National Scholar Updates

“Just as a bride is bedecked with twenty-four ornaments,

so too a scholar is bedecked with (knowledge of)

the twenty-four books of the Tanakh” – Rashi, Exodus 31:18.

Rabbi Eliezer ben Hyrkanus warned his students, “hold back your children from ‘’higayon’” (Berakhot 28b). Rashi explains: “’higayon’ is ‘excessive Tanakh study that attracts one too much.’”

At first glance, it appears strange to discover that Rashi—the Bible commentator par excellence—entertained a sense of ambivalence, and possibly hesitancy, regarding Bible study. Yet, perhaps more than any other field in Jewish studies, Tanakh provides the greatest challenges to students and teachers alike.

For hundreds of years, despite being Judaism’s most fundamental text, study of Tanakh has been generally relegated to a secondary role in Jewish curricula. The varying rationales behind this have been explored elsewhere. Fortunately, today there is a renaissance in Tanakh learning in Israel and abroad. It is visible everywhere. New books flow out of the publishing houses, each brimming with original ideas and competing for space on booksellers’ shelves. The Israel Bible Quiz (Hidon ha-Tanakh) regularly draws high ratings on Israeli television. For many, the intellectual climax of their year is the opportunity to crowd Alon Shevut with thousands of other Tanakh lovers for a week every summer to learn from Yeshivat Har Etzion’s top lecturers and thinkers.

However, it is not just in quantity that Tanakh study has changed. With the renewed emphasis has come new methodologies. Some of these are new reiterations of ancient ideas, while others draw heavily on academia, using new analytic methods and applying terms from literary criticism. For this, the revolution has not come without challenges and challengers. As new methodologies developed and progressed, the same old questions that nagged the early commentators have re-arisen, and many have expressed caution (if not outright opposition) about the changes that have overtaken Tanakh study in the past decades.

One of the leading scholars in North America in the vanguard of these changes is Rabbi Hayyim Angel, the National Scholar of the Institute for Jewish Ideas and Ideals. Angel has written or edited over 130 scholarly articles and books (mostly in Tanakh), of which Keys to the Palace is the latest publication.

His latest book collects twenty essays on issues regarding Tanakh study or interpretations of biblical passages, all revolving around the question alluded to in the book’s subtitle, “Exploring the Religious Value of Reading Tanakh.” A close reading of Angel’s bibliography reveals that of his books on Tanakh study, three have subtitles that contain the word “religious” in them (“Religious Value of reading Tanakh,” “Developing a Religious Methodology to Bible Study,” and “Finding the Religious Significance in Tanakh”). This reflects the central theme and focus of Angel’s thinking, and subtly acknowledges the fundamental challenge faced by religious Tanakh scholars today. Tanakh cannot be studied as one would any other discipline. Without an encounter with the Divine, or at least serving a religious purpose, Tanakh study, if not bereft of value, is at least notably incomplete.

The emphasis on the religious aspect of the text come out in both sections of the book—seven essays that analyze the latest trends and approaches that are prevalent in today’s Tanakh study, and then thirteen essays of Angel’s explanations of the Tanakh texts. In the first group, the reader is introduced to the major trends and issues in Tanakh study today. How does one maintain faith in the oral and rabbinic tradition, yet study Tanakh from a historical and literary approach, armed with all of the new discoveries that have been made in Israel in the past half-century?

The discussions regarding the contributions of Rabbis Yoel Bin-Nun and Amnon Bazak are particularly important in this regard. Of the second group of essays, one can divide them into two sub-categories. Some are thematic essays that wrestle with moral and ethical issues raised by the texts, and others are Angel’s original interpretative close readings. Though Angel is familiar and capable of engaging in the didactic and sophisticated modern literary techniques favored by those from the new school of interpretation (emanating from Yeshivat Har Etzion and the Herzog College from Israel), this is not his style. Instead, he is a patient compiler of all opinions and approaches, carefully pointing out the advantages and disadvantages of each, directing the conversation until his viewpoint is revealed.

As an example of this, let’s analyze Angel’s essay on Psalm 19. The Psalm begins by declaring “The heavens recite the glory of God, and the sky tells of the work of His hands” (Verse 2). Halfway through the poem, the Psalm switches subject, and the rest of the chapter proclaims that “The law of the Lord is perfect, restoring the soul; the testimony of the Lord is faithful, making the simple one wise” (Verse 8). The two halves apparently do not belong together. Almost all the commentators, beginning with the medieval commentators and continuing to Angel, attempt to account for relationship between the two sections. Critical scholars almost instinctively argue that the psalm was originally two separate works, which were joined together by later editors. Rashi, for example, provides two answers, with the first suggesting that the goal is to compare nature to Torah (see also Ibn Ezra and the Radak), and a second answer that what the psalm is attempting is to contrast the two.

To appreciate Angel’s methodology, it is instructive to compare his essay with that of Rabbi Elchanan Samet, one of the leading practitioners of the modern approach of Tanakh study in Israel. Samet approaches this psalm scientifically, like a surgeon wielding a scalpel. With a fine ear for literary cues and clues, he meticulously divides the poem into its sections and subsections, noting each of the parallels and the form of parallel used, locating the texts structure—its central axis, around which the opening and conclusion revolve. After a thorough dissection of the Psalm, Samet arrives at his conclusion. This would apparently validate the words of Ibn Ezra that the Psalm’s message is that the “heavens and the Torah are two paths to the knowledge of God and His attributes.” However, comparing the second subsection of each half undoes this conclusion. Unlike the sun which fulfills its Divine purpose with happiness and strength, “like a bridegroom coming out his chamber,” man is fallible and imperfect, requiring him to cry out “Who understands errors? Cleanse me of hidden [sins].”

Angel’s approach to the text is strikingly different. If Samet is a stylistic surgeon, Angel is a musician, identifying larger themes that arise from the discussion. In his essay, after presenting a quick synopsis of Jewish commentary regarding the relationship between nature and Torah in the psalm, Angel draws upon his encyclopedic knowledge of rabbinic texts that address this issue.

He begins with the midrash at Sifrei (Deuteronomy 306), which explicates Samet’s conclusion: “The Holy One, blessed be He, said to Moses: ‘Say to Israel: “Look into the heavens that I created to serve you. Have they perhaps changed their ways?”’ … [Rather, the sun] is happy to do My will, as it is stated: ‘And it is like a bridegroom coming out of his chamber’ (Psalms 19:6).

Surely, there is an a fortiori argument: “If they who do not act for reward nor for loss … then you, who if you merit you receive reward, and if you sin you receive punishment … all the more so you must not change your ways.” After mentioning other approaches in how to divide the Psalm without critique, Angel then deals with the larger philosophic question of the relationship between the study of Torah and appreciating God’s handiwork through nature, quoting Maimonides, Rabbi Norman Lamm, Pirkei Avot, and his father, Rabbi Marc Angel.

Where Angel’s modern sensibilities come to the fore are not in his interpretations of text. There his strength is in his careful gathering and analysis of previous commentators, providing a living example of how to approach a text. His strongest essays, in this reviewer’s opinions, are those that directly deal with the more difficult questions that arise from plain readings of the biblical text. The challenges can be those dealing with the age of the universe and texts which prima facie are difficult for a modern person to accept, at least on a literal level.

Even more revealing are Angel’s treatment of moral questions, whether Jacob’s deception of his blind father Isaac in Genesis 27, misleading him so that he would receive the blessing Isaac wanted to give to Esau, or the theological questions posed by the “Akeidah,” when Abraham bound Isaac as a sacrifice in Genesis 22. For many, the questions cannot even be asked. If our righteous forefathers performed it, they must not be asked. How much more so if God commands something, that it must be moral. Angel notes these views, but then demonstrates the multi-faceted nature of Jewish thought and commentary, providing opposing viewpoints and fulfilling the popular dictum that “where there are two Jews, there are three opinions.” Each of the opinions is evaluated, based on its plausibility from both the theological and literary aspects. But Angel does not limit himself to “kosher” thinkers either. Every voice that has something to add to the discussion is invited to participate. The discussion of the Akeidah includes the views of Immanuel Kant, Maimonides, Yeshayahu Leibowitz, Moshe Halbertal, Soren Kierkegaard, David Shatz, and Shalom Carmy, for starters.

It is this willingness to learn from everyone that makes Angel one of the great Tanakh teachers of our time, and this accessible volume a necessary resource for anyone wishing to understand the Tanakh on a sophisticated level, yet as a book that ultimately strengthen one beliefs.

Sephardic Haskalah

(This is a slightly edited version of Chapter Ten in Rabbi Marc D. Angel’s book, Voices in Exile: A Study in Sephardic Intellectual History, Ktav Publishing House, Hoboken, 1991.)
 

  One manifestation of the confrontation with modernity among the Jews of Europe was known as the Haskalah, or Enlightenment. Proponents of the Haskalah held that Jews should study Judaism and its classic texts in a modern, scientific fashion. They argued for a modernization of education for Jews to include secular subjects. The Haskalah witnessed a rebirth of literary creativity among Jews. Generally, Haskalah figures were critical of the traditional, talmudic/rabbinic structure of Jewish life.

Moses Mendelssohn (1729–1786) was the guiding light of early Haskalah thought. He attempted to harmonize Jewish teachings with modern philosophy. He felt that if Jews presented their religious ideas to the non-Jewish world in a sophisticated manner, the non-Jews would come to respect Judaism and appreciate the Jews. Realizing that increasing numbers of young Jews were seeking and receiving a secular education, Mendelssohn wanted to demonstrate that Judaism could be respectable even to those who studied philosophy and other academic subjects.

            Within the Ashkenazic world, there was considerable controversy between the proponents of Haskalah and the traditionalists who opposed it. The Jews in Europe were facing a serious dilemma: How could they adapt and survive in a Christian society that was giving them more freedom than they had ever had before? When they had been restricted to ghettos and had few civil rights, they had lived according to their traditions and found satisfaction in them. But now that they had been given the possibility of participating in the larger society around them, they had to make critical decisions. Jews who entered the non-Jewish world very often came to abandon their religious heritage. They adopted the customs and ideas of the non-Jews. After all, they wanted to be like the dominant majority, not old-fashioned or identifiably different.

            Traditionalists, seeing how quickly Jews assimilated into the non-Jewish culture, were alarmed that the Jews were so willing to abandon their distinct religious identity. They therefore strenuously resisted any tendency that they felt would weaken the hold of biblical and rabbinic tradition. They saw the Haskalah as a negative force, a direct threat to traditional authority.

            Although the Haskalah movement itself called for modernization rather than assimilation, it did shake the foundations of traditional religious authority. In this sense, it contributed to the tendency of Jews to give up Orthodox beliefs and practices.

            The Haskalah was a phenomenon primarily among Ashkenazic Jews. Nevertheless, it did have an impact on the Sephardic communities of Western Europe. As European cultural influence in Muslim lands increased, Sephardim in Turkey, Egypt, Morocco, and other countries also came into contact with the teachings of the Haskalah.

            The ideology and impact of the Haskalah, however, were generally not the same among Sephardim as among Ashkenazim. For the Ashkenazim, Enlightenment represented a way to enter mainstream European culture in a respectable fashion. In a sense, Haskalah thought was an apologetic for Judaism, an attempt to present it scientifically, universally. It wanted to shake off the non-modern aspects of traditional Judaism. An underlying hope was that enlightened Jews would be able to function successfully in non-Jewish society, accepted as equals.

            The Sephardim of Western Europe, though, already felt relatively comfortable in their non-Jewish milieu. They had a tradition of adaptability. They spoke the languages of the lands in which they lived; some had risen to prominence in various professional fields. Their synagogues were prestigious; their services were elegant and dignified. Western Sephardim maintained their institutions according to their ancient traditions and were not inclined to “modernize.” Haskalah issues were not central to their concerns.

            This was even truer for the vast majority of Sephardim who lived in Muslim lands. They did not feel that the Jewish culture was in any way inferior to the culture of the Muslims among whom they lived. They had no compelling reason to abandon traditional religious patterns as a means of adapting to the non-Jewish society around them. Indeed, they functioned as autonomous communities within the broader Muslim world, and were not motivated to strive for emancipation and legal equality.1

            At the same time, the ideas and tendencies of the Haskalah movement did manifest themselves among Sephardim. From the second half of the nineteenth century, Haskalah ideas filtered into the Sephardic communities in Muslim lands, especially through the efforts of the schools of the Alliance Israelite Universelle—bastions of French culture. The influence of European colonial powers in North Africa and the Middle East was also an important factor in Sephardic intellectual life. The impact of the Haskalah could not be altogether ignored.

Grace Aguilar: Jewish Spirituality

            Grace Aguilar (1816–1847) belonged to the Sephardic community of London. Although her life was cut short by an untimely death, she left a remarkable literary legacy. Aside from a number of novels, she also wrote several works relating to Jewish religious teachings.

            She was concerned that the wave of modernism was undermining the foundations of traditional religious life. Jews were seeking success in the secular world; the bond of religion was weakening. She was particularly aware of the spiritual turmoil among Jewish youth, and she sought to address their religious questions to thereby strengthen their faith.

            Grace Aguilar corresponded with Isaac Leeser, spiritual leader of the Spanish and Portuguese Congregation Mikveh Israel in Philadelphia, and he was of much help to her. Indeed, he edited several of her works for publication, including The Spirit of Judaism. This work reflected Aguilar’s deep concern that Jewish youth were not receiving a proper spiritual education in Judaism. She feared that they would be attracted to Christianity, which was popularly portrayed as a religion of the spirit. In contrast, Judaism was described as a religion of numerous detailed observances. Presented as an elaborate commentary on the first paragraph of the Shema (which she transliterated in the Spanish and Portuguese style as Shemang), the book dealt with a wide range of religious topics, emphasizing the profound spirituality inherent in Judaism.

            Grace Aguilar argued that if Jews understood the true power and beauty of their religion, they would proudly assert their Jewishness instead of trying to conceal it. The repetition of the Shema itself is a source of holy comfort. If recited regularly “we shall go forth, no longer striving to conceal our religion through shame (for it can only be such a base emotion prompting us to conceal it in free and happy England); but strengthened, sanctified by its blessed spirit, we shall feel the soul elevated within us”2

            Aguilar stressed the need for Jews to devote themselves to the study of the Bible, the foundation of Judaism. In so doing, she made some pejorative remarks about “tradition,” apparently referring to the traditional stress on fulfilling the details of the law. (Isaac Leeser, in his notes to the book, took her to task on several occasions for her detraction of “tradition.”)3 However, Aguilar can hardly be accused of being unorthodox and opposed to the observance of mitzvoth. She consistently called for the faithful observance of the commandments in their details:

Instead then of seeking to find excuses for their non-performance, should we not rather glory in the minutest observance which would stamp us as so peculiarly the Lord’s own, and deem it a glorious privilege to be thus marked out not only in feature and in faith, but in our civil and religious code, as the chosen of God?4

            It may be argued that Grace Aguilar’s stress on the Bible and seeming deprecation of “tradition” was her way of trying to appeal to the religious needs of her audience. She perceived her readers as being under the influence of Christian notions of what a religion should be. By asking Jews to read the Bible, she was asking them to do something that was desirable even for Christians, who also venerated the Bible. By emphasizing the spirit of Judaism, she wished to convey to Jews seeking spirituality that they had no need whatsoever to turn to Christianity. But in the process of stressing the Jewish spirit, she found it necessary at times to downplay the details of the laws of Judaism as transmitted by tradition. These details themselves had to be framed within a context of spirituality and not be seen as ends in themselves.5

            In The Jewish Faith: Its Spiritual Consolation, Moral Guidance, and Immortal Hope, completed shortly before her death, Grace Aguilar presented her arguments in the form of a series of letters from a knowledgeable Jewish woman to her beloved young friend, an orphan with little Jewish education. Aguilar felt that this style of presentation would be more interesting for her readers, especially younger readers whom she hoped to influence.

            In the introduction to the book, she emphasized the need to present sophisticated religious educational materials to young people. Youth were easily influenced by outside sources; unless they had a proper understanding of Judaism, they would be tempted to abandon it. Indeed, the orphan to whom the letters in the book were addressed had been considering the possibility of converting to Christianity, believing that Christianity offered more spirituality than Judaism. The author, of course, forcefully refuted this claim; in the end, the orphan did not convert, but rather became a more devoted Jew.

            Grace Aguilar expressed the conviction that it was necessary to provide Jewish education for girls as well as boys. She lamented the fact that the education of Jewish girls had not been given adequate attention. She described her book as “an humble help in supplying the painful want of Anglo-Jewish literature, to elucidate for our female youth the tenets of their own, and so remove all danger from the perusal of abler and better works by spiritual Christians.”6

            Arguing that the new knowledge and ideas brought about by the advances in science did not contradict the truth of the divinely revealed Torah, Aguilar wrote: “So simple, so easy appears to me the union of Revelation and all science, that how any mind can reject the one as contradicting the other is as utterly incomprehensible as it is fearful.”7 Scoffers who scorned the truth of religion were guilty of arrogance; they did not have a proper understanding of religion. Aguilar was obviously troubled by the increase in skepticism among Jews and by their intellectual surrender to the antireligious proponents of modern science and philosophy. If Jews received an enlightened Jewish education, they would hold fast to their own religious traditions.

            Moreover, Jews were not learning the spiritual aspects of Judaism. They were taught laws and customs, but often had no insight into the deeper meanings and ideas of Jewish tradition. Aguilar noted that the Spanish and Portuguese Jews tended to stress the external forms of religious ceremony, giving the impression that these forms were the essence of Judaism. While she recognized the reasons for the emphasis on form, she argued for the necessity of emphasizing the spiritual aspects of Jewish teachings. She warned, however, that people should not abandon religious observance, thinking that spirituality was of higher value. On the contrary, the observances gave expression to the spiritual feelings of love of God. She wrote that

every spiritual Hebrew, instead of disregarding the outward ceremonies, will delight in obeying them for the love he bears his God, welcoming them as immediate instructions from Him, even as a child obeys with joy and gladness the slightest bidding of those he loves.8

            Grace Aguilar was troubled by the phenomenon of Jews who achieved success in general society but in the process moved away from Jewish commitment.

Many, indeed, have lately distinguished themselves in the law, and in the fine arts of the English world; but why will not these gifted spirits do something for Judaism as well as England? There is no need to neglect the interests of the latter, in attending to the need of the former. We want Jewish writers, Jewish books.9

Aguilar was convinced that if the best and most enlightened Jewish minds devoted themselves to presenting Judaism at its best, the non-Jewish world would be duly impressed. Hatred of Jews would diminish as non-Jews came to learn about and respect Judaism and Jews.

            Grace Aguilar’s writings reflected major issues of modernism: the education of women, the need for spirituality, the renewed interest in the Bible, the critique of blind obedience to details of the law without understanding its deeper meanings. They also shed light on the religiosity of her reading audience: relatively unversed in Jewish learning, skeptical about the mitzvoth, susceptible to the spiritual charm of Christianity. (Leeser challenged the latter point, believing that it was very rare for a Jew to convert to Christianity. As he saw the problem, Jews were simply becoming apathetic to their own spiritual heritage.)10 Grace Aguilar’s essential goal was to demonstrate that loyalty to traditional Judaism was not antipathetic to success in the modern world. By studying the classic sources of their religion and maintaining observance of the commandments, Jews would be secure in their own faith and could function more confidently in the general non-Jewish society.
 

Eliyahu Benamozegh: Jewish Ethics
 

            The impact of the Haskalah thought was also evidenced in the writings of Rabbi Eliyahu Benamozegh (1822–1900). Born in Livorno, Italy, to a family of Moroccan Sephardic background, Benamozegh was a major figure in Jewish intellectual life during the nineteenth century. He served as rabbi in Livorno and was a professor of theology in the rabbinical school there. He published works in Hebrew, French, and Italian.

            Rabbi Benamozegh was well steeped in rabbinic learning, including the kabbalah. He also was educated in general academic disciplines; his writings reflect his knowledge of archaeological research, philology, history, Christianity, and philosophy.

