique form and character, and the wellspring whence flowed those vital waters that freshen the nation’s dry bones, and infuse it with renewed youthful vigor. Moreover, the head-of-yeshiva stood guard for the preservation of Judaism’s unity and inner integrity, while the Jewish nation, in turn, acknowledging him as their faithful leader overseeing the house of Israel, accepted his authority and obeyed him implicitly.

Also under the leadership of the head-of-metivta were the municipal judges, the heads of the kallah,[6] and the rows of students from the general audience who were not permanent students of the metivta but only informal participants.[7] For both the yeshiva of Eretz Yisrael and the metivta of Babylonia followed the model of the great Sanhedrin with its rows of disciples in the lishkat haGazit, and the lesser Sanhedrin that presided in the Temple courtyard with its rows of both permanent disciples and informal participants.

Such are the general outlines of the image of the yeshiva that have survived in the sources still extant. No one knows, however, what actual curriculum was followed in those stately yeshiva halls, nor do we have any reliable source of information on that subject. We can judge, however, from the wealth of Torah and its abundance of variations that the yeshivot have bequeathed to us, that although the yeshivot dedicated themselves primarily to the study of the Torah of Israel, clearly the Torah consists not only of laws and statutes; rather, the Torah is the “eshkol haKofer”[8] that is all-encompassing. It is impossible to understand the Torah at all, let alone to penetrate to its nethermost depths, without having profound and wide-ranging knowledge of the sciences and worldly disciplines, all of which are hidden in the depths of God's creation and its mysteries.

How so? The Torah of Israel begins with the account of the Creation, which is not mere cosmological information, but an extremely profound philosophical inquiry that takes us to supernal realms that normal thought processes are not equipped to grasp: the enigma of tzimtzum,[9] the purpose of the Creation and its final mission, the unification of all aspects of the Creation into a single monolithic unit, in which each underlying component is both the cause and the effect of all others, all being equivalent, even while each differs according to its powers of reception; God’s celestial and earthly ministers, celestial worlds and our own as well, all united under this crown of Creation, which includes man himself, made in God’s image, and carrying within him a Divine soul, and upon his countenance the likeness of God. In this account of the creation of man and the beginnings of humankind can be found that theoretical foundation which is the basis of the entire Torah, and of mankind’s completion, namely, the fundamental principles of our faith—human understanding and our capacity to choose between right and wrong, the wonders of Divine Providence on the individual, personal level, the role of Divine predetermination versus the nature of everything theoretically possible, and of sin and repentance.

These topics, all of which find allusion in those first chapters of the account of the Creation, comprise what our sages of blessed memory called ma‘aseh bereishith, the Works (Mysteries) of Creation, and ma‘aseh merkavah, the Mystical Speculations of the Chariot.[10] Indeed, those topics would not be discussed with students until they had reached a specified age and were able to satisfy certain other conditions (Ḥagigah 11b), but there can be no doubt whatsoever that the study of those profound topics, which lie at the very heart and foundation of Judaism's worldview—tightly integrated on the one hand with the mysteries of natural creation, and on the other with knowledge of the True God Who alone rules the world—were secreted in the innermost recesses of the yeshiva and studied there. We find allusions to those subjects in the form of the abundant mystical Aggada that has come down to us. Those subjects are the renowned “crowns adorning the letters of the Torah.”[11]

But that is not all. The Jewish sages also studied the latest discoveries of non-Jewish savants and philosophers in the domain of these recondite questions. The Jewish sages acquired eminent familiarity with those, even while demonstrating superlative ability to discard the chaff and to retain only those kernels of truth that could serve the Torah as “apothecaries and cooks,”[12] for the sake of arriving at sound views and untainted beliefs.

The Torah of Israel, with its detailed historical accounts, also encompasses within it the knowledge of the history of mankind, and not only concerning the Jewish nation itself, its genealogical record, and the wondrous events that have befallen it. Rather, the Torah concerns itself with world history—that of all nations and races, and their vicissitudes—for from those accounts are evident the enigma of Divine Providence that is integral to all of humanity, but to Israel and its prophets in particular. This too is one of those things that requires serious study and profound, penetrating insight.

As concerns the commandments of the Torah, the very first mitzvah in the Torah is (Shemot 12:2): “This month shall be unto you the beginning of months,” that is, the mitzvah of establishing the Jewish calendar, which is impossible to know and understand without an in-depth and comprehensive knowledge of astronomy. In fact, acquiring that knowledge is a distinct mitzvah in its own right, as our sages of blessed memory have stated (Shabbat 75b): “How do we know that it is one's duty to calculate the cycles and planetary courses? Because it is written (Devarim 4:6), ‘for this is your wisdom and understanding in the sight of the nations’: what wisdom and understanding is in the sight of the nations? Say, that it is the science of cycles and planets.”

The mitzvah of observing Shabbat includes the topic of the extension of teḥumin beyond the city limits,[13] the coverage of which by our sages of blessed memory demonstrates their in-depth and comprehensive knowledge of the science of measurements and measuring, which does not cease to amaze even in our own day.

The laws prohibiting kil’ayim (forbidden mixtures) are stated in the written Torah only with extreme terseness (Vayikra 19:19): “Thou shalt not let thy cattle gender with diverse kinds; thou shalt not sow thy field with two kinds of seed.” Knowing the interpretation thereof requires thorough knowledge of zoology and agronomy, respectively, as well as knowledge of mathematics for computing the configurations of the garden-beds.[14] Similarly, the laws of tereifot[15] testify to our sages’ broad knowledge of physiology—the structure, composition, and interconnections, as well as the manner that man’s body and soul are affected by the food he eats.

Civil law, even when taken in isolation, is an extensively ramified discipline, interwoven with knowledge of human psychology, by which means one can distinguish cases involving fraud from those that are genuine. Here too our sages of blessed memory were not satisfied to restrict themselves to the foundations of the Oral and Written Torahs; rather, they studied political and economic theory as well, subjects upon which all human civilization depends, as well as the civil law of the world nations that had evolved as the result of dynamic value systems. Our sages implemented new concepts of commercial and political life, evaluating those concepts with reference to the foundations of Jewish civil law—righteousness, justice, truth, and peace. Alternatively, they implemented those new concepts with the objective of promoting dina de-malkhuta dina—upholding the law of the state (but always emphasizing the law of the state, as opposed to the “law” of banditry).

Moreover, the sages studied alien rulings from non-Jewish sources, not for the sake of acquiring mere academic knowledge, but for understanding and rendering halakhic decisions based on that knowledge (Shabbat 78). When we read the two Talmuds and the Midrashim as elaborated by our sages generation after generation, covering in their investigative works and their responsa every aspect of the problems that arise in daily life, and all fields of knowledge in their manifold, variegated forms, we are must accept that internally the yeshivot taught all these branches of knowledge, received via the chain of tradition, and passed from master to disciple, generation after generation, but ultimately derived from the greatest of all books, namely, from God's Torah.

The Yeshivot in Our Times

The yeshivot of our day, ever since the destruction of the metivtot of Babylonia, share none of the latter's brilliance or grandeur, by which we mean not only their exemplary organization, which resembled nothing less than that of a monarchy, but also their rich and highly diversified constitution, and the authoritative prestige they enjoyed among the entire Jewish nation. This was inevitable: Since the yeshivot had splintered apart, becoming only isolated beacons of illumination throughout the dark corners of the Diaspora, it was natural that they would suffer that loss of prestige and authority with the people. The result was that the metivtot first split into two axes, generically familiar to us as the Sephardic and Ashkenazic yeshivot. This division refers not only to the primary geographic locations of the yeshivot, but also to their inner makeup, and—more significantly—to their respective methodologies.

For their part, the great Sephardic rabbis occupied themselves with elaborating the Talmud, and composed methods—per tractate or on the entire Talmud—whose purpose was to precisely clarify the sugyot[16] in depth, showing how they are interconnected and intertwined with other sugyot, in order to arrive at conclusions of practical halakha. Contrarily, the rabbis of France, and later Germany, who studied the Talmud with the focus on its investigative interpretation, both in depth and breadth, uncovered with their commentaries gateways of illumination for the halakhic decisors who came after them. Practically determined halakha, with its precisely refined language, encompasses in a general sense, as it were, all those details that become intermingled with it in the course of the analytical give-and-take, such that one who knows all the details can refine and unify them, so as to derive from them a unified general principle, and other such principles that follow from it in turn. As Rabbi Ḥiyya said (Bava Metzia 85): “If the Torah were forgotten in Israel, I would restore it by my argumentative powers.” Conversely, however, if one has a command of the general principles without knowing the details and how they fit together, then even the general principles will be to him of very limited value, or will lead him to err in his judgment. This explains the staunchly adamant opposition of the rabbis of France and Germany to the methodology of Rambam in his Mishneh Torah.

And so too can we explain the approach of Ravad,[17] who, for all his humility on the one hand, and all his extreme admiration for Rambam on the other, as we can discern from many of his hassagot[18], nonetheless also spouted words of provocation and abuse toward Rambam in many of those hassagot. It would be wrong to suggest that Ravad specifically intended to negate or weaken Rambam’s rulings that were based on the latter’s methodology; rather, he only wanted to point out the dangerous fallacy lying at the very foundation of that methodology. Thus, in order to negate the method itself, Ravad deemed it necessary to attack its originator, on the principle that by negating the cause one can negate its effects as well.

Moreover, when the Sephardic rabbis extended the curriculum of the yeshivot to include the study of philosophy, they did so in the spirit of the dictum, “Know how to respond to a heretic.”[19] Likewise, when they studied other branches of knowledge from alien books, they did so with the recognition that all branches of knowledge have their origins in Jewish wisdom, but have been lost to the Jews because of their centuries of exile and the peripatetic fate that they have endured. Thus, the Sephardic rabbis endeavored to employ those branches of knowledge in the manner of a person who has lost all his possessions, but manages to purchase a candle for a pittance, to enable him to locate all the rest of his lost possessions. The French and German rabbis, on the other hand, drew a line in the sand, restricting themselves to the study of sacred texts exclusively—the Talmud and the Midrashim—motivated as they were by their fear that the influence of foreign literature might prove overwhelming, and lead to corruption of the words of the Torah or to perversion of the halakha. Indeed, their vehement opposition to Rambam’s Guide for the Perplexed was similarly motivated.

The Sephardic rabbis were strong-minded in their resolve to abolish those customs which they saw as having no basis in halakha, as opposed to the Ashkenazic rabbis, who upheld minhag (custom) and sought to find support for it even when it seemed to them strange or unfounded. See, for example, regarding the custom of kapparot[20] in Shulḥan Arukh O.H. §605, also Hilkhot Tereifot 33:9 and 39:13. Many of the glosses of ReMA[21] to the Shulḥan Arukh derive from minhag collections or received customs. ReMA will write, “Some have the custom,” or “Such is the custom in these lands,” or “It has become customary,” or “One should conduct himself accordingly,” or “Such is our custom,” or “We should uphold the custom,” or “One must not veer from the accepted custom,” or “One must not veer from the accepted custom, venerated as it is.”

Such differences between the Sephardic and Ashkenazic authorities were the basis for a certain attitude of disrespect among the rabbis of France and Germany toward the Sephardic rabbinate and its halakhic approach. But the Sephardic rabbis themselves found there an opportunity for accentuating their own sense of pride by often appending to their names the word “haSefaradi,” which they viewed as a kind of honorific title, and an adjective suggesting a particularly distinguished pedigree.

The result of all the foregoing is that our Torah has become more like two different Torahs, and the Jewish people like two distinct tribes, a situation that will persist until such time as (Yeshayah 32:15) “a spirit from on high shall be poured out on us,” and we shall behold with our own eyes the fulfillment of God’s promise, His sacred words from the mouth of the prophet (Yeḥezkel 37:22): “And I will make them one nation in the land, upon the mountains of Israel, and one king shall be king to them all; and they shall be no more two nations, neither shall they be divided into two kingdoms any more at all.”

The Yeshivot of Eretz Yisrael

In the recent period, the grand yeshivot of the Diaspora, one after the next, are either going completely to ruin, or experiencing gradual but steady decline. This is the result of the dispersive effect of our exile that only gets worse with the passage of time, and of anti-Semitic decrees that brutally eradicate ancient Jewish communities and scatter them in every direction. The institution of the rabbinate therefore likewise continues to decline in stature, in many Jewish communities growing weaker and weaker in its influence. Rabbinical positions are filled not by men who have sacrificed their lives entirely to Torah study, but by individuals whose education has given them schoolbook familiarity with aggadic material, while their Talmudic knowledge is exceedingly weak.

Those yeshivot that still exist according to the original, ancient model are now teetering on the brink of death. Nonetheless, our faith in the Holy Rock of Israel, who through Moses gave us His guarantee (Devarim 31:21) that the Torah would never be forgotten in Israel, remains sturdy and sound. But a different biblical prophecy now passes before our eyes, that prophecy which states that the Torah will be forgotten in Israel, as it is written (Amos 8:12): “And they shall wander from sea to sea, and from the north even to the east; they shall run to and fro to seek the word of God, and shall not find it.” This is interpreted (Shabbat 138b) to mean that there will be no clear halakha or clear Mishna to be had anywhere. A vision so menacing and horrific makes our blood run cold, and obligates us to head off this calamity by assuring the survival of yeshivot in Israel in their authentic character and stature. Only our yeshivot can guarantee the eternity of the Jewish people in their grandest form, as Scripture states: “For I God have set you apart from the nations, that you should be Mine.” The sole anchor and life preserver for escaping total annihilation—a “living death” where the soul is already dead and only the body lives on—is Eretz Yisrael.

This was foreseen by one of our ancients, Ramban, who, after moving to Eretz Yisrael at the end of his life, founded there a yeshiva for Torah study in the fullest sense, and took pains to assure its continued existence. He did so by making it an institution that would be supported by the entire nation, who would uphold its foundations with their perpetual contributions in the form of the Ramban Fund, in a manner resembling the enactment of Rabban Yoḥanan be Zakkai in his time, who petitioned Vespasian, destroyer of our Temple, to be given Yavneh and its sages and the family dynasty of the Nasi (Gittin 56)—that is, he was asking for nothing less than the means to perpetuate the yeshiva as a place of Torah learning and the center of halakhic decision-making in Israel, and the authority of its president. In his lucid vision Rabban Yoḥanan ben Zakkai perceived that the memory of the physical Temple that had been destroyed could be perpetuated through the performance of symbolic acts, whereas the lishkat haGazit in the Temple, that had served as a source of guidance for all of Judaism, could not be perpetuated with a mere remembrance. Rather, for that it would have to survive in its original, living form, uniting within it the wellsprings of living waters that guarantee the nation’s eternal survival, and demonstrating the essential royal nature that preserves the character of the nation. In this manner Rabban Yoḥanan ben Zakkai gave the yeshiva at Yavneh the full force of the lishkat haGazit, whence Torah and halakhic decision-making emanate to all of Israel, and in which the entire nation is concentrated even in its state of dispersion, because it is a talpiyyot[22]—that place to which all mouths and eyes are lifted, to hear its decisions that illuminate the darkness of the exile.

Rabban Yoḥanan ben Zakkai's successes in the period of the destruction of the Second Temple must guide us in our own building process.

In Jerusalem and in other cities and localities of Eretz Yisrael there do exist yeshivot for Torah study that either have been founded anew, or have been uprooted and relocated from the Diaspora. These are institutions created by individuals whose faithful dedication, along with that of the personnel who manage these yeshivot, I value and revere. But these institutions, which differ markedly one from another, both in the manner that they are managed, and in their scholastic approaches, are hemorrhaging because of their external condition which gives them the appearance of paupers begging for alms. Moreover, they lack the high-level authority that would oversee and direct, unite and organize, so as to give each such yeshiva its unique imprint and form, and to make those yeshivot national institutions for whose continued existence the entire nation would bear responsibility. For the people would see in those yeshivot a kind of supreme institution whence Torah and halakhic decisions emanate to the entire population, and which all gaze upon with the distinguished honor of which such yeshivot are worthy, being the image of the ancient yeshivot in the Land of Israel, and the metivtot of Babylonia.

Our duty at this time, the fulfillment of which will determine the ultimate success of our future in Eretz Yisrael, is to first restore the supreme institution of the yeshiva on the model of the lishkat haGazit of ancient Israel. And that yeshiva will then further subdivide, creating yet other yeshivot for Torah learning in its broadest and fullest sense, united in their methodology and curriculum, and centralized under the ownership and influence of the supreme yeshiva, which will be like an aqueduct that channels water to its tributaries, the yeshivot, by which we mean their means for material upkeep and, more important, their internal makeup.

Realizing this vision will require a great deal of deliberation and effort, in all their ramifications and details that are too numerous to be specified here. But I see in that realization a renewal of the character of our nation, and the fulfillment of the mission of our Redemption (Yeshayah 1:26): “And I will restore your magistrates as of old, and your counselors as of yore; after that you shall be called City of Righteousness, Faithful City.”

This article begins with a brief history of the Syrian Jewish community and their settlement in New York in the twentieth century. As other Arab Jewish immigrants joined, this united group of people has come to be identified as the Sephardic community of Brooklyn. These Jews of Sephardic and Middle Eastern heritage also hail from from Arab lands such as Lebanon, Egypt, Morocco, and Israel, to name a few.

            The unique characteristics of the Syrian Jewish community in America today are vestiges of the ways these particular Jews lived their lives in Syria, primarily in the cities of Aleppo and Damascus, over a thousand years ago. Their views on education, their societal constructs, their business pursuits, their search for homes in which to raise their families, and their refusal to accept converts are current practices rooted in the ways these Jews lived life in Syria, which were and still are tightly controlled by their communal and rabbinic opinions.          

The most important values of Syrian Jewish men were to live a life dedicated to learning and practicing Torah and to provide for their families. For women, the top priority was to raise a family in the Syrian Sephardic tradition. For both genders, their goals could only be attained through fealty to the nuclear family and community while being insulated from outside influences. These expectations have largely been maintained through the present day.

The Flow of Jews in and out of Syria 

The proximity of Syria and Israel allowed for the continued movement of Jews between these regions. According to biblical tradition, Jews began to live in Syria since the time of King David, when he defeated the Arameans at Soba or Aram Soba, which is Aleppo, and Aram Dameseq, which is Damascus. The second biblical reference to the region is from the book of Ezra, when Atarxerxes, the Persian king, ordered Ezra to appoint judges “beyond the river,” or Aram Soba. Throughout that time, and continuing during the Babylonian and Roman conquests of Israel, Jews have lived in Syria.

Substantial immigration of Jews to Syria began in 1492 after the expulsion of the Jews from the Iberian Peninsula followed by the expulsion of Jews from Italy during the sixteenth and seventeenth centuries. Additionally, in the eighteenth and nineteenth centuries, European Jewish merchants, who planned only to visit Syria for economic purposes, found Syrian life suitable for communal as well as economic opportunities, and so remained in the Syrian communities of Aleppo and Damascus. 

Emigration of Jews from Syria

The decline of the Jewish population in Syria began in the last part of the nineteenth century with several waves of emigration. As characteristic of other Arab countries at that time, Syrian Jews left for several reasons: Economic decline in Syria made it difficult to earn a living; Jews were being conscripted by Young Turks, who overthrew the Ottoman sultan and sought to strengthen the Turkish Empire; riots and persecution against Jews became increasingly frequent preceding and following the declaration of Israeli Statehood. Jews left Syria to settle in Israel, England, the United States, Mexico, Central and South America, and Jamaica (by way of Lebanon).

Emigration out of Syria persisted throughout the twentieth century. As the political situation of Syrian Jews continued to deteriorate under the French mandated region, followed by government instability, Jewish life was under continued threat from Arab riots. Jews were specifically forbidden to immigrate to Israel. Those who tried to escape the death and poverty in Syria faced prison or execution by the Assad regime. Attempts to escape were at the peril of the young men and women who dared; some who were caught and turned over to authorities were murdered after terrible abuse and torture.

American champions, such as Judy Feld Carr, Congressman Steven Solarz, and many community members who donated time and money to aid in the escape of Syrian Jews, managed to reduce the number of Jews trapped in Syria. The last wave of immigrants arrived in the 1990s. Most of the 50 or so Jews that remained since the civil war began in 2011 have left, and the number of Jews in Syria today is five or fewer persons. 

Education

In the late nineteenth century, Alliance Israelite Universelle schools were established in Syria, as well as in other Arab countries, with the goal “to uplift and modernize Jews of the Middle East by imbuing them with French education and culture.” Prior to that time, schooling for Syrian Jews was limited to the k’tab, the Talmud Torah for boys. Girls did not attend yeshivot. Although some rabbis were in favor of a more practical education, most preached against the predominantly secular education of the Alliance schools, preferring boys to continue to learn under the auspices of local rabbis and train as future Torah scholars. 

Wealthy Jewish families of the bourgeoisie class moved to better neighborhoods and lived among Christian neighbors. The few Jews who could afford to pay for their sons’ and daughters’ private school education, taught by nuns and priests, did so over their rabbis’ objections. Because the rabbis were beholden to benefactors for their subsistence, rabbinic objections that were ignored by the wealthier class of Jews eventually dissipated, and the rabbis’ words went unheeded.

However, among the average Syrian Jewish businessmen, education was only valued as a pathway to economic mobility. Prompted by the rabbis, laymen pushed administrators at the Alliance schools to incorporate religious studies in the program. Under threats of reduced enrollments, most schools complied to some degree.

Although Syria was not recognized as an independent country until 1941, public schools were built in the early decades of the twentieth century. Children of all denominations could attend. However, by this time, the majority of Syria’s Jews began emigrating, and the importance of education was not imprinted in the norms of the Syrian Sephardic community once they were settled in America. For the very few young men who sought a secular education either for professional purposes or for academia’s sake, their only options were to pursue those goals outside their community’s sphere and settle elsewhere. 

In America, school attendance by first-generation Syrian Jews was mandatory. However, marriages of young brides, boys entering their fathers’ businesses or pursuing independent economic opportunities, and strict adherence to Torah values while shunning secular life limited the opportunities to follow through with a secondary education or college degree. 

Over the last century, as the general finances of the Syrian community increased from peddlers’ salaries and for some, to owners of million dollar corporations, private schools and higher education became options for all the community’s children. As the number of sons outgrew their opportunities to earn a living in family businesses, the Syrian males started to seek employment as professionals in medicine and law. For the academically inclined, these career options have expanded to include areas in banking, accounting, and education.

When the national movements for equal rights and women’s equality began to take root in America, the ideas permeated into the community, resulting in Syrian Jewish women joining the pursuit of a higher education. 