            Like Aguilar, R. Benamozegh was concerned with the relationship of the Jews to the larger Christian society in Europe. In his book, In Ethical Paths, he attempted to clarify Jewish teachings on ethics and demonstrate their superiority to the seemingly more spiritual ethics of Christianity. He, too, felt that Jews needed to have a better grounding in the moral teachings of their own religion in order to withstand the influence of Christian society. He argued that it was unfair of Christians to insist that their system of ethics was superior to Jewish ethics. After all, Christianity was based on Judaism, and many of its main teachings were of Jewish origin. Moreover, the Christian claim to have superseded Judaism was not sound. Why would God—who chose Israel and gave them the Torah—suddenly change His mind and establish a new religion to replace Judaism? Since God was omniscient, such a change in plans would seem absurd. But even using Christian logic, there was no reason to believe that Christianity had become the ultimate expression of God’s will. If, as Christians claimed, God had changed His mind once, then what would preclude Him from doing so again, choosing another religion to replace Christianity? In short, Christianity’s argument on this issue was untenable.[i]

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

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

            R. Benamozegh published this work in French, intending it for both Jewish and Christian readers. For the Jews, he hoped this work would strengthen their commitment to their own tradition. For the Christians, he hoped that they would gain a new understanding of Judaism and would come to appreciate it better. He recognized the growing influence of Christianity over the emancipated and enlightened Jews; he offered his book as an anodyne to that influence. As a man of broad Jewish and general culture, he was eminently qualified for the task he had set himself.
 

Rabbi Israel Moshe Hazan

            One of the most influential Sephardic thinkers of the nineteenth century was Rabbi Israel Moshe Hazan (1808–1863).[v] Born in Izmir, Turkey, his family moved to Jerusalem when he was still a small child. He studied there in the yeshiva of his grandfather, Rabbi Yosef Refael Hazan. In 1842 he was appointed to the rabbinical court in Jerusalem, a testimony to his scholarship and stature in the community. In 1844 he traveled as an emissary to London. He subsequently held rabbinic positions in Rome, Corfu, and Alexandria.

            Rabbi Hazan was deeply committed to maintaining Judaism in its traditional form. During his stay in London, he wrote a pamphlet attacking the recently established Reform movement in England. He also joined a group of traditionalists who were opposed to the teachings of Reform.

            Rabbi Hazan argued that the Jewish people should conduct themselves according to their own laws and traditions. They should not abandon their religious and national autonomy by succumbing to the temptations of emancipation and enlightenment. He complained that European Jews tended to polarize, either assimilating readily into non-Jewish culture or fiercely isolating themselves against its influence. He represented the classic Sephardic model—maintaining traditional religious autonomy while at the same time being open to the best teachings of the non-Jewish world.

            In his Nahalah leYisrael, Rabbi Hazan contended that Jews should adhere to their own laws, including the laws of inheritance. The non-Jewish governments did not require Jews to abandon their own legal system; why then should they do so voluntarily? Anyone who studied Jewish history would quickly realize that

from the time of the exile of Judah from his land, [the Jews] followed the laws of the Torah of Moses their teacher! Even when they lived in foreign lands, some here and some there, they sacrificed themselves in order to fulfill all that was written in the book of the Torah.[vi]

This was true when Jews lived among pagans; so much more should it be true when they lived among those who believed in God and in the divinity of the Torah. Indeed, Christianity and Islam had both acknowledged the basic principles of Judaism and the sacred nature of the Jewish Bible. Judaism had taught the world vital social values, love of fellow human beings. The non-Jewish world had not asked Jews to forfeit their autonomous religious life. Therefore, the Jews should certainly maintain their own laws and traditions in all areas, including inheritance, marriage, and divorce.

            Rabbi Hazan expressed rage at those who followed non-Jewish civil laws of inheritance instead of relying on the rules of Judaism. “Those Jews who seek inheritance contrary to the Torah of Moses are adjudged as heretics, Sadducees, uprooters of Torah, notorious thieves. If you investigate them, you will find that they violate other commandments arrogantly.”[vii]

            Calling on his fellow rabbis to fight against those who advocated following the civil law in matters of inheritance, Rabbi Hazan warned that if this section of Jewish law were forfeited, it would only lead to further undermining of the Torah and its legal authority.

Know truly that if at this time we are silent, the laws of inheritance will be completely uprooted, as though the Torah had never been written. Woe unto us! Woe unto us, what will be our end! It is as though we were almost dead, almost lost; it is as though a Torah scroll had been burnt. . . in which case all Jews in all places should rend their garments never to be resewn.[viii]

Considering the gravity of the threat to Jewish religious hegemony, Rabbi Hazan called on rabbis to struggle courageously against those who were willing to compromise Jewish law. He received approbation for his position from leading Sephardic rabbis in Izmir, Salonika, Istanbul, Vienna, and other communities.

Rabbi Yehudah Yaacov Nehama: Defending Tradition

            The tide of modernism and Europeanization made itself felt in the domains of the Ottoman Empire during the nineteenth century. The Turkish authorities instituted a number of reforms (tanzimat), indicating their desire to shake off past stagnation and become a modern society. European culture, especially in its French form, seemed particularly attractive to the Ottoman rulers.[ix]

            The wave of Europeanization also had an effect on the Jews of the Empire. Sephardic intellectuals were receptive to French influence. Schools operated by the Alliance Israelite Universelle sprang up throughout the Ottoman Empire, the Middle East, and North Africa. They eagerly promoted the glories of French language and culture. They also introduced modern educational techniques. In short, an intellectual transformation was occurring among the Sephardim, bringing them into contact with European modernism.

            Rabbi Yehudah Yaacov Nehama (1825–1899) was an influential figure in Salonika. His life and works are a reflection of the impact of Haskalah thought on Sephardic thinkers. He wrote three major works that were destroyed in a fire and thus never published. One of these was a history of the Jewish people, one was a volume of rabbinic Responsa, and one was a history of the Jews of Salonika. The scope of these works reflects Nehama’s wide-ranging interests and knowledge. He was not only deeply learned in classic rabbinic literature, but was also a historian of Jewry in general and of his own community in particular. Historical research was an important feature of the Jewish Haskalah.

            Two volumes of Rabbi Nehama’s letters were published. They reflect his knowledge in many fields. He corresponded with leading Jewish intellectuals of his time, Sephardic and Ashkenazic. His interest in books and bibliographic information was formidable.

            Like Aguilar, Benamozegh, and Hazan, Nehama was well versed in contemporary culture and was also committed to maintaining the traditional structure of religious observance. In a letter written in the year 5614 (1854), he responded to Rabbi Mordecai Halevi Mortara and Rabbi Shelomo Nissim of Mantua, who had written to inform him that some members of their community were agitating to abolish the observance of the second day of festivals. (According to rabbinic law, communities outside the land of Israel are obligated to observe two festival days, whereas the communities in Israel observe one day.) Rabbi Nehama was infuriated by this suggestion, since it undermined age-old Jewish practice. He condemned those who called for reforms in Judaism, referring to the spirit of reform as a leprous plague. Such recommendations were divisive and would lead to factionalism. “My brothers and my people, beware of heeding the words of those who love reform and heresy; take heed of the custom of your ancestors and do not turn from it.”[x]
 

Rabbi Henry Pereira Mendes

            A leading religious and communal figure in American Jewish life during the late-nineteenth and early-twentieth centuries was Dr. Henry Pereira Mendes (1852–1937).[xi] Born in Birmingham, England, he was the son of Abraham Mendes, who was minister of the Sephardic congregation there. On both his father’s and his mother’s side, he was the product of a long line of religious leaders.

            Rabbi Mendes served as minister of the historic Congregation Shearith Israel, the Spanish and Portuguese Synagogue in New York City, the oldest Jewish congregation in North America (founded in 1654). His service began in 1877, and he was associated with the congregation until his death 60 years later. Aside from his training in Jewish studies, he received the degree of medical doctor from New York University in 1884.

            Dr. Mendes was tireless in his work on behalf of Jewish tradition. He was a founder of the Union of Orthodox Jewish Congregations of America, believing it necessary for the Orthodox community to be united. He also was a co-founder, together with his colleague Rabbi Sabato Morais of Philadelphia, of the Jewish Theological Seminary of America. He and Morais envisioned the institution as a training ground for American-bred traditional rabbis who could serve Jewish communities in the United States. When the Seminary later identified itself with the Conservative movement, Dr. Mendes dropped his association with it. His goal had been to strengthen Orthodoxy and to combat reform.

            An energetic communal leader and humanitarian, Dr. Mendes was also involved in the establishment of such institutions as the Young Women’s Hebrew Association in New York, Montefiore Hospital, and the Lexington School for the Deaf. He was a leader in such organizations as the Union of Orthodox Jewish Congregations of America, the New York Board of Jewish Ministers, the Federation of American Zionists, and the World Zionist Organization. He also was a prolific author of religious textbooks for children, dramatic works, poetry, books on Jewish history and ethics, and more.

            Dr. Bernard Drachman, a colleague of Dr. Mendes, described him as “an ideal representative of Orthodox Judaism.” He praised Dr. Mendes’ “absolute freedom. . . from anything approaching narrowness of sectarian bias within the Jewish community.”[xii]

            Indeed, Dr. Mendes was a universally respected figure, whether among the Sephardim of America, the Yiddish-speaking Ashkenazim, the non-Orthodox community, or the non-Jewish community. He was urbane, highly educated, principled, hard-working. His sermons and literary works demonstrate his devotion to the Bible. He did not consider himself a scholar of Talmud and halakha, although he certainly was comfortable studying the classic rabbinic texts.

            Dr. Mendes viewed himself as a spokesman for the Sephardic outlook on Judaism. In a guest sermon which he delivered in the Sephardic synagogue on Lauderdale Road in London (July 27, 1901), he was effusive in his praise of the Sephardic religious tradition, which was able to blend loyalty to the past with an openness to new thinking. He called for “a revival of Sephardic activity, a renewal of Sephardic energy, an earnest demonstration of fidelity to God and Torah, a continued proof by our own lives that culture and fidelity can go hand in hand.”[xiii]

            Stressing that faithfulness to tradition could go hand-in-hand with modern culture, Dr. Mendes strenuously opposed Reform Judaism, believing that it was an incorrect diagnosis for the spiritual malaise of the Jewish people. Instead of breaking with tradition, Jews actually needed to come closer to it, to find peace and contentment in the age-old laws and customs of the Jewish people. Reform led to a weakening of the hold of tradition. It engendered more apathy and irreligion among Jews. If each individual did as s/he chose without taking the claims of Jewish law and tradition into consideration, then the structure of Jewish life would be seriously weakened. Dr. Mendes criticized this “everyone-doing-as-he-pleases-religion” as the source of ignorance, apathy, and disregard of religious restrictions.[xiv]

            In 1891 some suggestions for ritual changes were made in his own Congregation Shearith Israel. Dr. Mendes reacted with characteristic eloquence.

I say it is a very solemn thing for this Congregation with its centuries of proud adherence to historic Judaism to approach the subject of change at all. . . . Are those who have enlisted under the banner of change distinguished for a better observance of the Sabbath? Are they in any way improved religiously? Are their homes more Jewish? Are their children more devoted to Judaism and better exponents of its teachings? .. . No new virtues have been created in the heart of the Reform Jew which are not found in the heart of the Orthodox Jew. Nor is the cultured Reformer more respected than is the cultured Orthodox brother.[xv]

Dr. Mendes prevailed and the changes were averted.

Traditional Communal Framework

            Religious leaders and intellectuals throughout the Sephardic Diaspora advocated loyalty to Jewish tradition. Although they were well aware of the spirit of modernism and of the challenges to religious patterns, they felt that the Jewish people could best be served by remaining faithful to its own distinctive way of life. Reform was not acceptable. It was a surrender to the whims of European modernity, and it could only lead to a breakdown in Jewish religious life, to assimilation.

            Whereas the issues of emancipation and enlightenment led to the formation of religious movements within Ashkenazic Jewry, Sephardic Jewry did not fragment itself into Orthodox, Conservative, Reform, or other movements. Ashkenazic Jewry was torn apart by feuding among the ideological movements. It established separate communities, institutions, even cemeteries. Sephardic Jewry was spared this internecine religious struggle.

            Certainly, not all Sephardic Jews adhered to all the details of traditional halakha. Laxity in observance was growing. A lessening of reverence for rabbinic authority was also apparent in many communities. Yet the general Sephardic attitude was respectful to tradition. The religious intellectuals, as well as the masses, were desirous of maintaining a traditional religious framework for their communities. The Sephardim found a modus vivendi characterized by respect for tradition and tolerance for those whose observance of halakha fell short. Whereas some individuals might not be personally observant, the synagogue and community structure were to operate according to halakha.

            The Haskalah movement, then, did have an impact on the Sephardic world. But the Sephardic communities generally remained loyal to the traditional halakhic communal framework. This was not a small accomplishment.

Notes

1. See David Benveniste, “Rabbi Yehudah Yaacov Nehama: Mevaser Tekufat haHaskalah beSaloniki,” in The Sephardic and Oriental Jewish Heritage, ed. Issachar Ben-Ami (Jerusalem, 1982), p. 30. See also Jose Faur, Harav Yisrael Moseh Hazan: haIsh uMishnato (Jerusalem, 5738), esp. pp. 3–17.
2. Grace Aguilar, The Spirit of Judaism (Philadelphia, 5602), p. 9.
3. See for example, Leeser’s comments on pp. vii, 21, 100, and 104.
4. Ibid., pp. 225-26.
5. See the discussion of Grace Aguilar’s thought in Philip M. Weinberger, The Social and Religious Thought of Grace Aguilar (New York, 1970); see also Beth-Zion Lask Abrahams, “Grace Aguilar: a Centenary Tribute,” Jewish Historical Society of England Transactions 16(1952): 137—48.
6. Grace Aguilar, The Jewish Faith: Its Spiritual Consolation, Moral Guidance and Immortal Hope (Philadelphia, 1864), p. 10.
7. Ibid., p. 124.
8. Ibid., p. 221.
9. Ibid., p. 264.
10. Spirit of Judaism, pp. viii, 165.
11. Eliyahu Benamozegh BiShvilei Musar (Jerusalem, 1966), pp. 21–27.

12. Ibid., pp. 28-30, 33.

13. Ibid., pp. 120–121.
14. Ibid., pp. 124–125, 132–133, 148, 166. See also R. Benamozegh’s book, Israel and Humanity, trans. and ed. Maxwell Luria. New York: Paulist Press, 1995.
15. See Faur, Harav Yisrael Moshe Hazan.
16. I. M. Hazan, Nahalah leYisrael (Alexandria, 1862), pp. 53–54.
17. Ibid., p. 55.
18. Ibid., p. 61.
19. The changes in the taxation system are reflected in Rabbi Michael Yaacov Israel, Yad Yemin (Izmir, 5619), Hoshen Mishpat, no. 25; and Hayyim Palache, Hikekei Lev (Izmir, 5609), Hoshen Mishpat, no. 6.
20. Yehudah Yaacov Nehama, Mikhtevei Dodim miYayin, vol. 1, (Salonika, 5653) pp. 48–49.
21. For information on Dr. Mendes, see David de Sola Pool, H. Pereira Mendes: A Biography (New York, 1938); and David and Tamar de Sola Pool, An Old Faith in the New World (New York, 1955), pp. 192–201. See also Eugene Markovits, Henry Pereira Mendes: Builder of Traditional Judaism in America, doctoral dissertation, Yeshiva University, 1961; and Eugene Markovits, “Henry Pereira Mendes: Architect of the Union of Orthodox Jewish Congregations of America,” American Jewish Historical Quarterly 55, no. 3, pp. 364–84.
22. B. Drachman, “Forty Years of Loyal Service,” Orthodox Union 7, no. 6.
23. See Markovits, “Henry Pereira Mendes Builder of Traditional Judaism,” p. 250.
24. Ibid., p. 86.
25. Dr. Mendes’ remarks are found in the archives of Congregation Shearith Israel, and are quoted in M. D. Angel, “Thoughts about Early American Jewry,” Tradition, 16 (1976), p. 21.
 

Like many Jewish people in Atlanta, I have been a synagogue member for many years, but did not attend services on a regular basis until the last 10 years. My mom passed away 10 years ago, and I wanted to honor her life by saying Kaddish as often as possible. During these last 10 years, I believe my insight into and understanding of Judaism has grown dramatically. I now believe that by not attending services regularly during the prior ten years, I have been cheating myself.

Maybe you have also been cheating yourself.

Like many, I felt that I did not have the time for synagogue; there were more important matters. I have come to learn that a break from our daily routine enhances the soul, enriches the spirit, and improves our relationships. In a sense, you create more life by redirecting your thoughts and energy to a spiritual level. I have come to learn that by living in accordance with Jewish values and principles, you are more likely to grow into a stronger, happier, more empowered, more successful person in many aspects of life, including family, friends, community, and commerce. And you can become an individual with a more meaningful life, better able to deal with the tough times we all encounter (think of Joseph sitting in prison all those years, yet he continued to have faith in God even when his faith in people had been shattered).

As a result of attending services regularly, I have come to believe that the Torah, the Great Books, and Judaism provide guidance in three major ways;

1. Who and What We Are

            Each of us is a miracle created by God in His image, imbued with a soul, a spirit, and a connection to our Heavenly Father. On another level, we are destined to work and toil in a physical, unforgiving material world that has been largely created by humans.

2. Who God Is

            Our creator, Creator of the world, Our Heavenly Father, Our Rock, Our Redeemer, Our Provider, Our Hope when all hope seems to be lost. Our Constant Companion, quick to forgive, always loving us. We pray each day to thank God for all He has provided. We take too much for granted and need to be reminded daily how fortunate we are.

• You put a seed in the ground, and a tree grows.
• You arise each day but do not appreciate the thousands of things that can malfunction in your body.
• You are injured, and you heal.
• The earth revolves around the sun in a predictable manner. If it were to vary by a few degrees all life on earth would cease.
• God protects and provides for us in so many ways—too numerous to count.

3. How We  Can Live an Empowered, Harmonious Life

            The two prior points were easy; you only had to deal with God. God is loving, understanding, and forgiving; people, in too many cases, are not. The greatest challenge we all face is dealing with others in an imperfect, self-centered, material world. Humans have lived in organized societies for eons, and it has been largely beneficial. But all good things have some disadvantages; in this case, some people can be unpleasant, difficult, or dangerous. Judaism offers guidance for dealing with such people. Some examples include:

• Don’t steal from others; chances are good they will get upset and steal from you or worse.
• Don’t tell falsehoods about others; they might seek revenge.
• Be slow to anger if someone commits an offence against you.
• Be slow to assume ill of others; often, we rush to judgment without all the facts.
• Do not hold resentment against others; it diverts your energy and makes you less effective.

I believe that the guidelines in the Torah and the Great Books serve to enhance, enrich, and empower our lives and moderate the pain of tough times. We are empowered with attitudes, principles, and skills that allow us to travel through life with more joy, more success, more friendships, and less hate.

Aside from these macro insights, other benefits I have gained by attending services regularly include the following:

• I know the service much better, and my Hebrew has really improved.
• I feel a part of a larger community.
• I have met some wonderful people and have shared important moments in their lives.
• I have seen some beautiful children grow and become wonderful adults, including my own two daughters.
• I have seen some wonderful people pass from this world to the next with grace, humility, understanding, and love

In addition to trying to get “the big things right,” I believe we can each add, on a daily basis, a sweet touch to the lives of others; a few of my favorite ways are there:

• Offer a kind word of praise and a “thank you” for being a friend.
• When you are in a position of authority, bend the rules a bit for someone else who is trying to advance through life.
• Don’t forget that others gave you a break, so pass it on to someone else—maybe a young person.
• Don’t be bound by rules— be ruled by hope, compassion, and friendship.
• Allow the driver who is handling a big rig a little time and room to make the turn.
• Let another driver into the flow of traffic, wave a thank you to the driver who allows you into traffic.
• Replace road rage with road love.

When I was a young man starting my professional career I worked with a much older CPA; he often said “every day is a holiday, and every meal a banquet;” what a wonderful way to see life.

.

When the topics of outreach and inreach are broached, many invariably focus on the messages we convey: How do parents, rabbis, and educators relate to the young (and not so young) in our families, communities, and schools? What messages are we sending those we teach and those we guide? Respondents to these questions will suggest methods of communicating, educating, and inspiring our students and congregants that are intended to keep them within the fold, or bring them back if they are distant from our tradition. In truth, many of their ideas may be insightful, astute, and perhaps even effective. However, if our community’s approach is based exclusively on personal intuition and experience, as valuable as those may be, we are handicapping ourselves. No matter how well-meaning the communicators, research repeatedly demonstrates that messages intended to influence, if not constructed based on empirically derived methods, often backfire.