Today, many young members are encouraged by their parents to strive for attendance at Ivy League institutions. On the other hand, there are parents who identify with opinions of some rabbis, wary of the problems associated with leaving the community and integrating into the American life found on college campuses. 

As a teacher, I have heard the opinions of parents, adamantly opposed to their very capable high school student applying to an out-of-town college. In one specific instance, when I mentioned to parents that their child was a contender for an Ivy League acceptance, they were vehemently against the idea of him living on a college campus where Shabbat, prayer attendance, observance of mitzvoth and association with community members would be compromised. 

At first I was surprised and even dismayed by the parents’ refusal to consider sending their child to a highly regarded but non-local college. However, after more than 10 years of watching our community’s children’s increasing attendance to post-high school institutions, I am not certain the parents’ decisions were disadvantageous to the students, at least on a spiritual level. 

As endemic to American culture in general, strong dedication to religious and traditional observance by our community’s youth is waning. To the degree that children’s mindsets become more academic and scientific, their connection to the belief and practices of the traditions weakens. For this reason, it is imperative that Jewish educators focus on strengthening a genuine love for the values of Torah and at the same time, educate these children honestly and rationally.

Business Pursuits

Those in the community who do not pursue a college education are as financially driven as their academic counterparts. Men are motivated to work long and hard hours by the high value the community places on providing for their families, which today includes doing so to extravagant degrees: owning two homes; going away on luxury vacations; hosting highly attended and elaborate celebrations; and having domestic help at home.

As the pursuit of this expensive lifestyle persists and as the community increasingly faces tremendous financial strains to privately educate their children, dual income families are becoming more common for average community members.

Many women with or without a college degree are as ambitious as their husbands. Some have started their own businesses at home, often expanding into retail and wholesale operations to mass market their products and services, such as clothing, specialty foods, party planning, and more. In these cases, the role of the wife has evolved to include earning a salary that in some instances, may be competitive with or greater than that of her husband.

Her professional aspirations notwithstanding, the Syrian Jewish wife remains primarily dedicated to her family’s religious and personal needs, holiday and Shabbat preparations, and community outreach.

Socialization

Arguably one of the most defining characteristics of the Syrian Sephardic Jew has been dedication to its community, to the exclusion of all others, Jews and non-Jews alike. The separation of Damascene, Shamie, and Aleppan, Halabi, Jews led to separate schools, synagogues, and marriages in Syria and in the first century of immigrants in America. However, after a short time, second-generation Syrian immigrants, though aware of their different origins, mingled and married. Today, among all American Syrian Jews, there are few if any qualms about marrying people with different ancestral countries of origin.

Moreover, the greater Syrian Jewish community has begun to embrace their Ashkenazic brethren and progressively more of these diverse unions are taking place. Community rabbis have acknowledged the benefits of diversifying the gene pool and increasing the prospects of marriage for our children. This new approach is a result of the outward looking younger generation who are college educated, less insular, and more open-minded toward different hashkafot, leaving behind the very insular ways practiced by their ancestors less than a century ago. 

Although parents in the Syrian Jewish community may have grown to be more accepting of marriages for their children to people less similar to them, often enormous resources and efforts are spent to ensure their children remain living close to home. Typically, married children will search for homes that are as close to their parents as they can find, and when financially capable, parents will purchase homes as near as possible to keep the family unit intact. If the two sets of parents live far from each other, the synagogue will usually be the deciding factor of where to settle.

Expansion of the Brooklyn Community

In the 1950s, the Syrian Jewish community began spending summers in Bradley Beach at the Jersey shore. Some people bought summer homes, and a few settled there permanently.

In the 1970s, the relaxed atmosphere, more sparsely populated areas, and more spacious homes lured tens of families to buy homes in the Deal area of New Jersey and live there year-round. Synagogues were established, and although Hillel Yeshivah had been founded in 1950, many pioneer children were educated in public schools. 

Over the last 40 years, Syrian families have moved either temporarily or permanently to New Jersey and continue to do so. Young couples today are increasingly considering the move to Jersey to ease the financial burdens facing growing families. Buying or renting there year-round eliminates the summer home expenses, in addition to the much more affordable housing options. Moreover, the Jewish Day Schools in New Jersey are less expensive, as is the suburban lifestyle. By rough estimates, this satellite community has grown to hundreds of families in the winter months and thousands in the summer. 

In the past 10 years, a small number of the community's families have chosen to live in Manhattan for expanded school options, the easier commute to work, and the cosmopolitan lifestyle. The Safra Synagogue and the relatively new Magen David of Manhattan Synagogue are the largest and most frequented Sephardic congregations. Additionally, the Sephardic Academy of Manhattan Preschool was recently founded to serve the academic and traditional specifications of the community’s youngest students.

Views on Israel

When Syrian Jews began emigrating from Aleppo over 100 years ago, some chose Israel as their new home, although this choice was relatively uncommon for Damascene Jews. In the Sephardic community today, one of the most unifying factors is a commitment to the State of Israel and its people. Sadly, some of the community’s Hareidi rabbis, while supporting learning in Israel, do not support the State of Israel. Thankfully, this is not common and not a strongly voiced opinion.

In the 1970s, there were very few mainstream post-high-school students who spent a year abroad studying in Israel, and almost all were males. However, with each subsequent decade, enrollment by Brooklyn’s Syrian Jewish students has steadily increased. In the last 10 years, the community has seen a surge in the number of males and females taking a gap year to study abroad in yeshiva in Israel. While most mainstream students attend for one year, some stay two years, a practice more common for the Hareidi students. Some graduates are choosing to complete their secular college education in Israel, and others are making aliya as singles and as young families.

A surge in support and solidarity for Israel started during the intifadas. Beginning in the 1990s, community trips were organized in which adult males went to Israel to serve in some capacity in the army and to visit soldiers and patients in hospitals. Additionally, vendors were invited to bring their wares to sell at community boutique shows. All the while, community families were increasingly traveling to Israel with their immediate and extended families for bar and bat mitzvah celebrations.

The most impressive expression of fealty to Israel are the cases of young men leaving America to serve in the IDF for two to three years. One such man, when asked why he committed to such a grueling experience, as a lone soldier, and where the language barrier is a tremendous impediment, he replied, “I want to help Israel because I believe this our home; this is where we should be.” 

A female who plans to join the IDF at the end of this year explains, “I can’t keep saying I care without actually doing something. I can’t, in good conscience, treat Israel like just another tourist destination."

Encouraged by the values, educational institutions and synagogues, by recent olim and by continued visits to Israel, the community can expect more of its members to make aliya in the future.

Religious Trends

One of the most radical religious changes in the history of the Syrian Jewish community has been the hareidization of the worldwide Sephardic Jewish community. Why did this proud community abandon its hashkafah? How did the transition to extremism take place? There are some explanations for this phenomenon. 

In the old countries, there were enough hakhamim and yeshivot to teach the children and to train the generations that followed in each community’s unique traditions and halakhot. However, following emigration from their ancestral origins, that was no longer the case. After establishing their private yeshivot in America and other countries to where they migrated, schools had to find teachers who were well-versed in Torah and Hebrew language. When there were not enough educators from their own communities, school leaders looked to the more “religious” communities in Israel and Lakewood to recruit teachers. This was also true for the small number of adults who sought to pursue their religious education in the Ashkenazic learning centers of Lakewood and Baltimore. 

Additionally, Hareidi-trained males needed to find wives who would at least tolerate and at most appreciate their alternate path. This was unlikely in their own Sephardic community and more easily accomplished in the Ashkenazic communities. Imparted with a Hareidi education and non-Sephardic wives, these teachers and rabbis have hareidified traditional Sephardic hashkafah and values, affecting a significant portion of the community. 

This religious evolution is true not only of the Brooklyn community, but of Sephardic communities worldwide. The last half-century has witnessed a shift among groups within Sephardic communities towards an extremist view and practice of religion. 

Many of Brooklyn’s Sephardic Jews are not content with the traditional, more practical approach to observance as taught by the rabbis of the Syrian communities in twentieth-century Brooklyn: Hakham Haim Tawil (b. 1860 d. 1942), Hakham Matloub Abadi (b. 1887, d. 1970), and Hakham Jacob Kassin (b. 1900, d. 1994). Sephardic communities have embraced Hareidi practices, such as full-time learning in kollel, women using wigs for hair covering instead of the traditional snood, and males donning black hats, white shirts, and black pants suits. Although the majority populations of the Sephardic communities worldwide are not living a Hareidi lifestyle, some view that way of life as the religious ideal. 

In some cases, community families are no longer compatible as Hareidi rabbis impose greater stringencies and practices, such as dietary restrictions and Shabbat and fast observances, precluding their congregants from eating in other family members’ homes, parents included. Despite intelligent arguments against the relatively new stringencies and their violation of the spirit of Torah—and in many cases, actual halakha—extremist followers retort with the insistence that their rabbi’s word is final, after which the discussion is terminated and attempts to reconnect with family members collapse. 

On the other hand, there are numbers of Syrian rabbis and their congregants who are committed to a relevant approach to Orthodox observance. They call themselves Modern Orthodox and are often more comfortable socializing with like-minded Ashkenazic Jews than with their Hareidi and intolerant Sephardic relatives. 

Opposition to Outside Influences

Throughout Jewish history, financial, academic, and professional sacrifices have been made to protect and prevent the individual from leaving his/her community. In the Syrian Jewish community of Brooklyn, no action underscores this point more than the 1935 Proclamation on Converts issued by Chief Rabbi Jacob Kassin and signed by four other prominent rabbis of Brooklyn’s Syrian Jewish community, including the head of the Bet Din, Rabbi Haim Tawil. The proclamation states,

… no male or female member of our community has the right to intermarry with non- Jews; this law covers conversions, which we consider to be fictitious and valueless. We further decree that no future rabbinic court of the community should have the right or authority to convert male or female non-Jews who seek to marry into our community.

Rabbi Jacob Kassin clarified this statement in 1946 and in 1972. It was reaffirmed in 1984.

The wording of the proclamation, conversations with the signatories, and the historical backdrop of its institution indicate that the letter was intended to prevent conversions for the purpose of marriages taking place after the proclamation. This point is more clearly defined in The Subsequent Clarification of the Original Confirmation issued in 1946, which states, “Our community will never accept any converts, male or female, for marriage. The rabbi will not perform any religious ceremonies for such couples, i.e., marriages, circumcisions, bar mitzvahs, etc.”

The Subsequent Clarification states that the ban was issued against conversions for marriage, and ceremonies will not be performed for couples of those unions. The statement does not mention a ban on conversions li’shma, for their own sake. Additionally, Rabbi Zevulun Lieberman wrote in 1988, “Our ban …does not apply to descendants of people who underwent a legitimate conversion prior to 1935.”

A community rabbi who was a disciple and colleague of Rabbi Jacob Kassin stated that Rabbi Kassin approved of and even performed marriages for those he considered sincere converts, such as children of converts raised as Jews and who had “come under the wings of the Shekhinah.” 

Despite these factors, today the practice of the Syrian community in Brooklyn is a complete ban on acceptance of any converts, even descendants of those whose children were married by Rabbi Jacob Kassin.

At times, this practice and extension of the proclamation seem excessive and have resulted in the alienation of sincere Jews, who all of their lives observed the mitzvoth and considered themselves part of the community. When it came time to date, these individuals were rebuffed by prospects and considered unacceptable. Sadly, these shunned members left the community, and most married non-Jews.