Examples abound of well-intended communications that miscarried. For instance, one study of public service announcements aimed to curb substance abuse found that almost half had no beneficial effects at all, and 20 percent even had negative effects, actually increasing drug use intent among participants. Similarly disappointing results were revealed by evaluations of anti-smoking campaigns, as well as those aimed to encourage safe driving or healthy eating. By contrast, messages derived via empirically supported methodologies have successfully encouraged recycling, altered attitudes toward automobile speeding, and changed health behaviors linked to cardiovascular disease.[1]

Particularly relevant to the issue of crafting effective messages is psychology research differentiating injunctive norms from descriptive norms. The former involve perceptions of which actions are approved or disapproved, while the latter involve perceptions of which actions are commonly performed. For instance, when policy-makers emphasize that drug abuse is intolerably high and increasingly widespread, their statement contains two messages: that drug abuse is viewed as undesirable (injunctive norm), but also the undercutting message that large and growing numbers of people are indeed abusing drugs (descriptive norm). Although they hope to discourage illicit drug use by informing the community that it is undesirable, at the same time, studies suggest, they are actually encouraging its use by implying that many people do, in fact, engage in this very activity.

A groundbreaking illustrative example stems from research focused on environmental theft, which demonstrated how an ostensibly anti-theft message may backfire, depending on how the message is crafted. The Petrified Forest National Park in Arizona is commonly vandalized by visitors who unlawfully remove pieces of petrified wood. Although any given tourist may take only a small souvenir, the aggregated result is that over a ton of wood is stolen from the park each month, significantly damaging this treasured natural landmark. Robert Cialdini and colleagues[2] tested two different signs aimed at discouraging such theft. In the first condition, they posted a descriptive norm sign stating, “Many past visitors have removed petrified wood from the Park, changing the natural state of the Petrified Forest.” This sign included pictures of several visitors taking wood. In the second condition, the researchers instead posted an injunctive norm sign stating, “Please don’t remove petrified wood from the Park, in order to preserve the natural state of the Petrified Forest.” In this case, the accompanying picture featured a single individual taking a piece of wood, and included “a red circle-and-bar symbol superimposed over his hand.” In line with the researchers’ predictions, the first sign, which implied the unfortunate fact that many visitors remove petrified wood, resulted in far more wood stolen during the 5-week study period, compared to the second sign. It is noteworthy that the sign previously in place by Park staff contained wording similar to the ineffectual descriptive norm sign used in the study.

A further elucidating example of the importance of empirically testing messages intended to influence comes from startling research into government regulation of compliance in such areas as tax evasion. Counter-intuitively, when authorities publicize increased penalties for tax fraud, this form of theft actually rises. Social psychologists have suggested two reasons for this surprising finding. The first is related to a phenomenon known as “reactance.” When people feel their free choice is threatened, they may experience resentment and become more likely to attempt evasion of authorities’ controls. Secondly, similar to the descriptive norm research cited above, people may conclude that if officials find it necessary to impose tough penalties, then others “like me” must frequently try to evade the rules in question, further increasing the likelihood of attempted violations.[3] In sum, communication aimed at discouraging behaviors, even when publicizing increased punishment of those very behaviors, may unwittingly have the opposite effect.

The implication of this form of research for Jewish leaders and educators is clear. When rabbis and teachers warn, for example, of the high rates of alcohol, drug, and tobacco misuse among youth (and others) in our community, and when they broadcast caution over other behaviors also seen as part of an “off-the-derekh” lifestyle, they unintentionally also publicize the sad fact that those who choose these harmful behaviors are part of a substantial group similarly engaged, thereby possibly encouraging the very behaviors they wish to extinguish.[4] For instance, when high school principals or Israeli gap-year yeshiva and seminary administrators come down exceedingly hard on students who violate dress codes, text on Shabbat, or visit “inappropriate” recreational locations, they may be planting the seeds of reactance and resentment, and they may make further rule violation especially attractive.

Some may concede that selecting the right messages to convey to our youth and community are crucial, but doubt that empirical methods are the only ones capable of revealing how an effective message should be crafted. After all, they will argue, experienced education and community professionals, if only through trial and error experience, will surely develop effective means of influencing the students and communities in their charge. The psychology literature, however, does not support the contention that motivated and well-meaning “experts” will necessarily chance upon the best approaches, as in the following research study.

In recent years, hotels have begun leaving cards urging guests to reuse their towels, rather than request new ones each day. Large-scale towel reuse saves water and electricity and is thus beneficial for the environment. But more importantly for current purposes, hotel owners have a strong vested interest in encouraging such reuse, as it saves them substantial sums of money by reducing utility bills. Yet a team of social psychologists that studied the practice found that the most effective message to place on these hotel room cards was the one message that was (to their knowledge) never tried. Typically, such appeals take one of various forms: motivating guests to reuse their towels in order to sustain the environment, for the benefit of future generations, or as partners in the hotel’s efforts to conserve environmental resources. While all of these messages were equally effective, compliance was significantly increased when researchers attempted a fourth (descriptive norm) message, which read “Join your fellow citizens in helping to save the environment” and stated that most guests indeed agree to recycle towels if asked. A simple change in wording would seemingly lead to substantial monetary savings for hotel operators. However, despite a strong financial motivation, neither intuition nor trial and error experience led hotel managers to the more effective persuasive method.[5] In sum, organizational leaders attempting to influence a relevant constituency should be wary of trusting their hunches or maintaining the operational status quo when crafting communications.

The concerned reader may wonder how psychologists’ empirical methods could be adapted to creating impactful messages relevant to the religious Jewish community. In truth, though, the very beginning of such work is already being conducted, albeit in a somewhat different context. While mental health researchers have not adequately focused on treatment approaches aimed at substance abuse or oppositional and wayward youth specifically in our own community, recent investigations aimed at treatment of anxiety in the Jewish community could provide a necessary model.

Unlike in previous years when psychologists often believed that religiosity was pathological,[6] many currently recognize that religious faith and practices are associated with improved mental[7] (and physical[8]) health. Interestingly, this latter point of view was advanced by Rabbi Bachya ibn Paquda in his classic eleventh-century work Duties of the Heart, where he wrote that trust in God leads to tranquility and happiness, whereas those lacking this trust suffer constant anxiety, distress, and sadness.[9] Based on such ideas and in partnership with Orthodox rabbinic consultants, a team of clinical scientists developed a treatment program incorporating rabbinic writings, prayers, and related exercises intended to inspire trust in God.[10] The dramatic results of the study demonstrated that Jewish volunteers with elevated anxiety who underwent the experimental treatment showed significant reductions in symptoms compared with comparison group participants who did not receive the intervention.[11] This research underscores the point that development of empirically supported methods is within reach for collaborating rabbis and mental health researchers who wish to treat the ills that challenge members of our community.

It is not my objective in this article to criticize the many devoted rabbis, teachers, and others who work tirelessly to tighten our community’s bonds to Judaic traditions and religious practice. My suggestion, though, is that efforts of these professionals and volunteers might be more effective and efficient if they comprised empirically tested messages and methods. Organizations dedicated to strengthening and renewing Jewish identity in those affiliated, and those no longer affiliated, might devote more financial and other resources to outcome research aimed at determining specific programs, seminars, and activities that have lasting positive impact in synagogues, yeshiva and day school classrooms, and beyond. The only alternative is the current situation, where many teachers daily greet their classes, and rabbis weekly ascend their pulpits, without knowing if the words they use alienate the very souls they wish to bring close. 

In considering issues relating to the conversion of non-Jews to Judaism, Orthodox Jews tend to defend a strict policy which we term the Halakhic approach. Conversion for the sole purpose of marriage is highly discouraged. Conversion when the non-Jew does not intend to observe Halakha in full is generally considered to be no conversion at all. Rabbi Melech Schachter, in a fine article on conversion, states what most Orthodox Jews believe:

“Needless to say, conversion to Judaism without commitment to observance has no validity   whatever, and the spuriously converted person remains in the eyes of Halakha a non-Jew as before.” [1]

The purpose of this article is to present another Orthodox viewpoint on conversion. The traditional stringency is not the only Halakhically valid approach available to us; on the contrary, this may be the proper time to rely on other Halakhic standards. No one will argue that conversion to Judaism for other than spiritual reasons is ideal. Certainly it should be discouraged. However, in terms of practical reality we may have to be more tolerant of such conversions.

Raphael Hayyim Saban, then the Chief Rabbi of Istanbul, wrote to Rabbi Benzion Meir Hai Uziel, the Rishon Lezion, in 1943, asking if conversion for the sake of marriage is valid.[2]  In his response, Rabbi Uziel opens with a quotation from the Shulhan Arukh (Yoreh Deah, 268: 12) which states that we must examine a potential convert to determine if his motives for accepting Judaism are sincere. Certainly, the ideal is not to convert those who are insincere. Then Rabbi Uziel adds that since in our generation intermarriage is common in civil courts, we are often forced to convert the non-Jewish partner in order to free the couple from the prohibition of intermarriage. We must also do so in order to spare their children who would otherwise be lost to the Jewish fold.[3] If we are faced with a de facto mixed marriage, we are permitted to convert the non-Jewish spouse and the children, when applicable. If this is true when the couple is already married, it is obviously true before they have begun a forbidden marriage relationship. The conversion could offset future transgressions and religious difficulties.

Rabbi Uziel bases his opinion on a responsum of the Rambam.[4] The case before Maimonides dealt with a Jewish man who had a non-Jewish maid-servant. The man was suspected of having conducted himself immorally with his servant. Should the bet din have her removed from his house? In his answer, the Rambam states categorically that according to the law the maid should be sent out. After it learned of his wrongs, bet din was obligated to exert all its power either to have the maid sent out or to have the Jewish master free her and then marry her. But there is a law stating that if one is suspected of having had immoral relations with his maid and then he freed her he may not marry her.[5] The Rambam said that in spite of this ruling, he has judged in such cases that the man should free her and marry the maid. He justified his decision by stating that it is necessary to make things easier for repentants (Takanat Hashavim). He relied on the famous statement of our rabbis, "It is time to serve the Lord, go against your Torah." The Rambam closed this responsum with a significant, profoundly religious comment, "and the Lord in His mercy will forgive our sins . . ."[6]

The Rambam recognized that his decision is in violation of the ideal Halakhic standard. However, he allowed his human insight to cope with the problem realistically, and he invoked other Halakhic standards to justify himself. As a true man of reason and faith, he dealt with the situation sensibly while relying on God's mercy. God will understand the motivations for this Halakhic decision and will either approve or forgive. In any case, what must be done will be done.

In support of the Rambam's approach, Rabbi Uziel cites several Talmudic sources which reflect the same attitude.[7] It is better to choose the lesser of two evils, even when the choice is not ideal. It is better to stop adding fuel to evil now, rather than to risk an increase of transgression.

Based on this attitude, Rabbi Uziel says that when an intermarried couple comes to a bet din seeking the conversion of the non-Jewish partner, we must allow such a conversion. We may not take the haughty position that these are wicked people who deserve to suffer the fate of transgressors.[8] On the contrary, by coming to Halakhic authorities the couple display a desire to avoid transgression. They do not want to reject the Torah but want to be included in the Jewish community.

As was stated earlier, if we are permitted to convert one who is already married to a Jewish mate, we may certainly convert one who wishes to marry a Jewish partner in the future. Even if we know that the main and perhaps only reason for the conversion is marriage, yet when all is said and done such a conversion is still Halakhically valid.[9]

But Rabbi Uziel considers such conversions not only to be permissible, but actually morally required. Rabbis are not only allowed to convert a non-Jew for purposes of marriage, but are urged not to step away from the positive responsibility to do so. In support of this idea, Rabbi Uziel referred to the strict chastisements of the prophet Malachi against those who married out of the faith. “Judah has dealt treacherously, and an abomination is committed in Israel and in Jerusalem; for Judah has profaned the holiness of the Lord which He loves and has married the daughter of a strange god. May the Lord cut off to the man that does this . . . (Malachi, 2:11-12).”

In view of the stringent prohibition of marrying a bat el nehar , Rabbi Uziel argues that it is better to convert the non-Jewish partner so that the Jewish partner could be spared from this severe transgression. Such conversion is also better for the children who would be born to the couple since they could now be considered legally as Jews. Considering the alternatives of conversion or intermarriage, Rabbi Uziel ruled in favor of conversion. Rabbi Uziel, however, qualifies his opinion in that he feels that the judges should do everything they can to break off the projected marriage and resort to conversion only when it is clear that the couple definitely will not be dissuaded. The judges should direct their heart to God when they perform the conversion, and "the merciful God will forgive."

In 1951, Rabbi Uziel received a question from Yehudah Leon Calfon, a rabbi in Tetuan. The problem involved was: may we convert the non-Jewish wife and children of a Jewish man when he is not observant and does not sincerely intend to have his family be observant? If a Jew observes the mitzvot like the average Jew of his time (kistam Yehudim bazeman hazeh) then there would be no problem since we could rely upon the responsum of the Rambam. But what about the Jew who does not observe Shabbat, Yom-Tov, Kashrut, etc. Shall we prohibit the conversions or shall we say that since the Jew still wants to be included in the Torah community--albeit to a limited extent--we may convert his non~Jewish wife and children?[lO]

Following a preliminary discussion, Rabbi Uziel comes to grips with this serious problem. He refers to our standard procedure when a non-Jew comes to convert. We teach him the principles of Judaism--unity of God, prohibition of idol worship. We inform him of some of the easy and difficult mitzvot, as well as some of the rewards and punishments. We do not teach him everything. The Shakh comments that we do not tell the would-be convert all the technicalities and stringencies because we might scare him away. If he is really sincere about his wish to convert, it would be wrong to frighten him out of his desire.[11]

From this standard procedure, we see that there is no requirement to ask the non-Jew actually to observe the mitzvot. We do not require his assurances that he will be an observant Jew. If we did, we could never have any converts, because no bet din can guarantee absolutely that the convert will keep all the mitzvot. The reason we tell the non-Jew some of the mitzvot is to give him an idea of what is involved in becoming an observant Jew. That way, he may have the option to change his mind about conversion. If, however, he converts and does not observe, he is considered as a Jew who transgresses.

Moreover, the procedure of informing the non-Jew about basic beliefs and mitzvot is required initially. However, if we did not follow the procedure and we converted the non-Jew anyway (circumcision and ritual immersion), the conversion is valid notwithstanding.[12]

Rabbi Uziel remarks that if a non-Jew gives us no indication that he expects to observe the mitzvot, we may still convert him even initially.[13] It is not only permitted to accept converts on this basis, but it is also a mitzvah upon us to do so. We, of course, hope that they will observe and we should encourage them to keep the mitzvot. But if they do not, they are still Halakhically considered to be Jews.[14]

There is an argument that since the vast majority of converts today do not observe the mitzvot even for a short time, we should not accept converts at all. To this Rabbi Uziel replies that it is a mitzvah to accept converts.[15] Furthermore, it is dangerous to forbid conversion since it will force the Jewish partners of inter-faith marriages either to convert to the other religion or to become defiled by the improper relationship. Those who have been rejected from the people of Israel have historically been our worst enemies. We also have an obligation to the children of these marriages. After all, they are of Jewish stock (Mizera Yisrael) even if their mother is not Jewish. They are lost sheep whom we must reclaim for our people.

In an emotional passage, Rabbi Uziel writes: “And I fear that if we push them (the children) away completely by not accepting their parents for conversion, we shall be brought to judgment and they shall say to us: you did not bring back those that were driven away, and those who were lost you did not seek" (Ezekiel, 34:4). This chastisement is far more severe than the chastisement of accepting converts who in all likelihood will not be observant Jews.[16]

From these responsa it is clear that Rabbi Uziel offers a Halakhic perspective which reflects a profoundly sympathetic and understanding spirit. Recognizing the practical realities of our world, it is essential that Halakhic authorities courageously respond to the needs. Ours must not be a haughty and elite attitude towards would-be converts. We have a moral obligation to convert those who seek conversion, not only for their sakes but for the sakes of their children. Of course, we must make every effort to teach them the Torah and to encourage their adherence to the mitzvot. But in the fial analysis, we must put our faith in human reason and compassion, and, certainly, we must put our faith in God (Vehu Rahum Yekhaper . . .).

NOTES

[1.] Jewish Life, May-June, 1965 p. 7. See also p. 11, under the heading, "Commitment to Total Observance."

[2.] Mishpetei Uziel, Jerusalem, 5724, No. 18.

[3.] See Rabbi Schachter, op. cit., p. 13.

[4] Pe-er Hador, Amsterdam, 1765, No. 132. See also Mishpetei Uziel, op. cit., No. 21, where Rabbi Uzie1 also relies on this Rambam.

[5.] See T.B. Yebamot, 24b. Hanit’an al hashifha venishtahrerah eino yakhol lisa’enah le-khathila .

[6.] ufasaknu kakh mipenei takanat hashavim, ve’amarnu mutav sheyokhal rotav velo shuman atsmo.  Vesamakhnu al omram z”l eit la’asot laShem heferu toratekha, veyakhhol lisa’ena, ve-ha-keil berahamav yekhaper avoneinu ka’asher diber lanu ve-asirah kol bedilayyikh.

[7.] T .B. Kiddushin, 21b. mutav sheyokhal benei yisrael basar temutot shehutot ve’al yokhelu basar neveilot temutot

T.B. Shabbat, 3lb. darash Ulla mai dikhtiv al tirsha harbeh, mi she’akhal shum vereiho nodef yokhal od shum?

[8.] Rabbi Uziel says that the concept of hal’itehu lerasha veyamut (T.B. Baba Kama, 69a) does not apply here.

[9.] T.B. Yebamot, 24b. The question is: is a person who converts for im~ i:J' a real convert? The conclusion is that he is. Halakha kedivrei ha’omer kulam gerim hem.This is brought down in the codes. See for example, the Mishneh Torah of Maimonides, Hilkhot Isurei Biah, 13:17: and the Tur, Yoreh Deah, 268.

[10.] Mishpetei Uziel, op. cit., No. 20.

[11.] Yoreh Deah, 268, Se-if katan, 5.

[12.] See the Shakh, Se-if katan, 3.

[13.] mikol ha’amur lamadnu she’ein tenai kiyum hamitzvot me’akev et hageirut afilu lekhathilah. See the Shulhan Arukh, Y.D. 268, 2 and 12.

[14.] mikol ha’amur umdubar torah yotse’ah shemutar umitsvah lekabel geirim vegiyorot af al pi she-yadua lanu shelo yekayemu kol hamitsvot mishum shesofam yavo’u lidei kiyumam. Umetsuvim anu liftoah lahem petah kazeh. ve’im lo yekayemu et hamitsvot hem yis’u et avonam ve’anu nekiyim.

[15.] T.B. Yebamot, 109b, Tosafot, "Ra-ah."

[16.] For other of Rabbi Uziel’s responsa on conversion see, Mishpetei Uziel, op. cit., No. 22: Mishpetei Uziel, Vol .I, Yoreh Deah, No. 14; Mishpetei Uziel. Vol. 2. Even Ha-Ezer.

Embracing Tradition and Modernity:

Rabbi Joseph B. Soloveitchik[1]

By Rabbi Marc D. Angel

The modern era in the Western world has witnessed numerous assaults on the patterns of traditional religious life. Science has changed the way people think; technology has changed the way they live. Autonomous, human-centered theology has come to replace heteronomous, God-centered theology. Rationalism and positivism have constricted metaphysics. Respect for authority and hierarchies has been replaced by an emphasis on individuality and egalitarianism. The challenges of modernity are symbolized by such names as Darwin, Schleiermacher, Freud, Einstein, Ayn Rand.

The modern era has also seen dramatic changes in the physical patterns of life: vast migrations from the farms to the cities; mass emigration (often as refugees) from one country or continent to another; shrinking family size; increased mobility; expansion of educational opportunities; phenomenal technological change.

Peter Berger has described modem individuals as suffering “spiritual homelessness.” People have lost their sense of being part of a comprehensive, cohesive, and understandable world.

For the Jewish people, the modern period has been particularly challenging. Jews were given the possibility of entering the mainstream of Western civilization. As the first winds of change swept into Jewish neighborhoods and ghettos, many Jews were enticed to leave traditional Jewish life behind. They hoped to gain acceptance into the general society by abandoning or modifying their religious beliefs and observances. Some went so far as to convert to other religions. The Haskalah—Jewish “enlightenment”—attracted numerous intellectuals who sought to modernize Jewish culture. The result was a secularization and objectification of Judaism.

The traditional religious framework was threatened by the Reform movement. Reform was an attempt of nineteenth-century Western European Jews to “sanitize” Judaism by discarding Jewish laws and traditions. Reform wanted to make Judaism appear more “cultured” and socially respectable.

Whereas in previous eras, the masses of Jews accepted the authority of Torah and halakhah, the modern period experienced a transition to the opposite situation—the masses of Western Jews no longer accepted the authority of Torah and halakhah. In their desire to succeed in the modern world, many were ready to cast aside the claims of Jewish tradition. When large numbers of European Jews came to the United States during the late nineteenth and early twentieth centuries, this phenomenon continued and expanded. A sizable majority of American Jews came to be affiliated with non-Orthodox movements or chose to remain unaffiliated with any movement at all.

In the face of tremendous defections from classic halakhic Judaism, the Orthodox community fought valiantly to maintain the time-honored beliefs and observances that they had inherited from their ancestors. But the Orthodox responses to the challenges of the modern situation were not monolithic. Some advocated a rejectionist stand, arguing that modern Western culture was to be eschewed to the extent possible. The “outside world,” including non-Orthodox society, presented a danger to the purity of Jewish religious tradition; isolation was the best approach for Jews who wished to remain loyal to Torah and halakhah. On the other hand, another Orthodox approach called for the active participation of Jews in general society while at the same time maintaining a strict allegiance to halakhah. The task was to keep a balance of Torah with derekh eretz (worldly concerns/culture), Torah with madda (general knowledge).
These attitudes within Orthodoxy, as well as variations within the themes, have characterized Orthodox Jewish life since the mid-nineteenth century.

The strength of Orthodoxy has been its heroic devotion to Torah and halakhah, even in the face of criticism and hostility. Orthodoxy alone maintains a total commitment to the divine nature of the Torah and the binding authority of halakhah. Orthodoxy is inextricably bound to all past generations of Torah observant Jews, and is faithfully confident that with the coming of the Messiah all Jews will return to traditional Torah life. Yet, it is the peculiar genius of Modern Orthodoxy to be thoroughly loyal to Torah and halakhah while being open to modern thought and participating creatively in society.

Non-Orthodox detractors accuse Orthodoxy of being too bound by tradition, inflexible, unreceptive to modernity. Non-Orthodox Jews have often found it expedient to stereotype Orthodox Jews as being “pre-modern,” narrow-minded, irrational, insular, those who use religion as an escape from the realities of the world. They criticize Jewish law as being dry and tedious. They describe followers of halakhah as unthinking slaves of ritual and detail, lacking in deeper spiritual feelings.

These criticisms and stereotypes are refuted in one name: Rabbi Joseph Baer Soloveitchik (1903–1993).

The Rav and Modernity

Rabbi Joseph B. Soloveitchik, known to his students and followers as the Rav (the rabbi par excellence), is Orthodoxy’s most eloquent response to the challenges of modernity and to the critics of Modern Orthodoxy. A Torah giant of the highest caliber, the Rav was also a world-class philosopher. In his studies in Lithuania, he attained the stature of a rabbinic luminary. At the University of Berlin, he achieved the erudition of a philosophical prodigy.

A talmudic dictum teaches that the path of Torah is flanked on the right by fire and on the left by ice. If one moves too far to the right, he is consumed by fire. If he moves too close to the left, he freezes to death. Rabbi Soloveitchik was that model personality who walked the path of the Torah, veering neither to the right nor to the left.

The Rav’s unique greatness made him the ideal symbol and spokesman of Modern Orthodoxy. In his own person, he demonstrated that the ideal Torah sage is creative, open-minded, compassionate, righteous, visionary, realistic, and idealistic. He showed that one could be profoundly committed to the world of Torah and halakhah and at the same time be a sophisticated modern thinker. Rabbi Soloveitchik was the paradigmatic twentieth-century figure for those seeking mediation between classic halakhic Judaism and Western modernity. He was the spiritual and intellectual leader of Yeshiva University, the Rabbinical Council of America, and Mizrachi; his influence, directly and through his students, has been ubiquitous within Modern Orthodox Jewish life. He was the singular rabbinic sage of his generation who was deeply steeped in modern intellectual life, who understood modernity on its own terms; he was, therefore, uniquely qualified to guide Orthodoxy in its relationship with modernity.

The Rav was appreciative of many of the achievements of Western civilization. But he could not ignore the shortcomings of modernity. He was pained by the discrepancy between dominant modern values and the values of traditional religion. It is lonely being a person of faith in “modern society which is technically-minded, self-centered, and self-loving, almost in a sickly narcissistic fashion, scoring honor upon honor, piling up victory upon victory, reaching for the distant galaxies, and seeing in the here-and-now sensible world the only manifestation of being” (“The Lonely Man of Faith,” p. 8). Utilitarianism and materialism, as manifestations of the modern worldview, are inimical to the values of religion.

In pondering the dilemma of a person of faith, the Rav explores a universal dilemma of human beings: inner conflict. He draws on the Torah’s descriptions of the creation of Adam to shed light on human nature. Adam I is majestic; he wants to build, to control, to succeed. He is dedicated to attaining dignity. Adam II is covenantal; he is introspective, lonely, in search of community and meaning. He seeks a redeemed existence. Each human being, like Adam, is an amalgam of these conflicting tendencies. In creating humans in this way, God thereby underscored the dual aspect of the human personality. Human fulfillment involves the awareness of both Adams within, and the ability to balance their claims.

The Rav suggests that Western society errs in giving too much weight to Adam I. The stress is on success and control, pragmatic benefits. Even when it comes to religion, people seem to be more concerned with operating quantifiably successful institutions rather than coming into a relationship with God. In the words of the Rav:

Western man diabolically insists on being successful. Alas, he wants to be successful even in his adventure with God. If he gives of himself to God, he expects reciprocity. He also reaches a covenant with God, but this covenant is a mercantile one.... The gesture of faith for him is a give-and-take affair. (“The Lonely Man of Faith,” p. 64)

This attitude is antithetical to authentic religion. True religious experience necessitates surrender to God, feelings of being defeated—qualities identified with Adam II.

By extension, the Rav is critical of modernizers and liberalizers of Judaism who have tried to “market” Judaism by changing its content. Any philosophy of Judaism not firmly rooted in halakhah is simply not true to Judaism. The non-halakhic movements did not grow out of classic Judaism; rather, they emerged as compromising responses to modernity. Had it not been for the external influences on Western Jews, non-halakhic movements would not have arisen as they did. The litmus test of an authentic philosophy of Judaism is: Is it true to Torah and halakhah, does it spring naturally and directly from them, is it faithful to their teachings? If Torah and halakhah are made subservient to external pressures of modernity, this results in a corruption of Judaism.

Modernity, then, poses serious problems for traditional religion. However, counter-currents within modernity offer opportunities. Already in the early 1940s, Rabbi Soloveitchik felt that the time had come for a new approach to the philosophy of religion. The “uncertainty principle” of quantum physics was an anodyne to the certainty of Newtonian physics. Thinkers in psychology, art and religion were proclaiming that human beings are not machines, but are complex organisms with religious, emotional and aesthetic sensibilities. Rationalism could not sustain and nourish the human soul. The Holocaust exploded the idealized myths of Western humanism and culture. Western civilization was moving into a postmodern phase which should be far more sympathetic to the spiritual character of human beings, more receptive to the eternal teachings of religion.

The Rav felt that a philosophy of Judaism rooted in Torah and halakhah needed to be expressed in modern terms. Orthodox Jews needed to penetrate the eternal wisdom of the halakhic tradition, deepening their ability to cope with the challenges and opportunities of modernity and postmodernity. And non-Orthodox Jews needed to study classic Judaism on its own terms, freed from the negative propaganda of anti-Orthodox critics. After all, Torah and halakhah are the patrimony of all Jews.

In his various lectures and writings, the Rav has provided a meaningful and powerful exposition of halakhic Judaism. He is a modern thinker, rooted in tradition, who has laid the foundation for postmodern Jewish thought.

Conflict and Creativity

The Rav has stated that “man is a great and creative being because he is torn by conflict and is always in a state of ontological tenseness and perplexity.” The creative gesture is associated with agony (“Majesty and Humility,” p. 25). As the Rav pointed out in “The Lonely Man of Faith,” God created human beings with a built-in set of conflicts and tensions; this inner turmoil is a basic feature of the human predicament.

Religion is not an escape from conflict; rather, it is a way of confronting and balancing the tensions that go with being a thinking human being. One must learn to be a creative free agent and, at the same time, an obedient servant of God. Detractors of religion often portray religionists as seeking peace of mind by losing themselves in the spiritual realm.

Critics say: “It is easy to be religious; you do not have to think; you only have to accept the tenets of faith and you can avoid the responsibility of making decisions and facing conflict.” To such critics, the Rav would say simply: You do not understand the true nature of religion. Religion is not a place for cowards to hide; it is a place for courageous people to face a totally honest revelation of their own inner being. Halakhic Judaism does not shield the Jew from ontological conflict: it compels him to face it directly, heroically.

It is precisely this inner tension and struggle that generates a lofty and creative understanding of life. Rabbi Soloveitchik’s writings and lectures are vivid examples of religious struggle and creativity at their best. His use of typologies, his first-person reminiscences, his powerfully emotive use of language—all contribute to express his singular message: A religious person must live a creative, heroic life.

In his Halakhic Man, the Rav notes that the halakhic Jew approaches reality with the Torah, given at Sinai, in hand. “Halakhic man, well furnished with rules, judgments, and fundamental principles, draws near the world with an a priori relation. His approach begins with an ideal creation and concludes with a real one” (Halakhic Man, p. 19). Intellectual effort is the hallmark of the ideal religious personality, and is a sine qua non of understanding the halakhic enterprise.

The Rav compares the domain of theoretical halakhah with mathematics. The mathematical theoretician develops a system in the abstract; this theoretical construct is then applied to the practical world. The theoretical system helps define and shape practical reality. So it is with halakhah. The classic halakhists immerse themselves in the world of theoretical halakhah and apply halakhic constructs to the mundane world. The Rav observes that “both the halakhist and the mathematician live in an ideal realm and enjoy the radiance of their own creations” (Halakhic Man, p. 25).

The ideal halakhic personality lives in constant intimacy with halakhah. Halakhah is as natural and central to him as breathing. His concern for theoretical halakhah is an expression of profound love and commitment to the entire halakhic worldview. This love and commitment are manifested in a scrupulous concern for the observance of the rules of practical halakhah.

The sage who attains the highest level of relationship with halakhah is one “to whom the Torah is married.” This level is achieved not merely by intellectual acumen, but by imagination and creativity:

The purely logical mode of halakhic reasoning draws its sustenance from the pre-rational perception and vision which erupt stormily from the depths of this personality, a personality which is enveloped with the aura of holiness. This mysterious intuition is the source of halakhic creativity and innovative insight . . . . Creative halakhic activity begins not with intellectual calculation, but with vision; not with clear formulations, but with unease; not in the clear light of rational discourse, but in the pre-rational darkness. (Besod ha-Yahid ve-haYahad, p. 219)

The halakhic personality, then, is characterized by conflict, creativity, imagination, vision. The world of halakhah is vast and all-encompassing. One who reaches the level of being “married” to the Torah and halakhah has come as close to eternal truth as is possible for a human being.

Halakhic Activism

Rabbi Soloveitchik emphasized the Torah’s focus on this-worldly concerns:

The ideal of halakhic man is the redemption of the world not via a higher world but via the world itself, via the adaptation of empirical reality to the ideal patterns of halakhah.... A lowly world is elevated through the halakhah to the level of a divine world. (Halakhic Man, pp. 37–38)

Whereas the universal homo religiosus believes that the lower spiritual domain of this world must yearn for the higher spiritual realms, halakhic man declares that “the higher longs and pines for the lower.” God created human beings to live in this world; in so doing, He endowed human life in this world with dignity and meaning.

Halakhah can be actualized only in the real world:

Halakhic man’s most fervent desire is the perfection of the world under the dominion of righteousness and loving-kindness—the realization of the a priori, ideal creation, whose name is Torah (or halakhah), in the realm of concrete life. (Halakhic Man, p. 94)

The halakhic life, thus, is necessarily committed to this-worldly activism; the halakhic personality is devoted to the creation of a righteous society.

The halakhah is not confined to sanctuaries, but “penetrates into every nook and cranny of life.” Halakhah is in the home, the marketplace, the banquet hall, the street, the office—everywhere. As important as the synagogue is, it does not occupy the central place in halakhic Judaism. Halakhah is too vast and comprehensive to be confined to a synagogue.

Rabbi Soloveitchik argues that non-halakhic Judaism erred grievously in putting the temple at the heart of religion:

The halakhah, the Judaism that is faithful to itself...which brings the Divine Presence into the midst of empirical reality, does not center about the synagogue or study house. These are minor sanctuaries. The true sanctuary is the sphere of our daily, mundane activities, for it is there that the realization of the halakhah takes place. (Halakhic Man, pp. 94–95)

Consequently, halakhic Judaism is realistic, idealistic and demanding. Halakhah is concerned with every moment, with every place. Its sanctity fills the universe.

Halakhah is unequivocally committed to righteous, ethical life. The Rav points out that the great sages of halakhah have always been known for their lofty ethical standards. The halakhah demands high respect for the dignity of others:

To recognize a person is not just to identify him physically. It is more than that: It is an act of identifying him existentially, as a person who has a job to do, that only he can do properly. To recognize a person means to affirm that he is irreplaceable. To hurt a person means to tell him that he is expendable, that there is no need for him. The halakhah equated the act of publicly embarrassing a person with murder. (“The Community,” p. 16)

The ethical demands of halakhah are exacting. One’s personal life must be guided by halakhic teachings in every situation, in every relationship. The halakhic worldview opposes mystical quietism which is tolerant of pain and suffering. On the contrary, halakhic Judaism “wants man to cry out aloud against any kind of pain, to react indignantly to all kinds of injustice or unfairness” (“Redemption, Prayer, Talmud Torah,” p. 65; see also, U-Vikkashtem mi-Sham, p. 16). The Rav’s stress on ethical activism manifested itself in his views on religious Zionism. He accepted upon himself the mantle of leadership for religious Zionism; this placed him at odds with many Orthodox leaders who did not ascribe religious legitimacy to the State of Israel. Rabbi Soloveitchik eloquently insists that the halakhah prohibits the missing of opportunities. After the Holocaust, the Jewish people were given the miraculous opportunity to re-establish a Jewish state in the land of Israel. For centuries, Jews had prayed for the return of Jewish sovereignty in Israel. Now, in this generation, the opportunity was being offered. For the Rav, it would be tragic and unforgivable to miss the gift of the moment. Not to respond to “the knocking of the beloved,” not to respond to God’s message to the suffering people of Israel—this would be a tragic error of terrible magnitude. This was not a time for hesitation; this was a time to embrace the opportunity of a Jewish State, an opportunity granted to us by the Almighty. The Rav conveyed a certain impatience with those who did not respond religiously to the new Jewish State. Like the Shulamith maiden in the Song of Songs, they were drowsy and hesitant at the very moment the beloved had returned. They were not fully awake to the significance of the moment, and the halakhic and ethical imperatives which flowed from it.

Interiority

All true religious action must be accompanied by appropriate inner feelings and thoughts. The exterior features of religious behavior must be expressions of one’s interior spiritual sensibilities.

Yet in non-Orthodox circles, it has long been fashionable to deride halakhic Jews as automatons who slavishly adhere to a myriad of ancient rules and regulations. They depict Orthodox Jews as unspiritual beings who only care about the letter of the law, who nitpick over trifling details, whose souls are lost in a labyrinth of medieval codes of law. To such critics, Rabbi Soloveitchik would answer quite simply: You do not understand the halakhah; you do not understand the nature of halakhic Judaism. Interiority is a basic feature of the halakhic way of life.

Halakhah relates not merely to an external pattern of behavior. Rather, it infuses and shapes one’s inner life. “The halakhah wishes to objectify religiosity not only through introducing the external act and the psychophysical deed into the world of religion, but also through the structuring and ordering of the inner correlative in the realm of man’s spirit” (Halakhic Man, p. 59).

For the halakhic Jew, halakhah is not a compilation of random laws; it is the expression of God’s will. Through halakhah, God provides a means of drawing nearer to Him, even of developing a sense of intimacy with Him. To the outsider, a person fulfilling a halakhic prescription may seem like an unthinking robot; but this skewed view totally ignores the inner life of the halakhic Jew. It does not see or sense the inner world of thought, emotion, spiritual elevation.

The halakhic Jew must expect to be misunderstood. How can others who do not live in the world of halakhah possibly understand the profundity of halakhic life? How can those who judge others by surface behavior be expected to penetrate into the mysterious depths of a halakhic Jew’s inner life? Those who stereotype Orthodoxy are thereby revealing their own ignorance of the true halakhic personality.

“Halakhic man does not quiver before any man; he does not seek out compliments, nor does he require public approval.... He knows that the truth is a lamp unto his feet and the halakhah a light unto his path” (Halakhic Man, p. 89). The halakhic personality strives to maintain and develop inner strength. One must have the courage and self-confidence to be able to stand alone. Self-validation comes from within one’s self, not from others. “Heroism is the central category in practical Judaism.” The halakhic Jew needs the inner confidence “which makes it possible for him to be different” (“The Community,” p. 13).

Knesset Israel

Halakhic Jews feel inextricably bound to all Jews, even those who are unsympathetic to them and their beliefs:

Judaism has stressed the wholeness and the unity of Knesset Israel, the Jewish community. The latter is not a conglomerate. It is an autonomous entity, endowed with a life of its own.... However strange such a concept may appear to the empirical sociologist, it is not at all a strange experience for the halakhist and the mystic, to whom Knesset Israel is a living, loving and suffering mother. (“The Community,” p. 9)

In one of his lectures on repentance, Rabbi Soloveitchik stated that “the Jew who believes in Knesset Israel is the Jew who lives as part of it wherever it is and is willing to give his life for it, feels its pain, rejoices with it, fights in its wars, groans at its defeats and celebrates its victories” (Al ha-Teshuvah, p. 98). By binding oneself to the Torah, which embodies the spirit and destiny of Israel, the believer in Knesset Israel thereby is bound to all the generations of the community of Israel, past, present, and future.

The Rav speaks of two types of covenant that bind Jews to Knesset Israel. The berit goral, the covenant of fate, is that which makes a Jew identify with Jewishness due to external pressure. Such a Jew is made conscious of Jewish identity when under attack by anti-Semites; when Israel is threatened by its enemies; when Jews around the world are endangered because of their Jewishness. The berit goral is connected to Jewish ethnicity and nationalism; it reminds the Jew that, like it or not, he is a Jew by fate.

The berit yeud, the covenant of mission and destiny, links the Jew to the positive content of Jewishness. He is Jewish because he chooses the Jewish way of life, the Torah and halakhah; he seeks a living relationship with the God of Israel. The berit yeud is connected with Jewish ideals, values, beliefs, observances; it inspires the Jew to choose to live as a Jew. The berit goral is clearly on a much lower spiritual level than the berit yeud; the ideal Jew should see Jewish identity primarily in the positive terms of the berit yeud. However, the Rav does not negate the significance of the berit goral. Even if a Jew relates to Jewishness only on the ethnic level, this at least manifests some connection to the Jewish people. Such individuals should not be discounted from Knesset Israel, nor should they be disdained as hopelessly lost as Jews. Halakhic Jews, although they cling to the berit yeud, must recognize their necessary relationship with those Jews whose connection to Jewishness is on the level of berit goral.

Ultimately, though, Jewish tradition is passed from generation to generation by those Jews who are committed to Torah and halakhah. Thus, it is critical that all Jews be brought into the category of those for whom Jewishness is a positive, living commitment. Jewishness based on ethnicity will not ensure Jewish continuity. The Rav credited what he termed the “masorah community” with transmitting Judaism from generation to generation. The masorah community is composed of those Jews for whom transmission of Torah and halakhah is the central purpose of life. It was founded by Moses and will continue into the times of the Messiah. Members of the masorah community draw on the traditions of former generations, teach the present generation, plan for future generations:

The masorah community cuts across the centuries, indeed millennia, of calendric time and unites those who already played their part, delivered their message, acquired fame, and withdrew from the covenantal stage quietly and humbly, with those who have not yet been given the opportunity to appear on the covenantal stage and who wait for their turn in the anonymity of the “about to be” (“The Lonely Man of Faith,” p. 47).

The masorah community actually embodies two dimensions—the masorah community of the fathers and that of the mothers. The Rav clarifies this point by a personal reminiscence:

The laws of Shabbat, for instance, were passed on to me by my father; they are part of mussar avikha. The Shabbat as a living entity, as a queen, was revealed to me by my mother; it is a part of torat imekha. The fathers knew much about the Shabbat; the mothers lived the Shabbat, experienced her presence, and perceived her beauty and splendor. The fathers taught generations how to observe the Shabbat; mothers taught generations how to greet the Shabbat and how to enjoy her twenty-four-hour presence (“Tribute to the Rebbitzen of Talne,” p. 77).