There remain a few third- and fourth-generation converts living in the community. As this article is being written, there is a young couple being denied a marriage performed and accepted by the majority of the community’s rabbinical authorities, despite the fact that Rabbi Jacob Kassin approved of the marriage of the grandparents, one of whom was the child of a convert who became Jewish prior to 1935.  

Many of the community’s members are troubled by the tensions and obvious discrimination of the proclamation; however, it is difficult to argue the efficacy of the decree and the binding power it has over the community’s people regardless of the degree of religious observance. As Rabbi Lieberman wrote, “The current situation in America regarding conversions, whereby most gerut is done for the purpose of marriage, represents a sham and travesty of the Jewish tradition. But the Sephardic community's approach is proof of the power of a kehilla to protect its heritage and traditions.”

With the rate of Jewish assimilation in America at 50 percent and many Jews unaffiliated with the religion or its practices, there are enough legitimate arguments to prevent any community-wide amendments to the proclamation, especially with the varying hashkafot of the Syrian Jewish community.

Conclusion

The Syrian Jewish community of Brooklyn is most unique, with a strong identity and pride in its values, traditions, and observances. As the community increases in size, educational pursuits, and places of residence, its characteristics become subject to outside influences, which affect the behaviors of its members. Over time, these forces have tugged at the tethers that restrain the community and keep it close-knit and uniform in its practices. One’s tendency may be to think back longingly on the simple life of simple people who lived less complicated lives. However, we must appreciate the successes of the Syrian community: the establishment and growth of businesses; the founding of worldwide communities; many educational institutions and community outreach organizations; and the power that has resulted from these achievements. 

With these accomplishments, we have much to look forward to as we broaden our commitments to Torah values and bringing about tikun olam beyond our borders. 

May it be His will and let us say, Amen.

The camera pans across golden fields of plump wheat stalks so abundant they dwarf Michael Landon, in the guise of Charles Ingalls, American farmer extraordinaire. As Mr. Ingalls surveys the abundance before him, he reaches out to pluck a single robust stalk, spilling the wheat grains onto his open palm. Closing his fist over the treasure, he turns his eyes heavenward. "Thank you, Lord," he says plainly.

Those familiar with Little House on the Prairie, the television drama based on the historical account of a pioneer family's life in the late 1800s American West, know how rare it is for Mr. Ingalls to experience such a moment of hodu l'Hashem ki tov, thanks to God for the goodness in front of him. The life of the Ingalls family as pioneers on the American prairie was not filled with many moments of bountiful good. The television Ingalls notoriously faced hardship of every natural, financial, and social dimension in their small town of Walnut Grove, and although they gave thanks each morning and evening before meals, bounty such as this rarely came their way for long. In fact, in just a matter of moments would follow a hail storm that would wipe out this glorious crop, on the verge of its cash-out.

But let us linger for a moment with Charles in the midst of his golden plenty. Take in the way in which he so prosaically lifts his eyes to the heavens as though addressing a familiar friend, offering his thanks in a manner that is so rare and so moving in its simplicity. What we know from this scene is that Charles Ingalls walks with God. That is, he carries an awareness of his creator with him so closely, at all times, so that when events transpire in his life he is quickly able to put them in perspective vis-a-vis God, the source of all.

This is true for Mr. Ingalls, whether come good or bad. Some episodes after this harvest comes the most joyful birth of Charles' son, the first after three daughters, followed by the child's desperate failure to thrive and imminent demise, as his parents and doctors stand by helpless. When the child does slip away, Charles' immediate response is to embrace his wife and begin to recite: "The Lord is my shepherd, I shall not want," while blinking back tears. Instinctively, he extols God or leans on Him in times of duress, talks with him as though he were by his side at any moment.

I feel grateful to have grown up with Little House running in prime time. By the grace of cable television, I also have the satisfaction of introducing my own children to it and thus offering them a visual of what walking with God might look like. Family and friends who know of my intimate knowledge of this series joke that I hold as guides Torat Moshe, Moshe's teaching, the Torah, and Torat Little House, the teaching of Little House. As a mother and school counselor, I believe the show to be of outstanding quality in the sensitive and accurate treatment of social ills and the child's worldview, but also because at the base of it all lies Charles and Caroline's clearly held values of trust in and awareness of God, honest work, and standing for what is right. Perhaps to me, these values are the commonalities between my two "teachings."

***

The Torah tells of righteous figures, such as Noah and Abraham, who "walked with God." What could that look or feel like? Would it mean to have Him near at all times, whether good or bad, prosaic or exquisite?

We call the traditional precepts of Torah lived in practical life, halakha, the path. Do we think about walking with God as we follow traditional Jewish mores?

In order to walk—or live—with awareness of God, one first must be able to cultivate what is trendily called mindfulness, or awareness of one's self and surroundings. Such mindfulness requires sensitivity, honesty, and calm of spirit that may not come naturally, particularly in our frenzied first-world lives, but can be cultivated. In counseling terms, mindfulness is often proffered as a counterbalance to stress, whose byproducts can be chaos, anxiety, or neurosis. By calming the mind and cultivating an awareness of what is happening in one's body and mind, one will be able to slow and bring some order to the chaos or neurosis, as well as promote an outlook that emphasizes "glass half-full" rather than half-empty.

Reverence assumes the ability to be still—for without calm and a measure of emptiness one cannot be filled with awe—and must incorporate a measure of gratitude, for one cannot give honor while in the same moment complaining about one's condition. Our sages considered the state of gratitude to lead to reverence; for this reason, we are called Yehudim, named for Jacob's son Yehuda, the root of whose name means "to give thanks." As the Psalmist wrote, and many Jews recite daily, Tov l'hodot l'Hashem, it is good to give thanks to Hashem. A Jew's state in the world is to represent the energy of giving thanks, hoda'a, for when one appreciates what one has, one grows in reverence to the source of the gifts.

Over 25 years ago, it was a guide on a teen tour to Israel who first left me questioning whether Jews might be uniquely challenged by reverence. Our sabra guide led us on a hike through a pristine nature preserve, and then had us take a seat by the side of a stream. He asked us to listen silently to the water, the sounds of the birds, the air whistling in the rushes. To be mindful, in other words. Inevitably, one teenager fell prey to the temptation to fill the momentary quiet by cracking a joke and someone else had a rebound. The tour guide threw up his hands and said, "You see? You can't get a Jew to shut up for more than ten seconds!"

It may be the case that many teenagers would be challenged by sitting silently at the edge of a stream. But as I grew older and more aware of cultural differences (and the Jewish predilection for self-expression in particular), I better understood what the guide may have been getting at. I paid closer attention to the very detailed biblical descriptions of our people wandering in the wilderness of Sinai. "Stiff-necked," obstinate, complaining about the lack of cucumbers and leeks after being redeemed from bondage by the very hand of God: the visceral recounting in Exodus is stark. Sadly, this very pointed national characterization of our people closes thousands of years in a heartbeat to a quotation from a Nazi general I once read: "You Jews, you complain about the shoe that has gone missing...what you don't recognize is that you are about to lose both your legs."

To our credit, it may be that our many injunctions to stand up for the oppressed and pursue justice have cultivated a national character that favors action and expression. We are even commanded to speak out if we see our peer involved in a wrong—something I took for granted, until I began working and living more closely with other cultural groups, some of whom may tend toward the reticent, frown upon opinions, or see minding someone else's business as meddling. Traditional Jewish ways of being may naturally lend themselves better to righteous chutzpah than to meditative calm.

***

As a school counselor for more than 15 years, I have mainly worked in the most challenging of public schools (by this I mean the schools where resources and family agency are scarce, poverty is commonplace, and high school graduation is pay dirt). When I came to work at one particular elementary school in Harlem, I was in my early 30s and a typical New York Jew: somewhat skeptical, prizing intellect, and Jewishly observant, apart from this. I began to notice that many of my colleagues drew upon their faith to retain a hopeful outlook in the dire circumstances in which we toiled—and sometimes, to get through the day. They began each morning by holding hands in a circle and having one of them lead them in a prayer for strength and guidance.

At first, I was taken aback. I questioned the appropriateness of bringing religion into a public institution. Soon I reasoned that no students were present, so perhaps it was fine. I found, upon reflection, that it was the ease with which these women incorporated God into their daily life that was disconcerting. Gradually, I came to realize that my colleagues were authentic people who were drawing on their trust in divine providence to get them through the trials of each challenging day of our work. They were walking with God. What's more, they were not some stereotype of a church lady, spouting platitudes about grace or laying judgment, but women who chose to labor authentically in one of the most challenging environments. When faced with grave adversity, the most base conditions and crudest of human behavior, they chose not to isolate, or sink and respond at that level, but to lean on God in order to rise above.

This recognition opened the door for me to see the utility of that morning prayer in bringing God, in a practical and real way, into daily life. The earnest prayer of my colleagues had led me to question what purpose my cynicism served and whether it was compatible with a religio-spiritual way of life.

It was similar with my reaction to "I'm blessed" as a common response to "How are you?" Initially, I thought this quaint, or at times, irrelevant. But slowly, I began to recognize this evidence of the power of language to create reality, much like an affirmation works on one's subconscious. Too, I saw the verbalization as a reminder, amid the temptation to complain, that actually, we are, here in the first world, all blessed. Where I had dismissed the similar tendency of some Jews to answer similarly with a barukh HaShem, bless God, I saw the power of such an utterance to affect one's spiritual standing in that moment.

I am in touch with these colleagues from time to time and one of them in particular has become a close friend. She and I have had many a heart-to-heart about God and the purpose of religion. Once, I shared with her my struggle to find a synagogue in which a palpable sense of reverence was the norm. I asked her if there was any issue surrounding congregants talking during the service at her church. She had to clarify the question, before she could even begin to answer it.

L: You mean talking when they come in to the service?

R: Possibly. Or during. Just sitting there in the pews having a good chat during the service.

L: (Long pause.) Well, if you come in and did the hug and greeting thing before taking your seat I guess that could be considered fellowship, so it might be okay...

R: But what if you sat and kept on talking?

L: (clearly having trouble envisioning what is sadly commonplace on the Modern Orthodox front) Like, when the congregation is praying?

R: (nod)

L: I mean, I might think that person was new to the path and didn't yet know better. Otherwise, I'd have to wonder...why'd they come?

This little exchange left me with a twinge in my chest, as the implicit sense that one would comport oneself reverently in the house of God made me nothing less than jealous. I will spare the reader a litany of synagogues in which talking is the status quo; suffice it to say that I have yet to discover a sanctuary in which there seems to be awareness of the root of that word: sanctus, holy. Let me share only that on one occasion, a Friday night about a decade ago, I was verbally accosted after services on Manhattan's Upper West Side, after I had gently shushed a middle-aged man through the mehitza when his personal conversation turned into a coffee klatch without the hot drinks. Wearing my then-infant son in a snuggly, I was waiting for my husband in the foyer when this man approached me and berated me for quieting him. "Don't you ever tell me to be quiet in shul again!" he said in threatening tone. I haven't been back to that particular shul, but, threats apart, I haven't found it much different wherever I go. The sense of entitlement to do as one pleases in a holy place, in the midst of addressing one's maker, bears out the sense in which reverence holds no quarter in the typical Modern Orthodox sphere.