The Rav teaches that Knesset Israel is a prayerful community and a charitable community. “It is not enough to feel the pain of many, nor is it sufficient to pray for the many, if this does not lead to charitable action” (“The Community,” p. 22). A responsible member of Knesset Israel must be spiritually awake, must be concerned for others, must work to help those in need. “The prayerful-charity community rises to a higher sense of communion in the teaching community, where teacher and disciple are fully united” (“The Community,” p. 23). The community must engage in teaching, in transmitting, in passing the teachings of Torah to new generations.

The Rav, Our Teacher

The Rav, through his lectures and writings, was the most powerful and effective teacher of Orthodoxy of our times. In his lectures, he was able to spellbind huge audiences for hours on end. His talmudic and halakhic lessons pushed his students to the limits of their intellects, challenging them to think analytically. His insights in Torah were breathtaking in their depth and scope. Those who were privileged to study with him cherish their memories of the Rav. And those who have read his writings have been grateful for the privilege of learning Torah from one of the Torah giants of our time.

The Rav described his own experience when he studied Talmud:

When I sit to “learn” I find myself immediately in the fellowship of the sages of tradition. The relationship is personal. Maimonides is at my right. Rabbenu Tam at the left. Rashi sits at the head and explicates the text. Rabbenu Tam objects, the Rambam decides, the Ra’avad attacks. They are all in my small room, sitting around my table.

Learning Torah is a trans-generational experience. It links the student with the sages of all previous generations. It creates a fellowship, a special tie of friendship and common cause. It binds together the community in a profound bond of love, and provides the foundation for future generations. Halakhic Judaism represents a millennial Jewish tradition dedicated to Torah and halakhah, truth and righteousness, love and fear of God. It demands—and yearns to bring out—the best in us. One who strives to be a member of the trans-generational community does not suffer from spiritual homelessness.

When we and future generations sit down to study Torah, we will be privileged to share our room with Rashi and Rambam, with Rabbenu Tam and Rashba. And sitting right next to us will be Rabbi Joseph B. Soloveitchik, his penetrating insights leading us to greater heights in our quest to become “married” to the Torah.

References

Al ha-Teshuvah, written and edited by Pinchas Peli, Jerusalem, 5735.
Besod ha-Yahid ve-ha-Yahad, edited by Pinchas Peli, Jerusalem, 5736.
“The Community,” Tradition 17:2 (Spring 1978), pp. 7–24.
“Confrontation,” Tradition 6:2 (Spring–Summer 1964), pp. 5–29.
Halakhic Man, translated by Lawrence Kaplan, Philadelphia, 1983.
“The Lonely Man of Faith,” Tradition 7:2 (Summer 1965), pp. 5–67.
“Majesty and Humility,” Tradition 17:2 (Spring 1978), pp. 25–37.
“Redemption, Prayer and Talmud Torah,” Tradition 17:2 (Spring 1978), pp. 55–72.
“A Tribute to the Rebbitzen of Talne,” Tradition 17:2 (Spring 1978), pp. 73–83.
“U-Vikkashtem mi-Sham,” Hadarom, Tishri 5739, pp. 1–83.

The Ever-Changing Path: Visions of Legal Diversity in Hasidic Literature*

Ariel Evan Mayse

Judaism is a religion of law. More precisely, it is a way of life consisting of embodied practices and rituals in which we are called upon to express—and cultivate—our private inner worlds. Judaism thus binds theology and praxis, intertwining the spiritual life and physical actions by demanding that God be served neither with pure contemplation nor empty deeds performed by rote. These practices unite the members of the community by imparting a shared structure and behavioral norms, but they are also deeply personal ways of communicating the hidden realms of the spirit. The commandments are sacred vessels that evidence our relationship with God; each one bears witness to our devotion and reveals our theological convictions.

But law and spirituality are often framed as opposing forces in the religious life of devoted mystical seekers.[1] In this common understanding, the pneuma (spirit) inspires the mystic to new levels of intimacy with God, while the nomos (law) restrains and binds him to the norms of his community. The strain between these two poles could be deemed fraught or fruitful, but it remains a tension nonetheless. In the context of Judaism this model has been frequently applied to Hasidism, with the assumption that the spiritual quest and the obligatory practices demanded by halakha pull the seeker in opposing trajectories.

Recent evaluations of Hasidic literature, however, have reminded us that the early Hasidic masters were deeply immersed in the world of Jewish law. R. Levi Yitshak of Barditshev was the leader of a rabbinical court (av bet din) in one of the largest Jewish communities in Russia. Other Hasidic thinkers authored original works of halakha. These include R. Shmuel Shmelke Horowitz and his brother R. Pinhas Horowitz, two very important rabbinic figures who were called upon to lead communities in Central Europe, and the later Hasidic polymath R. Israel of Kozhenits. R. Shneur Zalman of Liady was a mighty scholar of Jewish law in addition to being a charismatic leader and complex mystical theologian; his summaries of the halakha were posthumously published as the influential Shulhan ‘Arukh ha-Rav. As the Hasidic movement spread and matured, it became increasingly common for the same individual to fulfill the roles of the Hasidic rebbe and the posek, and by the nineteenth century it was not all strange to for a tsaddik to function as both a communal spiritual leader and a legal adjudicator.[2]

            There are many angles from which we might approach the complicated relationship between Hasidism and halakha. Perhaps the most obvious tack is to examine how different Hasidic thinkers explain the importance of the mitzvoth, and by extension the various laws that define and develop them. We could also explore Hasidic contributions to the creative legal dialectics or casuistry known as pilpul. This genre, while often quite obscure, was an important part of Jewish legal discourse in Eastern Europe. Or we might analyze cases in which Hasidic leaders decided specific points of halakha when confronted with practical questions or queries (pesak). More broadly, we could explore Hasidic texts advocating for added layers of stringency or supererogatory practices in fulfilling of the commandments (humra or lifnim mi-shurat ha-din), or we might look at the ways in which customs (minhagim) become canonized as a type of unofficial law governing the behaviors of certain Hasidic groups. Finally, we might examine those sources that refer to a conflict between the strictures of halakha on one hand, and the life of the spirit—or, alternatively, God’s specific call of the hour—on the other. Although this tension should not be misunderstood as the dominant attitude in Hasidic literature toward halakha, it is an important voice and one that deserves proper attention as protective measure against an exclusive focus on the role of law in shaping Jewish religious experiences.

We will leave these important issues aside for the moment, returning to them in a future study, and will instead focus on two questions at the very heart of Hasidic conceptualizations of halakha: First, why have different sages or legal adjudicators offered divergent opinions—some of which are mutually exclusive—when they are confronted by similar cases or precedents from the same corpus of legal texts? Second, why has halakha changed over time, and why does it continue to do so in the present day? Examining these core issues will demonstrate the variety of ways in which different Hasidic masters have described the inner workings of Jewish law from a theoretical perspective. However, I believe that these sources also have much to teach us about the contemporary interpretation of halakha, and they provide a unique perspective on the manner in which Jewish law should respond to and embody Jewish theology.

            Before taking up the issue of halakha explicitly, we must note that Hasidic texts emphasize human creativity and articulate a religious ethos of continuous renewal and constant change. Let us consider, for example, the following teaching of R. Levi Yitshak of Barditshev (d. 1809):

“Like all that I show you—the structure of the Tabernacle and the structure of all its vessels—and thus shall you do” (Ex. 25:9). RaSHI comments on “and thus shall you do”—for all generations. But the Tosafot object: The altar that Moses made was not equal to that made by Solomon (b. Shevu‘ot 15a). RaMBaN raises a similar objection.

But following our method, we can understand “and thus shall you do” as referring to something else. Really, the structure of the Tabernacle and all its vessels that had to be of a certain height, weight, and form, were all ways of garbing or giving form to some holy spiritual entity. This followed the prophetic vision that Moses had on Mount Sinai, along with all of Israel. As they drew this holy inspiration into their deeds, so it was. This was the way that the garb or vessel, along with the Tabernacle itself, had to be made.

But we also know the talmudic statement that “no two prophets prophesy in the same style” (b. Sanhedrin 89a). Each does so in his own categories. These follow the path of that person in worshipping God; in that very way does the spirit of prophecy appear to him. This means that Moses and the generation of the wilderness, following the qualities of worship and prophecy they attained at Sinai, had to construct this particular form of Tabernacle, structuring its vessels in just this way so that they would properly garb the spiritual lights of holiness. This is what Scripture means when it says, “Like all that I show you”—according to your framework of prophecy, so should the Tabernacle and vessels be.

Then scripture adds, “And thus shall you do”—for all generations. This means that in every generation, when you want to build the Temple, the structure should be in accord with the prophecy that is then attained at that time. That should determine the form of Temple and vessels. Solomon did it according to his own worship and his prophetic spirit. The form he made followed that which he attained.

Thus RaMBaN’s objection can really be dismissed. Of course his altar was different! That was the commandment—that they not do it always in one particular form, but in accord with the flow of prophecy that takes place then. That should determine the form of the earthly vessels.[3]

R. Levi Yitshak is unabashedly calling for the leaders of each generation to do things differently than their predecessors. Indeed, he claims that such change is part and parcel of correctly fulfilling the commandments, for the structures of religious praxis must express the spirit of every generation in a new way. The construction of the Temple, presumably a metaphor for building a devotional community united by holy deeds, must be undertaken again and again as time goes on. A leader cannot simply imitate the actions of his forbearers or take shelter in mimicking their actions, even if those modes of worship were correct in previous generations. But this cry for renewal extends to the entire community as well. Together their deeds and collective spiritual life must be in accord with “his own worship and his prophetic spirit”— that is, their authentic service of God must emerge from their religious experiences and unique theological vision.

            Many Hasidic texts also portray such religious diversity as a characteristic of the present, complementing this description of how Jewish life has developed across generations. These sources refer to different Jewish leaders and thinkers, perhaps including scholars of law as well as Hasidic tsaddikim, as each striking an independent path in their service of God. This point is made by R. Kalonymous Kalman Epstein of Kraków (d. 1823) in a homily found among his collection of sermons entitled Ma’or va-Shemesh. There we read the following:

Ulla Bira’ah said in the name of R. Eliezar: “In the future the blessed Holy One will make a circle of the tsaddikim, and He will sit among them in the Garden of Eden. Each of them will point with his finger, as it is written (Isa. 25:9), ‘And he shall say on that day: “Behold, this is our God, for whom we waited, that He might save us. This is Y-H-V-H in whom we have trusted; let us be glad and rejoice in His salvation’” (b. Ta’anit 31a).”

We must understand, what is this teaching us? What does the phrase, “point with his finger,” tell us? It should have said, “each and every one of them will see Him.”

We can say that the sages were alluding to the following idea: It is known that each and every tsaddik holds fast to a path in the service of God according to his understanding (ke-fi sikhlo). The deeds of the tsaddikim are not identical to one another. Some serve God in this way, and others worship in a different manner. But so that a tsaddik not become distressed, saying to himself, “Perhaps my ways of approaching divine service are not upright, for there is another tsaddik who serves God in a different way”—for this reason, in the future God will show each one of them that his service was good and upright. Every tsaddik will see the goodness of the ways his understanding led him to walk in the path of God.

This is why it says that each and every [tsaddik] will point with his finger, [saying] “this is Y-H-V-H, in whom we have trusted”—this path through which I have served God is a correct one. [He will realize] that his was a valid (nakhon) way of serving the One; God will show him the validity of his approach. This is easy to understand.

This pluralistic vision is representative of many sermons in Ma’or va-Shemesh, and it may rightly be described as one of the primary messages of his work. In this particular take on this theme, R. Kalonymous Kalman reminds his reader that each person must cultivate a posture of humility when examining the worship of those around him. This certainly includes Hasidic leaders, for whom a sense of modesty is particularly important, but it is not limited to them. However, R. Kalonymous Kalman understands that such humility can also lead to paralyzing self-doubt, and he emphasizes that in the messianic age we will be awakened to the fact that all ways of serving God—including one’s own—are valid and true. Knowledge of this future revelation should engender feelings of confidence even in the present. Divergent spiritual paths can all be authentic and, like points on a circle, they are equally proximal to the divine Presence that lies within them.

R. Kalonymous Kalman’s historical context is important for understanding this passage. His teachings were delivered in the 1810s and 1820s, during a period in which Hasidism was growing rapidly and spreading across Eastern Europe. By this point most of the direct disciples of the Maggid of Mezritsh (d. 1772) were already gone, and a new generation of Hasidic leadership was beginning to take their place. These tsaddikim were united by a common religious ethos and a shared intellectual lineage tracing back to the Ba’al Shem Tov (d. 1760). But there were very real differences between their ideologies, including everything from proper forms of leadership (populist vs. elitist), to their understandings of Kabbalah and the contemplative life, to their notions of how—if at all—one should attempt to uplift and sanctify the physical world. R. Kalonymous Kalman’s sermon thus offers theological reflection on the changing social reality around him.

            Returning to our theme, we must ask if this Hasidic mandate for a creativity that embraces multiple religious paths would also extend to the realm of halakha? Is there a full appreciation of a spectrum of legal positions, and, if so, how can we explain the fact that two different sages derive incongruous answers from the same corpus of legal material? And, if halakha is indeed so dynamic and flexible, how can it be that a law claiming divine origin change over time? The flow of Jewish legal discourse from the Bible to the medieval responsa and codes suggests that halakha is constantly in flux, evolving in response to unprecedented situations and the influx of new ideas. How can we account for such development?

A few well-known classical rabbinic sources reveal that the talmudic sages were keenly aware of these issues, and indeed were willing to consider them explicitly. The relationship between God’s will and human creativity or agency in legal decision-making is the heart of the famous “oven of Akhnai” story (b. Bava Metsia 59b). While an interesting and often-underappreciated counterpoint is offered in the tale of R. Eliezer’s death in b. Sanhedrin 68a, the paradigm of “the Torah is not in heaven” and “My children have defeated me” has clearly become the dominant voice of the rabbinic tradition and Jewish legal discourse. This trend is further supported by the famous “these and those are the words of the living God” (b. Eruvin 13b), wherein two different legal positions can be verified as expressions of the divine word, even if only one of them will define the normative practice.[4] These traditions are complemented by a tradition in b. Hagigah 3b claiming that even opposite rulings, both those that permit something and those that prohibit it, were given to Israel by a single divine Shepherd.

            The development of Jewish law has been defined by a constant dynamic of codification and interpretation.[5] This dialectic began in the rabbinic period and has continued into the modern era. At various points individuals have attempted to systematize and standardize a normative halakha, but without fail these ventures have been met with both criticism and a wealth of super-commentaries that push the law back into variegated literature with few obligating precedents. In explaining their reasons for trying to standardize the halakha, some authors of codes reveal their understanding of why Jewish law has changed over time. For example, R. Ya’akov ben Asher (d. c. 1340), the son of the Rosh and author of the Arba’ah Turim, claims that he began his project in order to clarify the many doubts that had arisen regarding the proper modes of Jewish conduct.[6] Similarly, Maimonides attributes all rabbinic disagreements and the eventual division of halakha into multiple streams to the fact that the students of Shammai and Hillel were not paying careful enough attention to their masters’ words.[7] That is, the plurality of halakha in his time—and thus one of the impetuses for writing the Mishneh Torah—is the result of a defective transmission.

            Some kabbalistic texts, however, offer another explanation as to why different scholars may take different legal positions or reasons why halakha changes over time. Moses de Leon describes the unfolding of divergent opinions as the result of ideas being refracted through the matrix of the sefirot.[8] R. Isaiah Horowitz (d. 1630), the author of the immensely influential Shenei Luhot ha-Berit, claims that halakha changes because legal stringencies have increased over the years. Things that were permitted in the days of Moses are now forbidden, since the cosmic forces of impurity are perpetually growing stronger and new levels of piety are needed to combat them.[9] We shall see that while Hasidic sources work with these models of legal change, they do so with a much greater sense of optimism and an embrace of human creativity that manifest as leniency in addition to stringency.

            Let us begin our journey through the Hasidic texts on legal diversity with the teachings of R. Nahman of Bratslav (d. 1811).[10] A great-grandson of the Ba’al Shem Tov and a very creative thinker, the unique R. Nahman was also extremely controversial. During his lifetime, he was engaged in bitter public conflicts with several other Hasidic leaders. These battles were ideological as well as economic in nature, for R. Nahman took exception to populist and regal forms of Hasidic leadership. It is no surprise that we find R. Nahman exploring the nature and origins of scholarly disagreement (mahloket) in his homilies. In doing so he often blends together two different meanings of this term: controversy in a traditional legal sense, with opposing scholars offering contradictory legal positions, and contemporary disagreement between communal leaders.

            Some of R. Nahman’s portrayals of mahloket suggest that such disagreements often lead both parties into negative realms. Conflicts bring out the most ignoble human instincts and feed the Evil Inclination, even if they originally began in a controversy over a holy issue.[11] In another fascinating homily, R. Nahman describes the ways in which Hasidic leaders (tsaddikim) and their new teachings are perpetually misunderstood by traditional rabbinic scholars (lamdanim).[12] The latter accost the tsaddikim and charge them will all sorts of infelicities and infidelities. But the small mindedness of the lamdanim and thus the source of the disagreement between them and the tsaddikim, says R. Nahman, comes from the fact that their own studies are tainted by pride and self-interest.

One of R. Nahman’s fullest treatments of the positive elements of controversy appears in the famous teaching Likkutei Moharan I 64, where we read the following:

A disagreement [between scholars] is like the creation of the world. The essence of the world’s formation happened by means of the empty void (halal ha-panui), since without this everything would have remained Ein Sof. There would have been no room for the creation of the world. Therefore God contracted this divine light to the sides, creating an empty void. Within this He created the world, including time and space (ha-yamim ve-ha-middot), through speech, as it says, “with the word of Y-H-V-H the heavens were created” (Ps. 33:6). So it is with a disagreement, [which also takes place through words]. If all scholars agreed as one, there would no room for Creation. But because of the disagreement among them, for they dispute with one another and take opposite positions, through this they create an empty space between them. This is like the withdrawal of the divine light to the sides, and the creation of the world through [God’s] speech.[13]

The dissenting positions taken by scholars actually generate a creative zone between them, an intellectual white space in which innovation may be born. Homogeneity thus prevents new interpretations of Torah because it suffocates this imaginative realm. R. Nahman does not explicitly mention halakha in this particular passage, but in other sermons he extols the importance of creative reinterpretation of Jewish law as an act that renews the mind and cultivates one’s attunement to the spiritual.[14] It is therefore reasonable to assume that he would extend the model described above to include the creative possibilities afforded by positive disagreements over the law.

Our next source comes to us from the sermons of R. Dov Baer Friedman, popularly known as the Maggid of Mezritsh (d. 1772). One of his teachings explores why Bet Hillel and Bet Shammai disagree over whether or not an egg laid on a Jewish holiday may be eaten on that same day.[15] His explains that their lack of consensus in this specific case represents a much broader legal phenomenon:

“These and those are the words of the living God,” both those that forbid and those that permit. “With knowledge rooms are filled” (Prov. 24:4). All of the [divine] attributes (middot) come from Mind (da‘at).... Each person draws forth from da‘at, combining the words in this way or that. This one draws love (ahavah, i.e., hesed) from da‘at, meaning that the egg is permitted. Another draws down awe (yirah, i.e., gevurah) from da‘at, and the egg is forbidden. And when one wants to change the halakha, like R. Joshua, who said that “we pay no attention to a heavenly voice,”[16] he returns the ruling (din) to the attribute of da‘at and from there draws it down through a different attribute. The enlightened will understand.

Another explanation of “these and those are the words of the living God:” The Oral Torah is the adornment of the bride. One person says that the adornment must be like this, and another says that this is not so pleasing, and another way is more beautiful. The king receives great pleasure in their disagreement over the adornments, since both of them wish to adorn the king.[17]

The divine Mind is a realm of infinity and abstraction, and there the law is still unformed and exists only as pure potential. Human scholars must decide the practical application of the halakha by drawing forth this energy and recasting it through the various divine attributes (sefirot). The positions these judges take may all be described as the “words of the living God,” because each one of them is an authentic manifestation of the different potentialities included in God’s Mind.

But the Maggid also claims, perhaps even prescriptively, that any of these rulings can be overturned and transformed by returning it to its ultimate source in the sefirah da‘at. There in God’s Mind the various other possibilities remain eternally valid and intact, and one may manifest a different legal decision as required by the hour. The seven lower sefirot, vessels for receiving divine energy that are here described as “rooms,” emerge from the sefirah da‘at. The Maggid’s sermon builds upon the kabbalistic geography of the divine superstructure, but in this case he is also referring to the correlate of these same sefirot within the human psyche as well. Interpreting of kabbalistic symbolism as relating to the psychological and spiritual life of the individual is one of the principal features of his theology.

 The Maggid often uses the term da‘at to refer to a seeker’s mystical awareness of the divine Presence. This distinguishing consciousness transforms all of his deeds, even mundane actions like eating, drinking, or conversing with other people, into opportunities for serving God.[18] But da‘at is also the highest region of concrete human knowledge, and in earlier Kabbalah it is often associated with Moses and with the Written Torah itself. This suggest that retracing a legal ruling back into the abstract potential of da’at—into the realm that is simultaneously the divine Mind and the deepest seat of our active cognition—is a moment akin to the Revelation on Mt. Sinai.

            Does this teaching suggest that scholars possess an a priori legal intuition that necessarily determines how they will decide the law? Or is the Maggid describing a more purposeful, intentional process of decision-making in which judges actively seek to decide or change the halakha by drawing out new possibilities from of the unformed potential? We do not have enough evidence to know if this conceptualization would have affected the Maggid’s own legal rulings, but this framework does provide an interesting kabbalistic justification for why different scholars will reach different verdicts even when confronted by the same case. In the passage above, the heavenly voice represents the current heavenly judgment on the halakha. R. Joshua’s reasoning led him in a different direction, and, ignoring the previous divine judgment, he changed the halakha to accord with him own decision. The Maggid’s reading of R. Joshua rejecting the heavenly voice because he wants to alter the halakha is a fascinating interpretation, and not at all the obvious meaning of the talmudic passage.

R. Dov Baer’s second reading of “these and those,” however, differs from the one given immediately preceding it. Earlier Jewish mystical texts commonly apply the term “adornments” of the Bride (i.e., shekhinah) to Torah novellae, but here the Maggid argues that creative new interpretations of the Oral Torah, like standards of beauty, have an inherently subjective dimension. He gives a parable about two sages who disagree over which of the various possible manifestations of the law is the most befitting for the king (surely a reference to the King of kings), but never claiming which of them is the most rationally compelling. All such decisions bring great joy to God, and indeed the very process of legal argumentation, as long as this is done with integrity. Each one is appealing in the eye of the beholder and pleasing to the Divine, which remains true even if they contradict another or are mutually exclusive.

Perhaps we are meant to take the aesthetic analogy to sartorial ornaments less literally, since surely each proponent has his reasons in addition to thinking that his interpretations more beautiful. Pure subjectivity, after all, is not integrity. But we should nevertheless highlight that the Maggid describes God as delighting in the multiplicity, suggesting that the Divine takes no joy in a monochromatic or static legal system.

            The Maggid’s teachings are mirrored by a halakha delivered by his student R. Menahem Nahum of Chernobil (d. 1797). His discussion of halakha emerges from a surprising interpretation of the biblical tale of Jacob resting for the night on his way to Beer Sheva (Gen. 28:10–22), during which the patriarch “took of the stones of the place, and put it under his head” (Gen. 28:11) The Midrash senses an ambiguity in the verse, for it is unclear if Jacob took one stone or many, and claims that twelve rocks jostled with one another in the hopes of being selected by Jacob. The relevant section of Menahem Nahum’s homily reads as follows:

We know how [the divine] Mind (da’at) is poured forth from the unified source above and comes down into this world of sep­aration; only as it enters this universe is Mind divided. This is the source of the controversies and divisions among the sages in under­standing the mind of Torah (be-da’at ha-Torah), [of which it is said], “Both these and those are the words of the living God” (b. Eruvin 13b)! Mind comes from this sub­lime and completely unified source above; it is divided only as it en­ters into the universe of distinctions, the place where the souls of Israel originate.

So it is that there were twelve stones [under Jacob’s head],[19] for Mind is di­vided according to one's root in the twelve tribes of Israel. The twelve stones represented the twelve tribes, but in their root they were one. Each person approaches mind from [his own place within] the world of division. His opinions follow the root of his soul; it is on that basis that he expresses his view of Torah. Another, who says the very opposite, may be acting just as faithfully in accord with the root of his own soul, which shows him what it does. In their source, both are the words of the living God, since all is one. The flow of da’at derives from binah, where there is no division or conflict at all; only as mind enters the world of separation is it too separated and does it flow through varied channels into distinctive “heads” (see Gen. 2:10). All [the sages] really mean the same thing, however, since all of them are drawing from the same well, from the same Mind. Only in this world of sepa­ration do their opinions appear to diverge. When the controversy is uplifted back to its root, to the world of unity, all become one again, and then “both these and those are the words of the living God.”

Now there were twelve stones, each designated by the name of one of the tribes, as we have said, but in their root all of their differing minds were one. That is why the stones were “quarreling” with one another. They were “stones” (or “rocks”) as in, “There, the shepherd, the Rock of Is­rael” (Gen. 49:24). Each represented a part of the truth, just as in the controversies of the sages concerning the Oral Torah. Each said: “May the tsaddik rest his head upon me”—may he rely upon me to act correctly in God’s service and in the commandments. Each of them intends the truth, for all of them draw from that same source in Ja­cob. Only because our world is a divided one do they appear contradictory and disputed. But when mind is returned to its root in the one they become one stone again….[20]

R. Menahem Nahum does not cite the Maggid explicitly, but aspects of his intricate conceptualization of the sages’ disagreements sounds quite familiar. He too describes the realm of da’at as an expansive pool of new ideas, which includes all of the different valid legal rulings. Da’at is the root of the divine Mind, the ever-rushing wellspring from which the various distributaries of halakha branch out and become manifest in the sages’ diverse rulings. These are embodiments of the seven lower sefirot, which collectively represent the matrix of intellectual divergence and individual creativity.

Unlike the Maggid, however, R. Menahem Nahum does not explicitly claim that a contemporary sage may actually modify the halakha by restoring it to the realm of da’at and returning it once more through a different practical manifestation. R. Menahem Nahum emphasizes that an element of unity remains above, or within, the contrasting legal rulings maintained by the various sages. This mirrors the kabbalistic assertion that all of the sefirot are as actually bound together by a common core of sacred divine energy. It is toward this realm of unity that one must look in order to understand how the sages can offer different rulings: their legal decisions are but one of the many ways in which the infinite divine Mind is constantly unfolding in new and sometimes contradictory paths.

Returning once more to the Maggid’s teachings, his sermons often refer to a supernal Torah (Torah kedumah) that remains in an abstract, perhaps even pre-linguistic form deep within the Divine. This ineffable, primordial Torah was embodied in the revealed Scripture given at Mt. Sinai and the legal discourse rooted therein as it entered our world and was translated through the seven lower sefirot. This accounts for a great variety of different opinions in halakha, but raises the question of whether or not any of them is more correct than the others. Is there a single divine law, one that may be hidden from us but should be the goal toward which all human decisions should accord? Or, alternatively, should the development of halakha be defined by a telos of refinement through which human scholars seek its ideal manifestation? These questions, the subject of much debate in the analysis of Jewish law, undergird one of the Maggid’s sermons:

There must be a reason why [the Torah] changes down below. It may be understood through the sages’ teaching: “a heavenly voice went out and said, ‘the halakha is like R. Eliezer.’ R. Joshua said, ‘we do not listen to a heavenly voice.’ R. Nathan happened upon Elijah and asked him, ‘What was the blessed Holy One doing at that time?’ He replied, ‘He smiled and said, “My children have defeated me”’ (b. Bava Metsia 59b). Now, if the heavenly voice declared that the halakha was like R. Eliezer, then presumably the true Torah [above] conforms to that [position], and so must the configuration [of the letters] be above! If so, this is difficult. How could R. Joshua say that we pay no mind to a heavenly voice!? And we must also understand the origin of all the dialectics (shakla ve-tarya ) of the Talmud, which is the Oral Torah. Surely such disputes have no relationship to the Torah above.[21]

The Maggid has pointed out that the entire project of the Oral Torah is about sustaining multiple divergent but equally valid viewpoints, fleshing out different possibilities that can coexist with one another. That is, the Oral Torah is governed by an approach to legal discourse that by its very nature encourages multiplicity, not conformity or even harmony. He continues,

Truly there are no dialectics above. Matters exist just as they are, in accord with the halakha. But from our perspective, meaning after [the Torah] came down through its seven pillars,[22] which are the seven days of building [i.e., the seven lower sefirot], we can refer to dialectics inclining to the side of compassion, judgment, or any other attributes.... This explains the Zohar’s statement: “the blessed Holy One consulted with the Torah” (Zohar 3:61b ). This seems difficult, for how can there be any such consultation above, God forbid? “Consulted” must refer to the dialectics, just as a person “consults” with himself in seeing that there are reasons to incline to both sides [of the argument]. But this is still difficult, for how can the tsaddikim use their reasoning to come up with something that contradicts the Torah above?

The entire corpus of shakla ve-tarya, the legal dialectics that characterizes the Talmud and its discursive reasoning, only appears to be an integral part of Torah from our perspective. However, the Maggid is still bothered by the possibility that human interpretation might lead the sages to decide the halakha in a way that is contrary to what exists in the pure, ideal Torah above:

It is as we have explained in another place. “The tsaddik rules by the fear of God” (2 Sam. 23:3)[23]—because of the greatness of his connection to God, the tsaddik’s will is the Will of the blessed One. Just like the supernatural miracles we have seen tsaddikim perform, since they decree and the blessed Holy One fulfills, the same is true here. Because they were so deeply attached to the blessed One, R. Joshua said that we pay no mind to a heavenly voice. The Torah has already been given to Israel, meaning that it is from our perspective. It says “to incline after the majority” (Ex. 23:2). If so, we must follow these positions, since certainly the Torah [as we see it] from our perspective includes dialectics. We are the majority, and we have the power to transform the combination [of the letters] above so that the halakha follows us.

This is [the meaning of]: Do not read “ways” (halikhot) but “laws” (halakhot).[24] Those below have the power to change the “cosmic ways” above, so that they are like the laws that we have decided. This is [the meaning] of the statement, “My children have defeated me,” by changing the combination [of the letters of the heavenly judgment] to agree with them. “He smiled,” since God receives great pleasure and delight from this, as it were.

This is alluded to in the verse, “Happy is the one who finds strength (oz) in You” (Ps. 84:6), which refers to the Torah from our perspective. “Who finds... in You,” meaning the new interpretations of Torah he has achieved by means of his great attachment, he can transform the combination above—this is “in You.” Perhaps we can say that “in You” (bakh = 22) also alludes to the following. There are twenty-two letters of the Torah, which have the ability to reverse the letters of the combination from bakh to khab (22).

This is the explanation of the ending of the verse, “in the pathways of their heart.” Who can do all of this? One who has traveled the pathways of Torah, and the cosmic ways are the well-trodden paths of his heart. He must also connect and attach himself to God with great love and awe. This is “in their heart.”... This is the meaning of the Talmudic phrase “the verse is turned around and interpreted” (b. Bava Batra 119b)—the interpretation of the tsaddikim below transforms Scripture above.[25]

The Maggid’s claim is quite bold: There cannot be any rift between the supernal Torah and its concrete manifestations, because the sages have the power to change the heavenly Scripture according to their will. Just as they can temporarily suspend—or supersede—the laws of nature when working miracles, so too can the “majority ruling” of tsaddikim transform the abstract Torah in God’s Mind. Clearly this implies that there is no single ideal, true conception of halakha that all of our legal decisions should be striving to achieve, since the Maggid claims that the Scripture on high changes in response to the legal rulings of the tsaddikim below.

            Let us now bridge toward key Hasidic texts that engage with the question of why Jewish law has changed over time. The homily from R. Levi Yitshak of Barditshev presented at the beginning of this article demonstrated his emphasis that religious life must evolve across different generations. In that context we raised the question of the extent to which R. Levi Yitshak would apply this to the realm of praxis, but several of his homilies addresses this quandary directly:

Regarding the disagreement between Bet Shammai and Bet Hillel, we have said that “these and those are the words of the living God” (b. Eruvin 13b). A person understands the plain-sense meaning of the holy Torah according to his own attribute (behinah). If he comes from the world of Kindness [i.e., the sefirah hesed], everything is ritually pure, permitted and kosher, according to the ruling his mind deduces from the holy Torah. The reverse is also true. If he is from attribute of Judgment [i.e., the sefirah gevurah, then everything is the opposite. The attribute of Bet Hillel was Kindness, and therefore they offered lenient rulings. Bet Shammai were of the attribute of Judgment, and were therefore stringent. But the truth is that each of these, according to their level, are “the words of the living God.”... The sages that came after Bet Shammai and Bet Hillel saw that the world needed to be run with Kindness, and they established the halakha to follow the leniencies of Bet Hillel in every case.[26]             

This formulation explains why halakha was subject to change in earlier generations, since each scholar would rule in light of his personal intuitive and intellectual leanings. It also offers an interesting justification regarding why the particular decisions of the school of Hillel were adopted as the normative practice, an explanation which runs counter to the Talmud’s own explanation in b. Eruvin 13b. But elsewhere R. Levi Yitshak offers a more programmatic vision that acknowledges the continuous evolution of halakha into the present:

The Oral Torah changes according to the sages of the generation. This one says such-and-such, and another says something different. The conduct of the halakha accords with the generations. RaSHI decided that tefillin should be donned in one way, and Rabbenu Tam decided that it be done in a different manner (see b. Menahot 34b).

The truth is that the halakha follows the attribute (middah) with which the blessed One directs the world [in that particular age]. If it is conducted by means of [divine] love [i.e., hesed], then the halakha accords with the sage whose position reflects that. If it is tif’eret, then the halakha follows that one. This explains why Israel lovingly desired to receive the Torah [on Mt. Sinai], for they said, “We will do and we will understand” (Ex. 24:7), but at first did not want to receive the Oral Torah.... It was difficult for them [to grasp] that the Oral Torah would change in accord with the tsaddik of each generation. He causes the world to be directed by a certain [divine] attribute, and so too is it with halakha of the Oral Torah.[27]

At first R. Levi Yitshak claims that the halakha changes because it must respond to ever-changing manner in which God directs the world. This is the reason that RaSHI and his grandson Rabbenu Tam, obviously his junior by two generations, give discrepant rulings regarding the construction of the tefillin. The normative halakha thus follows the ruling of the tsaddik, the individual most attuned to the subtle and constant fluctuations in the Godhead. Based on this knowledge of the workings of the Divine, the tsaddik decides the correct form of the law as it applies to the entire community.

However, by the end of the sermon R. Levi Yitshak has arrived at a different message. He argues the tsaddik determines the correct applications of the law in his generation, and God then mirrors his decision by engaging with the world through that particular middah. This notion is indeed radical, but it is very much in keeping with a cornerstone of R. Levi Yitshak’s theology: The Divine willingly diminished His infinite power by creating the world and revealing the Torah, lovingly entering into a relationship with mankind but also demanding that the tsaddik become His partner. God does this because of the great delight brought about by the correct expressions of human agency. In the case of the teaching above, the active role of the tsaddik takes the form of a hermeneutical duty to interpret the Oral Torah and the halakha anew in each generation.

Of course, we should note that R. Levi Yitshak’s boldness has certain implied limitations. RaSHI and Rabbenu Tam disagree over how one should order the biblical passages included in the tefillin, such that it is impossible to fulfill both opinions without donning two different sets. But neither of these great sages suggests that the tefillin may be any color than black, that the boxes could be any shape but square, and, of course, neither would tolerate a suggestion that one is no longer obligated to put on tefillin on a daily basis.

What emerges from R. Levi Yitshak’s sermons is a subtle balancing act in which the scholar dances between receptivity and creativity. The tsaddik must listen to the unfolding of the divine Will through a certain attribute in his particular generation, but he also plays an active role in shaping the manifestation of God’s voice in his time. We see R. Levi Yitshak outlining a similar dynamic in another of his homilies:

“Moses sent them [i.e., the spies]... according to the word of Y-H-V-H” (Num. 13:3). Moses and his generation, the generation of the wilderness, may be likened to the Written Torah. Joshua and his generation, those who entered the Land, are like the Oral Torah. This is what the sages meant in saying, “The face of Moses is like the face of the sun, and the face of Joshua is like the face of the moon” (b. Bava Batra 75a). The Oral Torah receives from the Written Torah, just as the moon receives [its light] from the sun.[28] This is the meaning of, “And Moses sent them according to the word of Y-H-V-H” (al pih ha-shem), teaching that the generation that came into the land of Israel needed to emulate the Oral Torah (Torah she-be‘al peh).

The truth is that the Oral Torah is the will of the tsaddikim of the generation. This one will prohibit and another permits, one may declare something impure and the other will call it pure. All goes according to the will of the tsaddikim. Therefore Israel, who are likened to the Oral Torah, count the year according to the [ever-changing] moon, which is also associated with the Oral Torah.[29]

Here R. Levi Yitshak draws a distinction between the Israelites who lived and died in the desert (dor ha-midbar) and those who entered the Holy Land (dor she-ba’u la-arets). The first were content to conduct themselves in line with the precepts of the Written Torah, which is constant, inflexible, and unchanging. This was possible because their generation lived within a protected vacuum, subsisting on Manna and never being forced to confront the complex reality of an autonomous kingdom. The people who entered the land of Israel, however, needed to cultivate an approach to law characterized by constant responsiveness to changing circumstances. Just the moon waxes and wanes, so must the Oral Torah and its multi-faceted halakha be ready to change when met by new situations.

In all of these sermons R. Levi Yitshak makes it clear that only certain people are positioned to decide the correct application of the halakha, namely the tsaddikim. This is not, however, to claim that change emerges only from the ivory tower. Elsewhere he affirms that an individual who adjudicates the law must be totally invested in this world.[30] This is why the most impenetrable talmudic difficulties will eventually be resolved by Elijah the Prophet. Overturning the many classical interpretations that portray this shadowy figure as ethereal and otherworldly, R. Levi Yitshak asserts that Elijah never tasted the experience of death and is permanently connected to the earthly realm. Therefore he alone is alert to the changing nature of the generations, and will decide even the unsolvable legal quandaries.

But R. Levi Yitshak is presumably not advocating for a type of religious anarchy in which the preference for human autonomy gives way to each individual leader developing his own unique version of the halakha. He is more cautious, suggesting that the transformation of the law must happen on a communal, perhaps even a national scale. Change may originate with the tsaddikim, but halakha is not reshaped to conform to the fleeting whims of private individuals. Furthermore, R. Levi Yitshak’s model is highly elitist, since change emerges exclusively from the intellectual and spiritual leadership. Only the tsaddikim understand the different attributes with which God engages the world, and, more importantly, only they have been entrusted with the power to command these divine attributes.

            R. Avraham Yehoshua Heschel of Apta (d. 1825) offers a very different account of why halakha has adapted and transformed over time. Because God created the world through Scripture, and since the cosmos itself is constantly being renewed, he suggests that Torah must be perpetually evolving as well:

Rabbi Berakhiyah says in the name of Rabbi Judah: Each and every day the blessed Holy One innovates (mehadesh) new halakha in the heavenly court. How do we know? It is written, “[Listen to the sound of His voice], and the utterance (hegeh) that goes forth from His mouth” (Job 37:2), and “recite (ve-hagita) it [i.e., the Torah] day and night” (Josh 1:8). Abraham knew even these halakhot, as it says, “For Abraham has hearkened to My voice and kept My charge, My commandments, My statutes and My teachings (torotai)” (Gen. 26:5). Thus far [are the words of the Midrash; see Bereshit Rabbah 64:4].

We must understand this. Let us begin with what we recite [in the liturgy], “And in His goodness He eternally renews the works of creation each day.” We know that the holy Blessed One created the world through Torah (Bereshit Rabbah 1:1). Since the world was formed by means of Scripture, the continuous renewal of the works of creation must also take place through new interpretations of Torah and the halakhot that the tsaddikim innovate in each and every generation, each and every day. That is, they are constantly immersed in the study of Torah and the commandments with integrity, sincerity, awe and love. Then the blessed One bestows them with an upright intellect (sekhel yashar) and human understanding (binat adam) to derive one thing from another, [grasping] the reasons for the Torah and the commandments. They use these [tools] to develop new halakhot each day. God imbues a pure intellect and straight intellect within scholars and those who are immersed in Torah and the commandments for its own sake (lishmah). With this they innovate new halakhot every day, and through this the works of creation are renewed.