I believe the absence of reverence in observant Jewish life to be nothing less than a tragedy that is costing the Jewish people in more ways than may be recognized. Without reverence, our customs and mores lose their spiritual core and we revert to a tribe. This leaves us, as a community, with little of substance to offer our young people—to say nothing of our mature members. There is no argument to stay in the tribe for the sake of the tribe alone. In the open marketplace of ideas and spiritual pathways, Judaism without reverence is junk food and we cannot blame our numbers for recognizing this or turning to more sustaining spiritual fare. For, as the sardonic wit of one synagogue posting goes, "If you come here to talk, where do you go to daven?"

I would challenge us to ask ourselves: Is a synagogue a social club or a spiritual home? Is Jewish education for teaching content and behavior—now bend here, now say this—or for imbuing children with the sense that we go in the presence of the Almighty, that He has gifted us the rule book to best play this game of life and tasked us with a life's mission? Are we walking a path through life, like our forefathers, like Charles and Caroline Ingalls, with God at our sides, or are we showing up at shul out of a sense of duty to parents or community? And if the latter, is that enough to sustain us?

No man is an island, entire of itself;

every man is a piece of the continent,

a part of the main;

…any man’s death diminishes me,

because I am involved in mankind;

and therefore never send to know

for whom the bell tolls;

it tolls for thee.

John Donne (1572-1631)

Judaism and a Social Justice Ethic

Yamin Levy

Torah proclaims that every person is created in God’s image and therefore human life is not only of supreme value but human existence in endowed with divine responsibility. As partners with God and stewards of the world’s resources it is mankind’s duty to see that God’s bounty and God’s compassion is enjoyed by all who walk the face of the earth. The Midrash[1] understands Imatio Dei  as a call for justice, mercy and compassion. Maimonides[2] reiterates this mandate as the ultimate goal in human perfection per the prophets Yirmiyau’s words:

Thus says the Lord: Let not the wise person take pride in his wisdom; neither let the mighty person take pride in his might; let not the rich person take pride in his riches; but let him that takes pride, take pride in this: That he understands and knows Me, that I am the Lord who exercises mercy, justice, and righteousness on the earth; for in these things I delight, says the Lord; (Jeremiah 9:22-23)

I present these values in universal terms because that is the way Hazal understood our responsibility in relationship to the world.

The Midrash Yalkut Shimoni 1:13 states:

 “God formed Adam out of dust from all over the world – yellow clay, white sand, black loam, and red soil. Therefore no one can declare to any people that they do not belong since this soil is not their home”.

It is our obligation as citizens of the world and as Jews to eradicate hunger, pursue peace, and seek out justice. Everything about Judaism screams out involvement, non-conformity and resistance against oppression and injustice.

So when I was recently accosted by a well meaning member, of a community I was invited to, who waving a newspaper clipping about some young men at YCT who went to Ghana to build water and sewage systems for impoverished communities I was quite surprised. “Don’t we have enough of our own problems that we need to worry about their problems?” he barked. “Let them (the non-Jewish world) deal with their own problems our boys should worry about Torah, anti-Semitism and Israel”. “Everything else belongs to the world of the non-Jew”! I responded impatiently with: “Zeh Toldot HaAdam”, the Biblical clause ‘this is the generations of humanity’, which was referred to By Ben Azzai (a student of Rabbi Akiva) as a fundamental principle of Judaism. According to Be Azzai all of humanity must be considered as brothers and sisters. “It seems like my world” I responded “and the world of these young men is much larger than your world”.

I often marvel at how little religion and Judaism in particular asks of us living in the modern world. Judaism offers consolation, guidance, community but where is the courage to challenge and break the idols of today’s culture and shatter the callousness of our daily comforts. Living a religious existence has achieved a degree of social respectability that involves neither risk nor strain. 

When Emunah is replaced by creed, Avodah by discipline, Ahavah by habit, when the collective memory of our people’s glorious past trumps today’s crisis, when Judaism becomes an heirloom rather than a living fountain or when we permit the only Jewish voice heard is the one of authority rather than the voice of compassion, its message, God forbid, becomes meaningless.

Judaism is much more than a mood or a feeling. The Torah answers the timeless question: What does God ask of me? Unfortunately the question that is more often heard goes as follows: what can I expect from God? What will I get out of a religious life? As opposed to what will life get out of me?

Hazal consistently emphasize human obligations over human rights. The purpose of our religious tradition is to keep alive the voice that calls out and says: “I understand the demand and here I am”.

The Judaism our prophets expected of us was not a religion that sought the satisfaction of personal needs. To define religious life in such terms is to make of it a refined sort of magic. The thunderous theophany at Sinai did not proclaim the Ten Commandments in order to satisfy ones personal needs!

The task is to convert the divine commandment into human concern. The prophets of Israel, the great teachers of old, the individuals who have achieved the highest levels of spiritual consciousness devoted their orations and writing to the plight of the widow, orphan and stranger. Instead of affording us treaties on metaphysics or discourses on the sublime they dealt with the corruption of judges and affairs of the market place employing the most excessive language to make their point. For the prophet of Israel what appears to be a minor, commonplace sort of injustice assumes cosmic proportions:

Be appalled, O heavens, at this,

Be shocked, be utterly desolate, says the Lord.

For My people have committed two evils:

They have forsaken Me,

The fountain of living waters

And hewed out cisterns for themselves,

Broken cisterns

That can hold no water.

                        Jeremiah 2:12-13

Prophecy is the voice of God when the silent agony of the plundered poor cannot be heard. God rages through the prophet’s words.

The prophet had little tolerance for those to whom God was simply spiritual bliss, comfort or a security blanket. The God of the prophets was the voice of incessant demand for compassion and justice. Tranquility was unknown to the soul of the prophet. The pain of the weak was his /her own – the suffering of the world gave him/ her no rest. In the Maimonidean economy of ideas the ladder in Jacob’s dream was a metaphor for the Prophet’s life work. In his dream, Jacob noted that angels ascended and then descended the ladder that reached the heavens. The Prophet of Israel firsts ascends the ladder of intellectual and character achievements for the sole purpose of descending the ladder in order to use his / her teachings to create a just and peaceful society.

Today complacency and conformity have replaced the passionate protest for justice, peace and righteousness that was the seal of the prophet.

Hazal internalized the message of the prophets and mandated active involvement in all  matters facing the community.

Whoever is able to protest against the transgressions of his own family and does not do so is held responsible for the transgressions of his family. Whoever is able to protest against the transgressions of his community and does not do so is held responsible for the transgressions of his community. Whoever is able to protest the transgressions of the entire world and does not do so is held responsible for the transgressions of the entire world ( BT Shabbath 54b)

This is quite an indictment against conformity and parochial concerns. For Hazal Torah is about the struggle to create a better society. Injustice cannot be passively accepted. In fact the Torah in at least four places admonishes “And you shall eradicate the evil from your midst” (Devarim 13:6, 17:7, 21:21, 24:7).Even God is challenged to apply the above standard when judging the pious:

“R. Acha ben Chanina said: Never did a favorable decree go forth from the mouth of the Lord which He withdrew and changed into an unfavorable judgment, except the following:

‘And the Lord said to His angel: Go through the city of Jerusalem and put a mark upon the foreheads of the men who sigh and groan over all the abominations that are committed’ (Ezekiel 9:4)

At that moment, the prosecutor came forward in the heavenly court and said to the Lord: How are these (marked men) different from the others? Whereas God responded: these are wholly righteous men, while those are wholly wicked men. But Lord, argued the prosecutor they had the power to protest and did not? God responded and said: Had they protested they would not have succeeded. The Prosecutor countered: but Lord, if it was revealed to You, was it revealed to them? Accordingly they should have protested and incurred scorn for the holy Name, and have been ready to suffer blows … as the prophets of Israel suffered. God revoked his original order, and the righteous were found guilty because of the failure to protest” ( BT Shabbath 55a)

Righteousness is defined by non-conformity. Torah mandates we protest against injustice and effect change even when successful implementation appears very difficult[3].

From its inception Judaism has been a voice of protest against the evils of greed, injustice and the misuse of power. The Midrash described Avraham as a child challenging the belief system of his times by smashing the idols of his father and thus establishing the precedent that a Jew should not conform to a societies values when they are evil. Later in his life he challenged non-other than God by exclaiming: “Shall not the judge of all the earth do justly? (Genesis 18:25) Noach in contrast was later rebuked by Hazal for failing to criticize the immorality of the society around him.

The book of Exodus begins with three stories of protest against injustice. Shifra and Puah take on the Egyptian empire by refusing to kill innocent babies, Moshe Rabbeinu while living in Pharaoh’s court goes out to his people and rushes to defend a slave against an Egyptian aggressor. The third story also takes place before Moshe is chosen by God to the lead the people. Being forced to flee from Egypt Moshe comes to the aid of a shepherd’s daughters who were being harassed.  All the books of Tanakh are filled with stories, metaphors and injunctions against passivity in the face of injustice.

Hermann Cohen the 20^th century German Jewish philosopher found significant meaning in the fact that the Torah states no less than 36 times not to mistreat the stranger:

The alien was protected, although he was not a member of one’s family, clan, religious community or perhaps people; simply because he was a human being. In the alien, therefore, man discovered the idea of humanity.[4]

Our world today faces countless critical issues such as vast poverty, the threat to our eco-system, widespread hunger, dwindling resources, war, violence, human slave trafficking, and rapid population growth. There has not been enough of an effort in the modern orthodox community to apply the Jewish values of compassion and justice to the many critical problems that threaten the world today. It is our community that is positioned to be the champions of social justice, the eternal voice of protest against corruption. 

 In his magnum opus, Ha’amek Davar, Rabbi
Naftali Tzvi Berlin, (also called 
Netziv, 1817-93), the last leader of the illustrious  yeshiva of Volozhin, Russia, asks why the
first book of the Torah, Bereshith  is
also called: Sefer Hayashar, “the book of those who are upright”. In his own
unusual way, Netziv responds that this is due to the fact that the three
patriarchs, Avraham, Yitzhak and Yaacov, the main figures in this book, were
men of uncompromising straightforwardness, justice and mercy.

 While there are many people who are
perhaps righteous and even pious, the “Avoth” were even greater: Their concern
for their fellow men, even those who were immoral idolaters, was almost
unlimited. Avraham challenged and even bargained with God not to destroy the
people of Sodom who had fallen to
the lowest possible level of moral behavior. Although by the law of God they
were liable to lose their lives, still Avraham did not let up and kept pleading
with God to save them. (Bereshith, chapters 18-19). Yitzhak showed tremendous
patience with his depraved opponents who did everything to make his life
miserable but in the end he did even more to appease them than what they had
even asked for (Ibid. chapter 26). Yaacov went out of his way not to hurt and
even to please his father in law Laban, who had broken all the rules of decent
behavior toward his son in law and had exploited him in ways which not even the
pious would be able to bear (Ibid. chapters 29-31).

This, says the Netziv, is the great
trademark of the patriarchs, and as a result the book of Bereshith is also
called Sefer Hayashar. True Judaism is not the kind of tradition which asks its
followers to turn the other cheek, but it does demand concern for even the most
foul among men as long as this does not lead to disastrous consequences. This,
says Netziv, is because we have to realize that without such compassion mankind
will not survive.

When contemplating the terrible disaster
which struck China,
and some years ago South East Asia, and the number of
people killed and wounded as well as the millions of people left homeless, one
is reminded of the words of Rabbi Naftali Tzvi Berlin:
The obligation of Jews to shower infinite mercy on the world. This is also
borne out by the fact that God  commands
Avraham  to be “a father to all the
nations” (Ibid. 17:4) which means nothing less than being a man who shows great
compassion for God’s creations and to be the one to whom the nations can always
turn for spiritual if not for physical help. And just like Avraham is asked to
be a “father to the nations” so are all Jews.  