This is how to explain the sages’ teaching, “One who studies (shoneh) halakhot each day is assured a place in the World to Come, for it is written, ‘eternal ways (halikhot ‘olam) are His’ (Hab. 3:6)—do not read halikhot (“ways”) but halakhot” (b. Niddah 73a). The halakha is renewed as the reasons for matters halakha change (hishtanut), as is known to everyone who understands this intuitively (mevein me-da‘ato). This is the meaning of “one who studies halakhot each day,” meaning that he studies for its own sake and puts his entire self (rosho ve-rubo), all of his body and senses, into understanding the reasons of the Torah and the commandments, and studies the reasons for the halakhot each day. Thus he creates new halakhot each day, as the reasons for the halakhot change.

This revitalizes the works of creation. The very formation of the worlds is renewed, and they are unified and connected to one another. “He is assuredly worthy of the World to Come (ben ‘olam ha-ba)”—this refers to the world that comes and is renewed on that day. This rebirth comes about because of him. This is the meaning of “eternal ways are H/his”... that is, his new interpretations of the halakhot make the world created on that day into his. He has brought about its renewal.[31]

Constant change defines the universe, for in all moments God re-infuses the created world with new divine energy. This fresh breath of sacred vitality allows the universe to endure. But since, argues R. Avraham Yehoshua Heschel, God formed the cosmos through the Torah, this same aspect of perpetual change is present in Scripture as well. It is manifest through the new interpretations of Torah voiced by the tsaddikim in each generation. But their novel exegesis actually plays an active and important role in the sustaining of the cosmos. The new interpretations of devoted scholars have the power to imbue the world with sacred vitality. Thus the flow of creative energy flows in both directions through the nexus of Scripture; vitality courses from God into the world, but it is also drawn forth by the tsaddikim and infused into cosmos, eventually reaching back into the heart of the Divine.

We should note that is the new understandings or manifestations of halakha developed by the tsaddikim that instills the universe with this energy. That is, the physical world is renewed as scholars revitalize and reinterpret old or ossified structures of Jewish law. These frameworks must be updated and transformed in light of the ever-changing universe as well as their own intellectual attainments.

Many Hasidic sources explore the relationship between the spiritual practices of an individual and the universal demands of halakha. These texts take it for granted that any single, rigidly-codified corpus of law cannot apply to all people or situations, and therefore the specific person and his particular circumstances must be taken into account when determining how the law should be applied. This theme is particularly prominent in the sermons of R. Mordecai Yosef of Izhbits (d. 1854), a disciple and later a rival of R. Menahem Mendel of Kotsk (d. 1859). He articulated a theory of religious praxis that revolves around individual of halakha, arguing that fulfilling the will of God and conforming to the words of the Shulhan Arukh are not necessarily identical, a theory that was quite controversial. R. Mordecai Yosef’s position has been seized upon by both detractors and enthusiastic supporters in his time as well as our own. Although his theology is a vital part of understanding the spectrum of Hasidic models regarding the nature of halakha and its processes of determination, there is no need to summarize or recast their arguments here. The interested reader is invited to turn to their work.[32]

            A different answer to the complex relationship between personal praxis and the ideal (or normative) halakha was recorded in the name of R. Yitshak of Vurke (d. 1848), another intellectual descendent of the Pshishkhe/Kotsk Hasidic school. As quoted in the writings of a later master, we read the following:

Rabbi Yitshak of Vurke explained the talmudic teaching, “Anyone who studies laws (halakhot) each day will earn a place in the World to Come” (b. Niddah 73a), as follows: This refers to a person who has attained the Torah (zakhah ba-Torah) and is connected to the blessed One. He does nothing lightly, not even moving one of his limbs, for all of his actions are performed for the sake of God. Everything that he does is called halakha, for he walks in the path of the One (holekh be-darkhei ha-shem). This is the meaning of the sages’ teaching, “Anyone who studies halakhot each day...”—each of this person’s deeds throughout the entire day is halakha. This is the meaning of the verse, “worldly ways (halikhot olam) are his” (Hab. 3:6)—the entire world (olam) was created for the sake of people like this, for they bring great pleasure to the blessed Holy One and His shekhinah.

If one achieves this level, in which all of his deeds, actions, and feelings are devoted to God alone and not undertaken for any ulterior reason, he will always be connected to the Torah. All of his actions are God’s Torah. The ultimate goal of Torah is to become connected to God, and the six hundred and thirteen commandments are prescriptions for achieving this rung....

But this type of path is extremely difficult. He must keep his eyes trained on the target and never miss. None of his actions should seem trivial. It is as if he is ascending a rope above a stormy sea. He must take care and focus all of his attention not to lean to one side or the other. If he inclines even a hairsbreadth, he will plunge into the sea....[33]

Here we find an expansive definition of halakha that stretches to include all of one’s deeds, a notion that is by no means uncommon in Hasidic texts. A spiritual leader who has refined himself to the utmost degree actually becomes a living embodiment of Torah. All of his deeds, by extension, are expressions of halakha and indeed Torah, sacred actions of great significance, because each of them brings him closer to the Divine. This does not mean that he breaks traditional patterns of Jewish practice or founds his own version of halakha. Rather, the teacher’s rich inner spiritual world, his connection and commitment to the Infinite, transforms each one of his deeds into a holy action. This includes performing the commandments, but this permanent attachment to the Divine means that all of his deeds—no matter how seemingly mundane—become significant.

This homily demands a richer definition of halakha than is allowed by the common translation “Jewish law.” This rendering is not entirely incorrect, but it does fall short of the mark. Halakha is a complex and sophisticated structure of practice that includes rules governing rituals like the Sabbath, prayer services, and the definitions of kosher food. Halakha also addresses monetary issues such as torts, inheritance, and the rules of commerce. But it is flexible, dynamic, and no single rule (or ruling) can apply universally and to all cases. Jewish conceptions of halakha thus share much in common with Islamic understandings of sharia. Halakha and sharia may have many elements in common with Western conceptions of jurisprudence, but these systems of religious practice do not fit into all classical definitions of law. Indeed, R. Yitshak of Vurke’s interpretation links halakha to the word halakha, walking along a path. It is a collection of spiritual practices and an approach to religious service in which every action along the journey leads one back to the Divine.

            The texts we have seen above represent some of the most interesting and nuanced voices from the world of Hasidic literature. More conservative positions on the subject of the evolution of halakha were commonplace in the nineteenth and twentieth centuries. In these years Hasidism, broadly speaking, changed course and became a part of the emergent ultra-Orthodoxy, a new religious and political force bent on combating the processes of modernization. But some less change-oriented voices appeared in the first few generations of Hasidic leadership, and these too deserve some mention.

R. Israel Hapstein of Kozhenits (d. 1814), a brilliant legal scholar as well as a Hasidic preacher, seems to have been less excited about legal change. He is a contemporary of the figures cited above, but offers a very different perspective on legal development. He claims that a scholar must understand all aspects of a given ruling before even one iota may be altered.[34] One may all too easily be lured into erroneously thinking that he fully comprehends the reasoning for an earlier sage’s decision, and thus change the law when it is inappropriate to do so.

Many other Hasidic thinkers refused to valorize different manifestations of halakha or to deny the possibility that there is a single, ideal law. For example, R. Kalonymous Kalman Epstein of Kraków decried the proliferation of different legal opinions and the loss of a single, clear stream of halakha (halakha berura).[35] This Hasidic master, whose teaching cited above referred to a plurality of different ways of serving God, claims that the trend toward legal multiplicity be countered with great force. He writes that the more one studies with devotional fervor and great humility, the greater his chance of attaining the ideal truth and thus grasping the halakha as it should be. The Talmudic sages always concluded their disputations by loving one another, says R. Kalonymous Kalman, because they end up agreeing with one another. Doubts regarding how to apply the law plague us today because we have all eaten from the Tree of Knowledge of Good and Evil, which has become separated from the Tree of Life.[36]

            Halakha is central to the spiritual path outlined by R. Shneur Zalman of Liady (d. 1812), who authored significant writings on Jewish law in addition to his major work of Hasidic theology known as Sefer ha-Tanya. In one sermon, indicative of many others, he boldly defines halakha as the process through which we bring (molikh) the divine Presence into the world, since adhering to its precepts allows us to become one with God.[37] Though it is less explicit in his legal writings, examining R. Shneur Zalman’s homilies reveals that he was also a very sophisticated thinker about the nature of halakha, its development over time, and the process through which it should be decided.

R. Shneur Zalman offers a fascinating explanation of the rabbinic dictum of “these and those are the words of the living God” found in b. Eruvin 13b. He suggests that the positions of two opposing sages may indeed be the words of God, but that the two contradictory decisions are not the words Y-H-V-H.[38] This sacred name gestures toward the transcendent, infinite aspects of the Divine, and it is from this expansive realm that the truest expression of the halakha is drawn forth. Following the plain-sense meaning of the talmudic passage, he explains that only someone who is of humble spirit—in that case, Hillel and his school—is able to find the real halakha. That is, through moving aside his ego and personal concerns, he allows for a flow of divine truth. While even the status of “these and those” only applies to great tsaddikim, such as the sages of the Mishnah, R. Shneur Zalman claims that when deciding how to apply the law in our times we must always follow the opinion of the makhria (see b. Berakhot 43b), the adjudicator who successfully mediates between two opposing positions and presents a third opinion that in some way satisfies them both. Such a person taps into the reasoning that supports both of the opinions and grasps their ultimate source in the abstract world of intellection. This presumably allows him to devise a ruling that can either fuse the two opposite positions together, or can satisfy the underlying cause of them both.

The upshot of this sermon is that we must generally follow the established norm in halakha. Unlike the teachings of the Maggid and R. Levi Yitshak, which allow for the possibility of proactive change as Jewish law confronts different situations across generations, R. Shneur Zalman’s account makes it very difficult to conceive of overriding the makhria. The voice of the latter might take the form of the majority opinion, or it might alternatively come as the ruling of contemporary sage weighing in on an old disagreement.

            Elsewhere R. Shneur Zalman claims that every aspect of the halakha was given to Moses in its purest form on Mt. Sinai, without any of the questions or incoherencies that obscure its meaning.[39] These difficulties developed later in history, as problems emerged in the transmission of these revealed traditions. But all is not lost, for by means of intellectual effort and unceasing investigation (pilpul) one may remove the proverbial chaff that conceals the divine halakha and restore it to its pristine state. R. Shneur Zalman argues that every person can accomplish this task for one element of Torah, since each soul has an innate connection to an aspect of Torah as it was revealed on Sinai. This is why some questions may go unanswered for many generations, waiting until a solution is developed through the right person’s critical ingenuity.

This framing of Jewish law and how it may be restored highlights a tension that cuts across much of R. Shneur Zalman’s thought, which is at once profoundly elitist and yet makes great demands of all religious seekers. R. Shneur Zalman claims that each person is only required to clarify the halakha according to his individual scholastic capacity, but he also notes that knowing the entire corpus of practical Jewish law is incumbent on all individuals. The creative work and the responsibility for rendering original decisions is left up to the scholars, but each and every person has an obligation to develop an absolute command of all aspects of religious duties by understanding the details of all practical halakha.

R. Shneur Zalman is also troubled by the question of why there are so many detailed laws governing how to perform the commandments.[40] Their basic requirements and the essential forms are, after all, relatively simple. He gives the examples of kashruth and building a sukkah, both of which are practices grounded in a small number of verses that are nonetheless the subjects of great rabbinic inquiry. R. Shneur Zalman explains this subsequent development by suggesting that the spiritual illumination included within the commandments becomes increasing manifest over time. Therefore, in order for human beings to withstand this expanding measure of divine light, it must be embodied within progressively more gradients or levels of diminution.

 In other words, says R. Shneur Zalman, the commandments need to be surrounded by an increasingly complex network of details that unfolds across the generations. This process began with the Mishnah, which includes the seeds of all later talmudic discussions, and continued as new applications of the law were developed by the rishonim and the aharonim. Interestingly, R. Shneur Zalman notes that these transformations or additions often tend toward stringency (humra). Thus, although halakha may indeed be characterized by its constant change, for R. Shneur Zalman this development leads toward greater intricacy and strictness. Jewish law evolves and in some sense responds to the changing spirit of the generations, but this is far from the empowered creativity described by the Maggid, R. Levi Yitshak, and R. Avraham Yehoshua Heschel.

We must hear one final Hasidic voice before exploring the contemporary implications of these sources. I have in mind the teachings of R. Yehudah Aryeh Leib Alter of Ger (d. 1905), which were written down by the rebbe himself and posthumously published under the title Sefat Emet. This book became a classic of Hasidic literature soon after it was printed, and it remains of great interest to scholars of Jewish mystical thought in the modern era. R. Yehudah Aryeh Leib is in many respects a daring Hasidic thinker, but two aspects of understanding of halakha will offer some relevant words of caution.

            The first of these notions appears throughout R. Yehudah Aryeh Leib’s sermons about Korah and his rebellion against Moses. Keeping this context in mind will be crucial for understanding the subtler message of this homily. He teaches,

“And this is the Torah that Moses placed...” (Deut. 4:44). Yet the Torah is “hidden from the eyes of all living things” (Job 28:21), and “its expanse is greater than measure” (Job 11:9). It is called the Torah of truth, just as we say, “Y-H-V-H is our true God, and His Torah is truth.” [The word] “truth” (emet) includes the first, last and middle [letters]. All the combinations included in each word, in every verse, in each section as a whole, and in every portion, book, and the entire Torah—all of these are expressions of truth, and they cannot be [fully] grasped. They have no boundary or limit, for the blessed Holy One and the Torah are one (see Zohar 2:60a).

But the Torah as it is ordered before us was placed in front of the Jewish people by Moses. This form is particular to the community of Israel, as it is written, “the inheritance of the community of Jacob” (Deut. 33:4). Therefore, there are many details as a new combination of the Torah emerges, according to the time and place, since we find [reference to] hora’at sha’ah, and the sages of the Mishnah taught that every person has his time, and everything has its place. But all of these paths must be connected (le-hithaber) to the root of Torah, which is its eternal structure.[41]

R. Yehudah Aryeh Leib begins by laying out a seeming contradiction: The essential nature of Torah is boundless and ineffable, for it is co-existent with the Divine, but the Scripture that was revealed to us is composed of specific words and narratives. How do these elements of Torah, the finite and the infinite, relate to one another? He answers that Moses gave us Scripture in the form that was particularly appropriate for the Jewish people, but emphasizes that the limitless potential for other “combinations”—novel interpretations of Torah and even new legal rulings—never disappeared. The discerning student of Scripture can still tap into that infinite reservoir, and therefore new expressions of Torah and combinations of ideas are constantly unfolding.

            This is R. Yehudah Aryeh Leib’s rereading of the term hora’at sha’ah, which usually refers to a temporary legal decision or one made in an emergency situation. Here he takes it to mean that a particular interpretation or ruling (hora’ah) must match the time and place (sha’ah) in which it is being delivered. This does not mean, however, that all readings of Torah are necessarily valid or should be adopted as communal practice. All of these new paths that are unique to a specific time and place must be intimately connected to the vital root of Torah. The scholar or teacher who reveals these different potentialities once included in the infinite expanse of Torah must do so with careful attention to the way his decision links up to the tradition in addition to being aware of his immediate surroundings. Korah thus provides a counter-example, a brilliant individual who was grounded in the Torah but failed to realize that his particular understanding of the halakha was incorrect for that moment. But perhaps R. Yehudah Aryeh Leib’s critique is even more pointed: Korah may be interpreted as having given a ruling that, while intellectually compelling, was essentially disconnected from the eternal source of the Torah.

            The second cautionary message may be found in several of R. Yehudah Aryeh Leib’s teachings about the death of Nadav and Avihu (Lev. 10). Like many earlier commentators, he is puzzled by God’s dramatic punishment of what seems to be a minor infraction. R. Yehudah Aryeh Leib builds upon rabbinic tradition claiming that Nadav and Avihu were smitten for giving a legal ruling in front of Moses and Aaron, but he also offers a unique reading of their transgression:

It was said that they [i.e., Nadav and Avihu] taught halakha in front of their teacher (b. Eruvin 53a). If so, it would seem that they were attuned to the true law (halakha amitit). But the halakha is only according to the Torah and the command of Moses our teacher, the prince of Torah. This is the meaning of, “a law conferred to Moses on Sinai,” mentioned in many places [in the Talmud].

They attained the reasoning and the halakha, but without any command. Thus they lacked the essence how one draws near [to God], which comes from the Creator having sanctified us with His commandments.[42]

This emphasis on the necessity of being commanded as an integral part of spiritual uplift seems like a counter to the type of individualist sentiments of R. Yitshak of Vurke and R. Mordecai Yosef of Izhbits. Nadav and Avihu were consumed by a heavenly fire because they approached the Divine without the structure of the commandments to protect them. Of course, they meant well and were following their understanding of the halakha, but because this was not rooted in the deeper nature of Torah and the power of Scripture to command our behavior, their religious fervor and devotion were ultimately misplaced.

These Hasidic texts offer a vision of halakha that runs counter to understandings of Jewish law as a static or atemporal legal discourse. They similarly oppose the claim that halakha is a fully cohesive system in which all decisions rendered according to its immutable principles are necessarily compatible with one another. Of course, these homilies do not address legal method per se. With the possible exception of R. Shneur Zalman’s reference to the importance of the makhria, these sermons do not explain when to follow Rav and when to follow Shemuel, how to weigh the words of the rishonim against one another, or when to choose the opinion of a later interpreter over the opinion of the Shulhan ‘Arukh or R. Moshe Isserles’ gloss.

The goal of these Hasidic sources is far more expansive, and it extends beyond new ways of conceptualizing Jewish law or explaining its capacity for change. They articulate a theology in which the evolution of halakha is one element of a much broader project of renewal and creative reinterpretation of canonical texts. Scripture must be understood in new ways in each and every generation, and so too must Jewish law be constantly reinterpreted as time goes on. Together these processes of exegesis form the heart of the ever-changing Oral Torah.

Sermons such as these demonstrate that the Hasidic masters were indeed interested in new ways of thinking about the nature of halakha and its determination. I do not mean to suggest these homilies prove that the Hasidic masters were involved in radically changing Jewish praxis. Various historical, cultural, and intellectual circumstances prevented this from happening. R. Levi Yitshak of Barditshev and R. Avraham Yehoshua Heschel of Apt were involved in rendering legal decisions at a very high level, but there is no evidence that these sorts of texts informed their rulings. This is also true of the Maggid of Mezritsh and R. Menahem Nahum, although the near total lack of legal traditions from them makes this fact unsurprising. And the array of change-oriented sources and those claiming a more conservative understanding of halakha both represent authentic attitudes found in Hasidism, which has included both radical and moderate voices in every stage of its development.

My aim is to demonstrate that these Hasidic descriptions of Jewish law offer a paradigm for thinking about halakha in our time that includes change and flexibility in addition to commitment. Hasidic texts about Jewish law are part of the legacy of Hasidic literature, but their treatment of this particular subject means that they must be taken seriously as a voice in the broader world of Jewish legal discourse. These homilies are part of the long-standing debate regarding the ways in which aggada may inform halakha.[43] These two literary and intellectual realms are sometimes cast as separate subjects, but aggada and halakha can also function as mutually informative realms that balance and calibrate one another.

Deciding the correct application of the halakha is not an empirical science in which the data is static and the results are pre-ordained. Texts like the various Hasidic homilies explored above remind us of this fact. One charged with ruling must take into consideration a wide variety of factors; everything from the judge’s (and the inquirer’s) personal background to his understanding of the vicissitudes of history, his theological convictions, and his grasp of meta-judicial principles like equity and justice will inform his decision. This phenomenon has been described by the late R. Aharon Lichtenstein z”l[44] and R. Daniel Sperber.[45] In very different ways, these two brilliant contemporary thinkers have analyzed and argued for the importance of the subjective element of legal determination.

In some cases the modern application of these sources is rather obvious. For example, there is R. Levi Yitshak’s teaching about the different relationships to law needed for the generation of the wilderness and that of the land of Israel. This text also demands a new approach to halakha for the contemporary dor she-ba’u la-arets, the communities who now live in the modern State of Israel, a call echoed by decidedly non-Hasidic thinkers like Eliezer Berkovits, David Hartman, and, mutatis mutandis, Abraham Isaac Kook. But I would also like to suggest that contemporary adjudicators of halakha take these understandings of Jewish law into account when rethinking current issues of moment, such as the attitudes of halakha toward environmentalism and climate change or homosexuality. I admit that extending the Hasidic sources to these questions would be an act of hermeneutical freedom on the part of the contemporary reader, one that requires courage and creativity and not a little caution. But, after all, these very same Hasidic teachings remind us that the law must be reinterpreted in every generation. Halakha is an ever-changing religious path, which develops in congress with human values and evolves in response to transforming rationales and situational contexts. Expressions of Jewish law are linked to the same constant fluidity and continuous renewal that defines the cosmos itself.