 The State of Israel has gone out of its
way to help victims of the tsumani and earthquake catastrophes. Besides sending
rescue workers, doctors and nurses, money and food, it has asked its citizens
to help financially and to do anything in their power to help out. Israelis have
responded in unprecedented ways. In fact Israel’s
aid to tsunami victims is the highest per capita donation of any country in the
world. This is even more remarkable taking into account what Israeli Jews have
been through in the last years. Whatever our own tragedies, we will not forget
the world at large, although a good part of the world seems to forget us--
including those who now are in need of our help.

What is missing, however, is a massive and
nationwide religious response. 
As a nation which is committed to the commandment to sanctify God’s
name, the religious establishment, including the Chief Rabbinate, heads of
Yeshivoth and other religious Institutions are obligated to call on their
people to pray for  all those who are
still missing, who have lost  their homes
and material possessions  as well as for
the sick and the poor.

Synagogues should add special prayers to
the daily service. Yeshivoth should organize special study sessions dedicated
to all those who are suffering, and their leaders should invoke feelings of
deep compassion through their sermons and mussar (ethics) sessions. A public
fast day should be seriously considered, and calls for an increase in our moral
and religious obligations should be heard around the country and in Jewish
communities around the world.   When Rabbi
Israel Meir Hacohen learned of the devastating earthquake that rocked Japan
in September 1923, killing many thousands of people, he took upon himself a
private fast day and called on others likewise to engage in prayer and
repentance.

Statements of sympathy should be published,
and above all large prayer gatherings should be organized throughout the land
and in communities worldwide.  This is
the minimum obligation of the religious community.

After all, what happened was not just a
local event but a global disaster which will live on for many more years. In
many ways it has already transformed our basic notions concerning our lives.
For one, our conviction that we are secure in our homes and that nature is a
reliable companion has been utterly shattered. There is no way we can be
assured that we will still be alive in the next five minutes. A veil has been
ripped away and we stand bare in front of ourselves. Ultimately our emunah,
faith, has been challenged but also enhanced. From now on, we are aware that we
live by Divine mercy only. As such, we are able to re-discover why many of us
have decided to opt for a religious life. Religion, after all, is the art of
living in wonder. It is a call to protest against taking things for granted.

The fact that parts of  the world community have shown unprecedented
concern for the well being of the victims is even more reason that world Jewry
and even more so religious Jewry, should stand up. That this has not yet
(fully) happened is disappointing and we call on all those in power to turn the
tide.

Religious Jewry cannot permit itself to
make the slightest impression of indifference even when it concerns those who
have little in common with us and are no lovers of Israel.
Religious Jews should be at the forefront of humanitarian concern  notwithstanding the attitudes of the people
who are in need of our help.  Just as Avraham
could have turned his back on the upcoming disaster in Sodom
but did not do so, so religious Jewry should demonstrate its religious duty to
help and show compassion in every way possible. To do anything else is contrary
to Jewish authentic teachings.

Jewish religious leaders should send a message
to all of the people of Israel
and not less to all of mankind, that the time has come to realize that the
world is a different place than we imagine it to be. While there are moral and
religious values which are worth fighting for, we often focus on our physical
pleasures, our need for honor and often extreme comfort, our hates and loves,
that are not worth the time and energy that we spend on them. In our
vulnerability, we mature and become aware of what is important and what is not.
To make ourselves and others aware of this is also our task as “a father to the
nations”.

Instead of trying to discover textual
hints for these disasters in biblical or kabbalistic texts, (which mostly is
fanciful speculation and wishful thinking), religious Jewry should act with
great responsibility and show that we have not forgotten their duty toward all
of mankind. This would increase respect for the Jewish Tradition throughout the
world, and no greater sanctification of God’s name could be achieved.

We have not yet fully understood our
responsibility in this matter. We are still too much stuck in the sandbank in
which we have maneuvered ourselves. This is not only true about hareidi
Orthodoxy but also about modern Orthodoxy. It is time that in an unprecedented
move, our religious leadership should lead the ship of the Torah and its moral
teachings into the center of the world community. What is needed is a moral
religious uproar which will shake mankind’s and our own indifference. It is the
task of the Jewish people and its religious leadership together to join with
others to make this  happen. Only then
can we properly call ourselves the children of Avraham Avinu.  May the Holy One blessed be He have mercy
on all victims and may He bring healing to all human suffering.

The Chief Rabbinate has had a monopoly on many aspects of the religious life of the State of Israel. It controls marriages, divorces and conversions to Judaism; it regulates public kashrut as well as offering kosher supervision to private establishments. It operates a network of rabbinic courts. It has a visible, public platform for teaching the ideas and ideals of Judaism to Israeli society, and for serving as a religious beacon of inspiration to world Jewry.

One would think that after these many years, then, the Chief Rabbinate would be one of the most beloved and revered institutions in Israeli society. The rabbis have had daily opportunity to interact with all Israelis - religious and otherwise - and to show them the beauty of Judaism, the kindness of Torah, the pleasantness of the Orthodox message.

Yet, amazingly and tragically, the Chief Rabbinate seems to be one of the least beloved and revered institutions in Israeli society. It has little or no authority in the haredi community; it generates little or no enthusiasm among religious Zionists; it is of little positive significance to the remainder of Israelis. Although the Chief Rabbinate and its many functionaries include some fine, sincere and wonderful people, the overall image - and reality - of the rabbinate appears to be negative.

IN THE field of kashrut, the supervision of the Chief Rabbinate is disdained by the haredi community, which has set up its own kosher supervision system (the Badatz). Apparently, the Badatz has achieved - in many circles - a higher level of trust for its supervision than has the Chief Rabbinate. Indeed, in all areas of Jewish law the haredi community turns to its own authorities, and not to the Chief Rabbinate.

In the area of marriages, stories are legion of couples, especially non-Orthodox ones, who have had unpleasant experiences with rabbinic functionaries. The growing demand for civil marriage in Israel is an indication of dissatisfaction with the rabbinic marriage bureaucracy.

In the area of divorce, the Chief Rabbinate has been notoriously unsuccessful in addressing the aguna problem, allowing a situation to fester where husbands refuse to grant a divorce unless they are paid off. I myself have been involved in several cases where Israeli rabbis have actually encouraged the husband to demand payment and various other rights before granting a divorce. The Chief Rabbinate finally felt compelled to convene a conference to deal with the issue, but then cancelled it at the last moment - apparently under pressure from haredi elements. It seems increasingly clear that a solution to the aguna problem will not emerge from the Chief Rabbinate, but will have to be found in the civil courts.

IN THE area of conversion, the Chief Rabbinate raises obstacles to prevent non-Jews from entering the Jewish fold. It has adopted a haredi position that conversion is available only to those agreeing to observe Torah and mitzvot in full. This position is a radical break from the Talmud, Rambam (Maimonides) and the Shulhan Aruch; it is capitulating to an extreme haredi position that took root only in the 19th century.

The Chief Rabbinate not only enforces this position for the State of Israel, but has now disqualified the conversions of Orthodox rabbis in the Diaspora unless those rabbis are clearly under the rabbinate's thumb. The Rabbinical Council of America has essentially bowed to the authority of the Chief Rabbinate, since the latter has the power to decide who is Jewish and who is not Jewish in the State of Israel. If the Chief Rabbinate rejects the validity of a conversion - even if performed entirely according to Halacha - the convert and his/her children will face problems if they decide to move to Israel. The Chief Rabbinate seems intent on demonstrating its "power," and on showing that it can be as extreme as the haredim.

How far has this institution moved from the wise, compassionate and loving attitude of the late Sephardi chief rabbi Benzion Uziel (who died in 1953)! Rabbi Uziel well understood that the role of the rabbinate was not to drive people away from Judaism, but to find every possible way of bringing them into the fold for the sake of Jewish families and the Jewish nation.

When Israel was founded, Orthodox Jews placed much hope in the Chief Rabbinate. They truly hoped that it would enhance the Jewish nature of the state and win the hearts of Israel's citizens to a deeper appreciation of the Torah traditions. Regrettably, these hopes have not been fulfilled.

THE CHIEF Rabbinate functions as though it were leading a cult rather than a world religion with a grand, universal message. It adopts extreme haredi positions and attitudes because it seems to view the haredi community as the only constituency that matters. Should the State and people of Israel continue to grant power to this sort of chief rabbinate? Shouldn't there, rather, be a complete review of the rabbinate's role and functions, a top-level government commission to evaluate its successes and failures, to recommend changes in policies and procedures, to overhaul the rabbinic bureaucracy, to clarify the rabbinate's mission - its responsibilities as well as its limitations?

Establishing such a commission will surely engender fierce opposition and political infighting. Yet unless an impartial panel carries out a serious evaluation of the Chief Rabbinate and makes necessary recommendations, the damage to the State of Israel, to Judaism and to the Jewish people will be immense.

All Israelis and all Jews have a stake in an honest, compassionate, competent and courageous Chief Rabbinate, one that serves as a unifying force. The sooner the rabbinate is reconstituted, the sooner will we be able to say with a full heart: "For out of Zion comes forth the Torah, and the word of God from Jerusalem."

My passion for interreligious engagement1 is due in no
small measure to my family’s journeys. I am the grandson
of immigrants who fled persecution in Eastern Europe
and settled in Chicago. Their contacts with Christian neighbors were limited
and not especially positive. As youngsters growing up in Chicago, my
parents learned firsthand about anti-Semitism and the dangers of taking
shortcuts through unfriendly neighborhoods.
I grew up in a middle-class Chicago suburb with both Christian and
Jewish friends. I was thrilled when my high school Spanish teacher invited
me to join 15 students and teachers on a trip to Mexico over the winter
vacation. My elation turned to shock and indignation when my
Zeida—a proud shohet and fervently observant Jew—warned my parents
not to let me go, lest I enter a church and betray my faith and my people.
“They will make him a goy,” Zeida admonished my mother.
I was a rebellious teenager aided and abetted by loving parents, who
embodied the religious and cultural melting pot that was America’s holy
grail in the 1960s. I ignored my grandfather’s solemn warning and made
1
three trips to Mexico during my high school years, touring numerous
churches and cathedrals on each visit. Ironically, those trips helped renew
my own Jewish faith, informed my subsequent decision to enter the rabbinate,
and kindled a lifelong interest in interreligious endeavors.
As a teenager, I thought my grandfather’s views were silly and naïve.
Years later, I came to understand that my Zeida embodied his milieu, with
formative years in a Kiev rife with anti-Semitic persecution and adult years
in a racially, ethnically, and religiously divided Chicago. Zeida could not
conceive of a world where Jews and members of other faith communities
join together for interreligious dialogue and engagement. His grandson
lives nearly five decades after the seminal Vatican proclamation Nostra
Aetate opened the doors of interreligious cooperation and commitment.
I am often asked why Jews should expend limited resources in the
quest to forge bonds with other religious communities. We participate in
this work because it is an intrinsic component of our Jewish DNA. In the
celebrated rabbinic debate about what constitutes the greatest Torah
teaching,2 Ben Azzai trumps Rabbi Akiba’s choice of “Love your neighbor
as yourself” (Lev. 19:18) with his own citation, “This is the book of the
generations of Adam; when God created man, He made him in the likeness
of God” (Gen. 5:1). We may find it challenging to love our neighbors,
but we bear a common lineage and a shared mandate to see the divine
image in them. As Rabbi Jonathan Sacks writes:
Every great faith has within it harsh texts which, read literally, can be taken
to endorse narrow particularism, suspicion of strangers and intolerance
toward those who believe differently than we do. Every great faith also has
within it sources that emphasize kinship with the stranger, empathy with
the outsider, and courage that leads people to extend a hand across boundaries
of estrangement and hostility. The choice is ours. Will the generous
texts of our tradition serve as interpretative keys to the rest, or will the
abrasive passages determine our ideas of what we are called to do? . . . I
believe we are being called by God to see in the human other a trace of the
divine Other.3
Interreligious outreach is consistent with our core Jewish values and
ideals. It is not only the righteous course of action; it is the intelligent
course of action. Worldwide, the Jewish population is estimated to be 0.22
percent of the global population.4 Utilizing the core definition of Jewish
identity in the Pew Research Center’s 2013 Survey of U.S. Jews, Jews con-
2
Conversations
stitute 2.2 percent of the adult U.S. population.5 In my own city, the large
and vibrant Jewish community represents 4 percent of the population of
metropolitan Los Angeles.
One need only do the math of the demographic equations to recognize
the import of interfaith engagement. Since its founding in 1906, the
American Jewish Committee (AJC) has placed special emphasis on
advancing interreligious and intergroup relations in America and across
the globe. AJC leaders understand that the well-being of the Jewish community
is tied to that of other faith groups. Whether our interfaith outreach
is prompted by enlightened self-interest, altruism, or both factors,
we serve the Jewish people well when we engage our neighbors in discourse,
education, and advocacy.
Today we find a seemingly endless array of programs and projects in
the interreligious arena. Prof. Sheryl Kujawa-Holbrook of Claremont
School of Theology identifies four models of interreligious encounter,
which she calls dialogues of life, action, spiritual experience, and understanding.
6 Interfaith programs include bilateral (e.g., Catholic-Jewish) and
multilateral (e.g., Christian-Jewish-Muslim) conversations, joint religious
celebrations and worship services, text study, social action projects, pulpit
exchanges, seminars and conferences for clergy and academics, interfaith
study tours, and many others. These experiences share one or both of two
goals—to build bridges of respect and understanding of the religious
beliefs and practices of others, and to forge coalitions based on shared values
of democracy, pluralism, and human rights. To that end, I offer three
guidelines to foster meaningful interreligious engagement.
1. We are all children of God, but we do not all share the same
narratives, beliefs, and practices.
We need to dig deeper in interfaith projects and programs. A friendship
circle of well-intentioned people holding hands and singing Kumbaya
does not qualify as a productive interreligious encounter. Planners of
interfaith worship services tend to aim for the lowest common denominator
of each participating faith community, and become boring, pareve
exercises in the process. I much prefer to be an observer at worship services
and rituals of other religious faiths, even as I invite their adherents to
do likewise in the Jewish community. Thoughtful interreligious engage-
3
Mark S. Diamond
ment highlights not only commonalities, but historical, theological, and
textual differences as well.
The year 2015 marks a half-century of sustained and dramatic interfaith
progress in the afterglow of Nostra Aetate and the faithful leadership
of bold pioneers and their heirs in the interreligious arena. When we
engage religious interlocutors, we must never forget the sordid history of
interfaith relations in the first two millennia. In the Christian world, anti-
Semitism, persecution, death, and destruction—often carried out in Jesus’
name—largely marked relations with Jews. Blood libels, accusations of
well poisoning, devil worship, host desecration, and other alleged crimes
inspired pogroms, murder, rape, and the forced conversion of Jews and
Jewish communities. This was the tragic prelude to the systematic murder
of 6 million Jewish men, women, and children at the hands of the Nazis
and their henchmen. Even as we lift up narratives of righteous Gentiles
who demonstrated kindness and compassion in the face of evil, we cannot
allow others to erase or minimize the prevailing interfaith legacy of hatred
and intolerance in word and deed.
2. Interreligious dialogue is enhanced by the participation of individuals
who understand, respect, and love their own faith traditions and
communal institutions.
It is easy to find a sympathetic cleric or adherent who purports to represent
a given faith community and agrees with the public or private agenda
of an interfaith program’s sponsors. Self-proclaimed religious leaders or
those who have left their own faith are ready and willing to fill the bill.
This interfaith “cherry-picking” is at best naïve, and at worse misguided
and dangerous. We recoil when a messianic Jewish “rabbi” is invited to
preach and teach Torah at an ecumenical or interfaith event, or Jews who
call for Israel’s dismantling are invited to speak on behalf of the Jewish
community at church assemblies and interfaith gatherings.
We err when we relegate the interreligious arena to fringe groups and
marginal individuals. We err when we avoid difficult issues, such as proselytization
and the centrality of Israel in Jewish life and thought, in our
interfaith dialogues. Serious interreligious conversation is predicated upon
the active participation of leaders who are faithful to their own norms and
ways. In the Jewish world, this translates into the active participation of a
4
Conversations
broad swath of rabbinic and communal leaders—conservative and progressive;
clergy and laity; Conservative, Orthodox, Reconstructionist, and
Reform. While I respect and appreciate the special halakhic and institutional
challenges faced by Orthodox colleagues in this regard, Jewish
interreligious engagement is diminished when they are not at the table.
The path of interreligious engagement will be strewn with bumps and
barriers.
The historic rapprochement in Catholic-Jewish relations since Nostra
Aetate has seen major obstacles along the way—the establishment of a
Carmelite convent on the grounds of Auschwitz, the beatification of Edith
Stein, the expected sainthood of Pope Pius XII despite his controversial
role in the Holocaust, and Pope Benedict XVI’s reinstatement of Bishop
Richard Williamson, among others. Sustained progress in interfaith relations
will also be marked by setbacks and controversies, as befits all complex,
evolving relationships. The challenge is how to build interreligious
relationships and partnerships that enable participants to overcome
bumps and barriers with wisdom and sekhel.
One valuable lesson for Jews engaged in interreligious work is the
realization that it is not always about us. Faith communities and their
leaders have multiple agendas and reasons for doing what they do. To cite
one example, Jewish relations and concerns are not always first and foremost
on the Vatican’s list of priorities. The Pope does not awaken each
morning wondering what “the Jews” will think of his edicts and actions.
Nor do cardinals, archbishops, bishops, judicatory officials, and clergy of
other religious denominations place our interests at the top of their respective
agendas. We should never refrain from speaking out when the doctrines
and practices of others harm our interests and impair our relations
with them. At the same time, we must do our homework to avoid sweeping
generalizations about their faiths and to gain a better understanding of
the diverse texts, theologies and polities of our interlocutors.
Narratives of communal and individual achievements in the interreligious
arena should motivate us to redouble efforts to build bridges with
other faith communities. In the spring of 2014, the Los Angeles region of
the American Jewish Committee partnered with the Archdiocese of Los
Angeles to sponsor a groundbreaking seminar on Latino-Jewish relations.
5
Mark S. Diamond
“Exploring Bonds, Celebrating Traditions: A Day of Learning and Dialogue
for Rabbis and Latino Priests” brought together 35 Jewish and Latino
Catholic clergy for study and reflection. The Jewish cohort included
Conservative, Orthodox, and Reform congregational rabbis, faculty members
of seminaries and universities, and leaders of communal organizations.
The Latino Catholic cohort included an auxiliary bishop of the
Archdiocese, parish priests, administrators and leaders of Catholic institutions
and social service organizations.
Keynote presenter Rabbi Marc D. Angel shared his experiences growing
up in a proud, vibrant Sephardic Jewish community in Seattle. Rabbi
Angel’s personal narrative and his insights into Sephardic life, Ladino language,
and minority acculturation led to robust roundtable conversations
during the seminar. Rabbis and priests discussed and debated issues of
faith, relations between diaspora communities and their homelands,
immigration reform, and myths and stereotypes about “the other” among
Latinos and Jews, especially anti-Semitic and anti-immigrant views. Rabbi
Angel urged participants to find the delicate balance that connects these
two minority groups and their respective concerns about maintaining traditions
while remaining open to change and progress.
The rabbi-Latino priest seminar elicited positive evaluations from
participants and a call for future collaborative programs. “Exploring
Bonds, Celebrating Traditions” is an example of “top-down” interfaith
engagement spearheaded by two communal partners with a long history
of collaboration. We conclude with an example of a personal relationship
that literally changed the course of history—Karol Wojtyla’s childhood
friendship with a Jewish boy named Jerzy Kluger.7 Their hometown of
Wadowice, Poland was 80 percent Catholic and 20 percent Jewish, and
the Wojtyla and Kluger families fostered and encouraged their sons’ close
friendship.
“Jurek” Kluger and “Lolek” Wotyla remained lifelong friends, and
their relationship strengthened when Kluger settled in Rome and Wojtyla
later became Pope John Paul II. The newly crowned pope granted his first
papal audience to “Jurek” and his family, to the astonishment of assembled
heads of state, cardinals and other dignitaries. Kluger became a confidant
of John Paul II and a trusted emissary in the pope’s efforts to heal Catholic-
Jewish relations, highlighted by the historic establishment of Vatican ties
to the state of Israel in 1994.
6
Conversations
This true story offers vivid testimony to the awesome and unpredictable
power of the relations we nurture with colleagues, friends, neighbors,
and others in our midst. It reminds us that we change hearts and
minds one relationship at a time. In so doing, we have the power to
change the world.
NOTES
1. The author uses the term “interreligious” interchangeably with the term
“interfaith” for the purposes of this article. The latter word is sometimes used
to denote dialogue, study, and engagement between adherents of the three
Abrahamic faiths, while “interreligious” refers to a broader array of faith traditions
and some groups that do not self identify as faith groups per se.
2. Sifra on Leviticus 19:18.
3. Rabbi Jonathan Sacks, The Dignity of Difference: How to Avoid the Clash of
Civilizations (2002: Continuum), pp. 207–208.
4. “Major Religions of the World Ranked by Number of Adherents,”
www.adherents.com.
5. This net figure includes those who say they are Jews by religion and others
who were raised Jewish or have a Jewish parent, and say they have no religion.
If we include those who were raised Jewish or had at least one Jewish
parent but now identity with another religion, and a “Jewish affinity” group
of others who consider themselves Jewish, the percentage rises to 3.8 percent
of the adult U.S. population.
6. Sheryl A. Kujawa-Holbrook, God Beyond Borders: Interreligious Learning
Among Faith Communities (2014: Pickwick Publications), pp. 37–40.
7. For a more comprehensive survey of Jerzy Kluger’s impact on Catholic-
Jewish relations, see his obituary in The New York Times, January 7, 2012.
7

April, 2018

To our members and friends,

We continue to reach thousands of people annually through our National Scholar program, combining classes, teacher trainings, conferences, and publications to promote the core values of our Institute.

            There are several upcoming classes and programs:

On Mondays, April 23, 30, and May 7, from 1:00-2:15 pm: I will give a three-part series at Lamdeinu Teaneck on the Book of Ruth: “Ruth: A Woman of Valor in a Sea of Ambiguity.” Classes are held at Congregation Beth Aaron, 950 Queen Anne Road, Teaneck New Jersey. To register, go to https://www.lamdeinu.org

On Shavuot (May 18-21), I will give six classes at Yeshiva University’s Shavuot program at the Hilton Westchester in Rye Brook, New York. For more information and registration, go to https://www.yu.edu/riets/shavuos.

On June 24-25 (Sunday-Monday), I will give five classes at Yeshivat Chovevei Torah’s annual study days on Bible and Jewish Thought. More information in my next report.

            University Network

We are winding down another very successful year with our University Network. I had the privilege of coordinating the University Network and the Campus Fellowship this year. You can read the latest about our campus fellows and their contributions on our website,

https://www.jewishideas.org/article/campus-fellows-report-april-2018

            Important Review of my work in Tanakh

Rabbi Yaakov Beasley, a prominent Bible Educator who coordinates Tanakh at Yeshivat Lev HaTorah, wrote a review of my work that explores the key values of the integration of tradition and contemporary academic Bible study; the literary-theological approach to Tanakh; and other critical issues at the heart of modern Tanakh education. See his review at https://www.thelehrhaus.com/culture/the-tension-that-is-tanakh/.

            Looking Ahead

We reach many thousands of people each year with our many classes and programs, teacher trainings, Conversations, our website, and our University Network. Looking forward, we will be expanding and streamlining our focus more into teacher trainings through our Sephardic Initiative—where we will work with Jewish Studies teachers to teach a more holistic picture of the Jewish People and their ideas.

We also are developing larger symposia and conferences where we can promote greater conversation and dialogue within our community as we build bridges between people who hold very different religious viewpoints.

Our view is that we always must keep conversations alive, rather than allowing those who dogmatically espouse one or the other side of a debate to shut down dissent or alternative viewpoints from within tradition.

I am personally very excited about these developments and believe we will greatly increase our impact in the Jewish community through these new focused efforts. Stay tuned for upcoming reports!

As always, I am grateful to all our members and supporters, who generously make our work possible and who give so much hope for a better Jewish community of tomorrow.

Rabbi Hayyim Angel

National Scholar

Institute for Jewish Ideas and Ideals

To our members and friends

It has been a sensational year for our Campus Fellows, who have been leading and developing programming for our Institute at universities across the United States and Canada. We thank all of our fellows who have worked so hard to promote our vision on their campuses. Please see below for the latest reports on their programs.

Looking ahead to next year: We currently have Campus Fellows lined up at the following universities:

Columbia, Harvard, University of Maryland, McGill, University of Pennsylvania, Princeton, Queens College, Rutgers, University of Toronto, UCLA, Umass, Yale, and Yeshiva University (several others are still pending but are available at the moment).

If you are an involved Orthodox student on another campus, (or if you know of an Orthodox student on another campus), and might be able to serve as our ambassador, please apply as soon as possible. The opportunities to promote our religious vision on campus are truly meaningful to our fellows and to the students they reach. There is a stipend and small programming budget as well.

Please go to our website (jewishideas.org) and then go to the University Network tab. If they are not yet members of the University Network, they would need to join first, and then apply to be a campus fellow. 

If you have any questions about the fellowship, please feel free to contact me at [email protected].

Thank you,

Rabbi Hayyim Angel

National Scholar, Institute for Jewish Ideas and Ideals

Here are the most recent programs by our fellows:

Sarah Pincus, SUNY Binghamton

I had a program before Pesach that was about different forms of modern slavery. We focused on the poor treatment of domestic farmers. We also discussed practical things that we could do to support programs and products that treat their workers well. 

Yael Jaffe, Brandeis

I have continued running senior mishmars on a weekly basis. I am also working on an interfaith event between the Jewish feminist group I run and the Muslim Students' Association, focused on Jewish and Muslim women's experiences.

Albert Kohn, Columbia

I had a really nice Shabbat dinner with members of the Orthodox community and the Columbia Mormon community (entitled "Shabbat Sh'Mormon") at which we discussed our different religious values and how they fit into the modern world. It was really fantastic as it gave both the Jewish and Mormon attendees a rare chance to try to articulate their values to those with no understanding. 

Ezra Newman, Harvard Law School

This semester we are running a series of group study sessions over lunch which are led by students and professors on a variety of Torah topics. So far this semester we have had two such sessions with two more scheduled. The first one was titled “The Ten Commandments and the #MeToo movement”. The second was titled “Mordechai and Joseph: A Tale of Two Leaders”. The third one is titled “Responsa During the Holocaust”. The fourth topic is TBA.

Eitan Zecher and Tova Rosenthal, University of Maryland

We co-sponsored a chevruta learning event called "understanding righteousness" exploring the concepts of tzedek, tzedaka, and tzadik in Judaism. Participants from the Orthodox and Conservative communities at UMD enjoyed pizza while learning a prepared source sheet with discussion questions and sources, and then heard short thoughts bringing it all together from our JLIC rabbi and campus Rabbi. It was a big success!

Zachary Tankel, McGill University

This semester, we continued to run our TNT (Thursday Night Torah) program very successfully, and held some sessions at different synagogues in the local community, which attracted very good crowds. We also hosted a Shabbaton in downtown Montreal which brought together the downtown and local communities for a wonderful Shabbat.  

This semester, we continued to run our TNT (Thursday Night Torah) program very successfully, and held some sessions at different synagogues in the local community, which attracted very good crowds. Unfortunately, we didn't end up adding any new programs, but we did host a Shabbaton in downtown Montreal which brought together the downtown and local communities for a wonderful Shabbos.  

Bentzion Goldman, New School

This coming semester we have a panel planned in two weeks, featuring some external speakers as well as current Jewish Parsons speakers. We have a Pesach luncheon planned and we plan to hold one if not two New School Shabbat meals again.

Sigal Spitzer, University of Pennsylvania

Program 1: Pre-Pesach Lunch & Learn Series (3 Part) 

The series will consist of varies topics relating to Pesach preparation. One shiur will be given by Rabbi Itamar Rosensweig, who will be speaking about owning stocks or investments in chametz related companies. The other two will be given by our JLIC couple - One about halacha of Pesach preparation and the other about a Yetziat Mitzrayim idea for the seder. 

Program 2: Our community is interested in medical ethics and halachic ramifications of various medical practices. A student at Penn has been extensively studying the topic and will be giving a shiur to a group of 20 students next week. She is focusing on post birth medical conditions and breastfeeding issues. I am very excited for this opportunity to both empower a student from within the community and bring together other students to support.

Ricki Heicklen, Princeton

I have a few different events on the schedule. The first is a shiur on consent and female agency in the gemara and in a really cool midrash which will be on Fridaynight March 9th and the second is an LGBTQ themed Shabbat for which I am bringing in Abby Stein to speak and having a panel of queer Princeton students talk about their own experiences with Judaism and halacha, which is scheduled for Shabbat April 20-21. 

Devora Chait, Queens College

This year, we ran a regular Pop-Up Mishmar and Apartment Parsha. Pop-Up Mishmar is mishmar given and run completely by students for their peers. Two students give a ten-minute mini-shiur at each Pop-Up Mishmar, and we follow the shiurim with reading and discussing an article about a contemporary issue relevant to Judaism. We have run three Pop-up Mishmars this year, and we will be running a fourth at the close of the semester. Apartment Parsha is a text-based discussion event, held at a different student's apartment each week. One student selects a portion of the weekly Parsha or a Torah portion relevant to an upcoming holiday and leads his or her peers in exploring the text. We read through the text, ask questions, and break into groups to learn different interpretations and search for possible answers, at which point we regroup and discuss again.

Raffi Levi and Benjamin Nechmad, Rutgers

We are currently planning our second event which will be a dinner where some students will come together and we can speak about personal experiences with being a part of the Orthodox community in the modern age.

Ari Barbalat, University of Toronto

I did a program on the Book of Judith. It was grounded in the notes on the story found in Me'or Eynayim by R. Azariah de Rossi. We compared and contrasted implications of ideas found in Azariah de Rossi's text with the ideas of Emil Fackenheim on the philosophy of the Holocaust as they present very different understandings of ideal virtue ethics. It was well attended and the discussion was diverse and deep. It was really the best of all the programs I led as far as its reception by the audience, in my perspective. 

The subsequent planned programs are as follows:

A) "Exotic Interpretations of the Book of Habakkuk"

Zeev Schiff's journalistic masterpiece on the Israeli invasion of Lebanon, Israel’s Lebanon War uses as its epigraph the quotation from the Book of Habakkuk: "The violence done to Lebanon will overwhelm you" (Hab. 2:17). In his book, he presents a quotation from Yasser Arafat, leader of the PLO, using that very verse from the Book of Habakkuk as pro-PLO propaganda for the Palestinian cause during the Lebanon War. I intend to bring quotations and passages from various different interpreters and interpretations of the Book of Habakkuk to bring to mind the problem of theodicy raised in the Book of Habakkuk and apply the dilemma of theodicy to complicated and complex aspects of Israel's invasion of Lebanon. I would like to include quotes from Emil Fackenheim's To Mend a Broken World which was published in 1982, concurrent with the Lebanon War, and reflect on how the question of "where is God in mass atrocity" might apply to Israel's "forgotten war". 

B) Philo of Alexandria's Stories of the Pogroms Against the Jews of Egypt

I would like to share texts and passages from the narratives "Flaccus" and "On the Embassy to Gaius" by Philo of Alexandria, both of which deal with the response of Philo himself and the Jewish community of Egypt to massacres and pogroms against them. Intriguingly, like Ezra and Nehemiah, Philo conducts himself as a diplomat and helps bring about a diplomatic resolution of the crisis. In what ways do the virtue ethics of Philo's narratives complement and contradict Biblical virtue ethics? What can Philo's perspective contribute to understanding Jewish ethics of international relations?

C) "Exotic Interpretations of the Book of Job"

I would like to compare and contrast interpretations of the Book of Job as they are found in liberation theology with those found in Midrashic literature. How do classical Jewish commentaries on Job differ in ethical emphasis from those espoused by liberation theology? What similarities and differences are there as to how to understand and relate to other people's genocides?

Asher Naghi, UCLA

We're planning on running a mishmar program this coming Tuesday with Rabbi Yitzchak Etshalom or Rabbi Kaplan on Yom Ha'Atzmaut. 

Daniel Fridman, Yale

I am running a weekly learning program called “pizza and learning.” This takes place every Sunday in which students get together in chavruta pairs to discuss a diverse range of topics of their interest. I have coordinated with our OU-JLIC couple to attend these events and provide support for whoever has questions or comments regarding the text they are studying or to lead group discussions. There has been interest in learning Talmud and a group has developed which is learning Tractate Sanhedrin. We’ve expanded our outreach efforts to include a wide diversity of students with diverse thoughts and opinions and from broader religious backgrounds to get together to study these texts and share their unique views.

Stemming from pizza and learning, we have started a new club called the “Beit Midrash Group” in which students meet weekly to discuss the Parshah and any interesting commentaries related to it as well as to connect lessons from the Parshah to relevant issues (whether they be halakhic questions, or social, moral, or political questions) we face today or interesting philosophic questions.  

We have also organized several guest speakers. On April 15th we will be having Rabbi Yona Reiss from the Chicago Rabbinical Council coming to Yale to speak on the topic “The Role and Relevance of Rabbinical Courts Today.”

Last semester I organized the visit of Dean David Bernstein from the Pardes Institute of Jewish Studies in Jerusalem. He spoke on the topic “May You Live in Interesting Times: Living with Uncertainty From Abraham to Us.”