In thinking back, I sometimes wonder if the question of “Truth, truth, truths” began burning for me as a teenager on a summer trip to Israel when I awoke in the old city of Jerusalem to the sounds of Church bells and the muezzin’s call to prayer. I remember beginning to realize in that anxious moment that if I were born Christian or Muslim, my most cherished beliefs and commitments would be significantly different than they were in my actual Jewish American self. I worried that if my notions about life were in fact a result of circumstance, what relation did they have to Truth (truth, or truths)?

My mother has often pointed out that she recalls much earlier theological questions than this, and I, too, remember moments of discussion after we would light Shabbat candles together when we would ponder questions such as where the dinosaurs were in the Garden of Eden. I certainly understand the impulse to argue that the issue of God’s relationship to other religions is a more powerful concern than whether Adam and Hava interacted with prehistoric fauna; however it has turned out that I have devoted more than the past decade of my life to studying perspectives related to this latter question. Indeed, it can be expanded to a larger set of questions including the following: How do the truths we learn in different disciplines, say science and religion, regarding subjects such as the origins of the universe and humanity, relate to one another? Or more specifically, What have Jewish scholars written about Darwinian evolution, and how do contemporary religious Jews relate to the subject?

Having moved to Israel, I found that ideas I had taken for granted growing up in the American Modern Orthodox community—such as the lack of conflict between Jewish thought and biological evolution—are controversial here. The Pew Report that came out last year reported that only 11 percent of dati leumi respondents stated that they accept evolution.[1] Although I was not certain what caused this cultural stigma against evolution to persist or even escalate decades after it has been incorporated as the bedrock of modern biology, I could think of some hypotheses.

Darwin’s insights have been called a “corrosive acid” that eats away at previous assumptions about the world. The fluidity of Darwinian speciation seemed to strike a death blow to essentialist Aristotelian conceptions of the inhabitants of this planet, including humans. The late secular Jewish American paleontologist Stephen Jay Gould even argued that if the tape of life was rolled back and then replayed, “The chance becomes vanishingly small that anything like human intelligence would grace the replay.” How could this contingency perspective, or parallel ones developed from the randomness entrenched in the modern-synthesis’ account of genetic change, be reckoned with religious sensibilities? Wasn’t all this talk of arbitrariness an attack on the understanding of the world in all its glory and biodiversity as intended by a Creator who had each of us in mind, let alone our entire species?

Of course, there have been many leaders from all religions who saw no conflict between an evolutionary and devoutly spiritual outlook on the world. In our tradition, the writings on this topic by R. Kook are perhaps the most well-known, powerful, and accessible. Darwin himself made a note in his diaries that he received a letter from a religious Jew, Rabbi Naphtali Levy, along with a Hebrew treatise Levy wrote entitled Toledot haAdam in which he expounded upon the congruencies of evolution and the Torah. In fact, in a surprising twist, the most prominent rabbi rejecting Darwin’s ideas regarding transmutation of the species in the 1860s was not Orthodox, but Reform leader Abraham Geiger.[2] And in debates between the emerging American Reform movement and American Traditionalists in the 1880s, Rabbi Dr. Henry Pereira Mendes, leader of Congregation Shearith Israel in New York City, and others argued that Reform Judaism, in its eagerness to reinvent the religion, violated Darwin’s principle of gradualism by suggesting that religion should progress rapidly, in great leaps, rather than incrementally. Rabbi Mendes and his colleagues suggested that the American traditionalist camp better reflected Darwinian understandings of gradual evolution applied to a tradition’s adaptation to contemporary environments. The subsequent rabbi of Shearith Israel, Rabbi Dr. David de Sola Pool, similarly espoused a theistic evolutionary perspective.[3]

And yet in the twenty-first century, we have evidence that anti-evolution sentiment has continued and even increased among religious populations around the world[4]—again why? When I first came to write my dissertation on Jewish receptions of evolution, my advisor counseled me that I should look for social rather than just theological answers to this question. Since in all religions there have proven to be resources that could lead to the acceptance of theistic evolution, the fact that certain religious communities and individuals choose not to take this path indicates that more is likely at play. What other issues, questions, and problems has evolution been associated with that complicate the matter of embracing theistic evolution? Another mentor I spoke with at the time agreed that sociology and anthropology were important for cracking the historical conundrum of religious opposition to evolution, but also added not to forget about the deep theological matters involved. In the subsequent years, I have tried to listen to both pieces of advice and not marginalize either the social or philosophical questions involved in the interface of evolution and Judaism.[5]

One element of the task that has been very enjoyable but also challenging is encountering Rav Joseph B. Soloveitchik’s writings in his posthumously published work entitled The Emergence of Ethical Man (EEM) edited by Rabbi Dr. Michael Berger. The Rav, of course, has always been a larger-than-life figure in the imagination of those in my generation, and attempting to digest his approach is daunting. In the pages that follow I review some of the key points in R. Soloveitchik’s argument regarding the concept of tselem Elokim (divine image) in EEM, and highlight a number of the novel contributions R. Soloveitchik offers to the conversation about Jewish perspectives on evolution.[6]

II. Man-as-Animal Needs Religious Faith

A. The Naturalness of Man

In his introduction, Rabbi Berger directs the reader’s attention to R. Soloveitchik’s interest in “religious anthropology, the doctrine of man, within the philosophical perspective of Judaism.” Indeed, it is with the theme of divergent views of humanity that R. Soloveitchik began the notebooks that are now EEM. In the tradition of talmudic learning, R. Soloveitchik launched his project by setting up a “hava amina,” a perspective that may be commonly held but that will be rejected as false later in the discussion. The “hava amina” at the beginning of EEM involved the relationship between the “anthropology,” or view of man, put forward by three philosophies: the biblical, the Greek, and the scientific.

R. Soloveitchik posited that most would think that the biblical and Greek have more in common with each other than with the scientific, because the first two are thought to “set man apart from other forms of organic life.” After arguing the theoretical merits of this hava amina, and even stating that many Jewish medieval scholars held this view, eventually R. Soloveitchik concludes that this perspective is erroneous. In explicating his own view, he wrote,

Man in the story of creation does not occupy a unique ontic position. He is rather a drop of the cosmos that fits into the schemata of naturalness and concreteness. The Torah presents to us a successive order of life-emergence and divides it into three phases; the last of those living structures is man. (p. 12)

If we didn’t understand his position yet, he then spells it out for us clearly: “The (Jewish) viewpoint is very much akin to modern science (p. 12).”

As one of many proof texts for this point, R. Soloveitchik accentuated the simple idea that even the name Adam, which comes from the Hebrew word for earth adama, speaks to humanity’s similarity with the other creations, and not about humanity’s uniqueness. R. Soloveitchik further contended that a “plant-animal-human continuum” exists, [7] and labored to bring many biblical and halakhic sources that illustrate the deep affinity between man and the rest of nature.

In the Rav’s view, this issue highlights a significant difference between Judaism and Christianity. Christianity conceptualizes man as a transcendental being who should aim to escape the sin of this world and connect to the next world. In contrast, Judaism understands man as a natural being who is a part of this world and should not aim to flee his home. This account raises the question that will occupy many pages of EEM: Is there no difference between humans and other natural beings? What about the “divine image” that the Torah said was bestowed upon humanity, and only humanity? What does this transference of “image” mean, how did that happen, and is it congruent with the scientific view of human’s evolutionary development? In the words of R. Soloveitchik,

The conclusion we have reached in our inquiry is both a very simple and very paradoxical one…Man is a simple creature ontically, but a very complicated one ethically. In order to obtain a clear view of the Jewish interpretation of man, we must first find the transition between…Adam and tzelem E-lokim. (p. 13)

B. The First Stage of Divine Image—Self-Awareness

            To begin to answer this question, R. Soloveitchik draws our attention to the last third of chapter 1, and compares the blessings that God gave to animals with those God gave to humans (1:22, and 1:26–30). The Rav contends that in a profound sense the blessings to both groups are the same. They both are blessed with peru u-revu, “be fruitful and multiply,” which relates to their shared biological drive for reproduction.

We must understand this blessing of multiplication, uttered at the creation of animal and man…That instinctive drive to multiplication, synonymous with sexual hunger and tension, was God’s blessing to the zoological realm….The objective of copulation in both animals and humans is the need for expansion and multiplication of the species (pp. 70–71).

Still, despite this very important and basic similarity, key differences can already be observed in these very verses. The most significant difference, according to the Rav, has nothing to do with the nature of the blessing being bestowed, but rather with the divine decision to turn to humans and share with them the content of their blessing—to make them aware of their biological drive towards reproduction, and as later verses indicate, the drive to eat as well. This unique relationship does not develop with the rest of the natural realm but is initiated by God only in relation to humans.

While the Divine blessing to animal is described as va-yevarekh otam E-lokim (God blessed them), in the blessing to man a new term was introduced, namely, va-yomer lahem (He said to them. “And God blessed them and God said to them, ‘Be fruitful and multiply’” (1:28). The simple word va-yomer (He said) sheds a new light upon man, and upon his role and task. Va-yevarekh (He blessed) denoted the embedding into the organic frame of existence…But in the case of man, God also spoke to him. He informed him of his biological propensities and tendencies. Through His speech to man, God registered in the latter’s mind the necessity of this automatic drive thus transforming it. (p. 74)

For R. Soloveitchik, the first stage of tselem Elokim developed because God communicated with humanity, and began a relationship with Adam by informing him about his biological drives, with which he, like the animals, was blessed. Due to this communicative encounter, humanity developed the new and unique capacity for self-awareness. The Rav contended that this awareness is in fact the first stage of obtaining divine image. He also made explicit the connection between his exegesis of these verses and Martin Buber’s philosophy of dialogue:

By the mere fact that he was confronted by God and spoken unto, the I-thou relationship emerges. The thou makes the I self-conscious; he comes into contact with the other one. The knowledge of otherness makes him aware of his ego existence. Yet in this case, the thou is not a being similar to him, but God Himself. (p. 75)

R. Soloveitchik goes out of his way to explain that this is only a preliminary stage of tselem Elokim—that there is as of yet no ethical law and that in fact “Adam is still an animal crawling in the jungle, still the ape which is aware of its needs” (p. 76). There is another stage required to complete the relational process that has begun.

C. The Second Stage—The Emergence of Ethical Man

Just as the first stage of tselem in R. Soloveitchik’s formulation is attained through a form of communication from God to humanity, so, too, is the second. In chapter 2 of Genesis, the text introduces a new form of communication that was not previously used in chapter 1: va-yetzav, and He commanded. After we already encountered the forms of communication of blessing (va-yevarekh) and direct speech (va-yomer), we now for the first time encounter a verse that states, “And the Lord God commanded the man, saying, ‘Of every tree of the garden you may freely eat: but of the tree of knowledge of good and evil, you shall not eat of it (2:16).” Due to R. Soloveitchik’s perpetual emphasis on halakha, one might already have an inkling that this is going to be a significant leap. As R. Soloveitchik expressed it,

Va-yomer signifies that God informed man of a factual situation, of something which is. In our case, He told him about the biological drive….Va-yetzav, on the other hand, means command. A new law in all its uniqueness was imposed on him. This cannot be experienced in the beating of his heart but in a new area of his existence….With the va-yetzav of divine command, with the dawning of the ethical experience, man begins to experience his selfhood, his personalistic existence. (pp. 87–88)

R. Soloveitchik observed that it was precisely after this new element of “command” was introduced that readers of Genesis see a significant rupture in the plant-animal-human continuum. Specifically, in verses 19 and 20 of chapter 2, Adam is called to name all of the animals, and most significantly “there was not found a help to match him.” This is a big shift from the picture R. Soloveitchik has painted until now:

Suddenly he stops marching with nature in the same direction; he turned to face nature (in the opposite direction) and began to wonder, to examine, to reflect and to classify. (p. 90)

In R. Soloveitchik’s reading, all of this was due to humanity’s most recent exposure to the third and last stage of divine communication, which triggered the second stage of the divine image to emerge within humanity: Adam now has the opportunity to decide to not always follow his basic instinct for food in order to follow God’s will.

            While Rabbi Soloveitchik’s exegesis in EEM continued for several more chapters to cover the third chapter of Genesis and male-female relationships, prophecy, and more, we already have encountered the stages he contended are part of the development of the divine image within humans. First, humanity was like the rest of the animal kingdom, only endowed with biological impulse and technical intelligence, as is represented by their common blessing of “be fruitful and multiply.” Then, God decided to turn to humanity, begin a relationship with us, and inform us of our biological nature—this direct speech brought us to the first stage of tselem Elokim, self-awareness of ourselves as biological creatures with instincts. Finally, God developed the relationship with humans further, and decided to gradually reveal to us His will. He bestowed upon us our first command. While our biological nature goaded us to eat from every tree in the garden, God asked us to refrain from eating from one. This new relationship with God caused humanity to rise to the final level of our current status as bearers of the divine image, creatures unlike any other in the natural world in our ability to be aware of biological desires and then choose to channel them in order to serve God and follow the ethical commands that God has placed upon us.

We can now understand way R. Soloveitchik claims that evolution and tselem Elokim need not be in conflict in any way. Indeed he believes they are dependent on one another:

…I wish to emphasize that the widespread opinion that within the perspective of anthropological naturalism there is no place for the religious act, for the relatedness of man to eternity and infinity, is wrong. Perhaps more than man-as-a-divine-person, man-as-an-animal needs religious faith and commitment to a higher authority. God takes man-animal into His confidence, addresses him and reveals to him his moral will. (p. 5)

III. Discussion

            We have now reviewed the fairly non-intuitive argument put forward by R. Soloveitchik in EEM—his understanding of the affinity between the Jewish and the scientific views of humanity, both of which consider humans to be natural, non-transcendental beings. The Jewish view adds the element that despite our likeness to the rest of the animal kingdom (and in fact to the rest of the entire created world, and our vast distance and dissimilarity from God), God decided to communicate with humans and develop a relationship with us. This communication, which also can be called revelation, in turn produced the effect of triggering the development of the unique human personality that is signified with the term tselem Elokim.

While R. Soloveitchik does not argue that this additional element is in any way indicated by science, it is important to note that this element is not necessarily contra-indicated by science either. Therefore, in the Rav’s argument, the ethical element of humanity, which in his view is an element of the most vital importance, is one that developed parallel with, and perhaps more precisely, chronologically following the basic biological evolution of the physicality of humans. R. Soloveitchik does not go into detail as to how the biblical text and the scientific evidence relate to one another specifically regarding stages of evolutionary development, and this is likely absent on principal in order to avoid the pitfalls of this type of explication.[8] In general, R. Soloveitchik’s analysis may be said to raise more questions than it provides neat answers for—a characteristic that will be appreciated by some and bemoaned by others. In the spirit of probing possible implications of R. Soloveitchik’s view of tselem Elokim, in the coming section, I will specify three ideas/ideals that have emerged as meaningful to me over the course of thinking about the material presented in EEM: one theological, one educational, and one that could be termed social.[9]

What is one of the boldest theological benefits of a view of humanity in which the “divine image” within each of us is not a static spiritual gift from God via a physical act of “ensoulment” but rather a potential to act in accordance with the will of the ultimate Other who wants to be in close relation with us? One significant benefit might be the profound responsibility placed upon each of us to fully actualize our divine image in every act of every moment. On the one hand, this is quite a heavy burden to bear; we have not arrived at humanity by being born—we need to struggle to attain it every second. On the other hand, it also makes theological room to understand that there are those who actualize this potential more and those who actualize this potential less. In addition to offering a challenge to every human to live out their humanity, this view broadens our conceptions of revelation, the religious act, and the religious personality to a point where it encompasses the totality of human activity.

In the pedagogical realm, I have had the experience that teaching R. Soloveitchik’s view reinforces for students our appreciation of novel ideas and interpretations. Despite how traditional R. Soloveitchik contended his interpretations of Genesis and the human personality were, their divergence from common belief cannot be denied. For instance, even if we compare R. Soloveitchik’s view to another pro-evolution view expressed in the twentieth century, the one put forward by the then Chief Rabbi of England, Joseph Hertz, and famously propagated through its inclusion in the Hertz Humash, we see important differences. While R. Hertz saw no problem with the idea that God chose to create the world through evolution, he, like many others, still emphasized the differences between animals and humans. R. Hertz designated these differences as “differences in kind rather than degree” (Hertz 1929, 56). This is in contrast to R. Soloveitchik, who emphasized that “all organic existence,” including humanity, “is on one continuum” and that the differences between humans and animals is “only in degree, not in kind” (Soloveitchik 2005, 44–45).[10] As we mentioned above, all of creation in R. Soloveitchik’s understanding have more in common with each other and are separated by an abyss from their Creator—although humans through revelation, and not because of creation, are able to traverse this chasm. R. Soloveitchik also stated explicitly that his views are contrary to medieval Jewish philosophers, who he argued were influenced by Christian theology. To share a view that challenges trends within medieval Jewish philosophy in addition to current day common assumptions sends a message to students that they may not take “the religious view” for granted, but must search out all positions that should be studied before constructing their own position.

A social message that reverberates from R. Soloveitchik’s approach comes from the focus on relationship. If the way that God created in humanity the divine image was by beginning a relationship with us, it speaks profoundly about the value and impact of reaching out and creating relationships with others. Elsewhere R. Soloveitchik argued that Genesis has first and foremost a halakhic message: that human beings in their primary obligation of following in God’s ways must learn from the creation narrative to be creators (Halakhic Man, pp. 100–101). From EEM it seems plain that what we must also be, if we want to follow in God’s ways, is relationship builders. As God decided to form a bond and dialogue with us, so must we do so with others. To add an additional layer that also seems implied, while we can each easily stay comfortable by finding others very much like ourselves and create our social universe by conversing and being with people like us, I believe we might take R. Soloveitchik’s exegesis in a direction that could lead us to seek out those we are more distant from and see if perhaps we could form a bond with them—finding their divine image and revealing ours to them.

IV. Conclusion

Although from earlier published works and private conversations R. Soloveitchik’s positive view of evolution was apparent (e.g., Feit in Cantor and Swetlitz), the publication of EEM gave the contemporary student of Jewish views of evolution a wealth of new material for consideration. I have reviewed some of it here in the hope of fostering further discussion.

 By way of conclusion, I would now like to share some of my experiences teaching R. Soloveitchik’s thoughts from EEM in a seminar offered to teachers and students in Israel over the past three years.[11] In the spirit of “eilu v’eilu” I have offered R. Soloveitchik’s words alongside rabbis who were respectively presenting the perspectives of R. Kook, who as mentioned earlier embraced evolution, as well as the view of Rabbi Menachem Mendel Schneerson, the Lubavitcher Rebbe, who wrote strongly against the compatibility of evolution and Judaism.[12]

I have to admit that as much as I am a proponent of the 70 faces of Torah, I have also found the experience difficult. Hearing my friend and colleague Meir Klein present the Rebbe’s view and make a case for rejecting evolution still raises my blood pressure and gets my heart pounding despite having heard the arguments dozens of times. I sometimes need to remind myself that I believe that there is a value in being confronted again and again with a view I disagree with, presented in a convincing manner, instead of putting issues behind me. In this case there is the added element of my great respect, esteem, and gratitude to the Lubavitcher Rebbe for all he did for the Jewish people, as well as for a special connection to my family.[13] The confluence of admiration for a person while struggling to understand why and how they believed could be said to offer an ideal circumstance for stretching oneself to appreciate a contrasting point of view. One contribution of the Rebbe’s perspective could be described as a deep skepticism toward naturalistic process and explanations that many of us take for granted—especially when this acceptance makes us feel more distant from God and mitzvoth.

Even regarding R. Kook and R. Soloveitchik, despite their clear agreement on many aspects concerning their positive perspectives on evolution, their differences on certain ontological issues can be considered over-arching, i.e., understandings of God’s immanence and transcendence. While presenting R. Kook’s perspective, my colleague Dov Berger gave the analogy that the world is like a fetus in the womb of God, to indicate that all of existence is a phase of the divine. R. Soloveitchik’s view, as presented in EEM, was quite different from this: The Rav indicated that the baby was born, the delivery is over, the world was created, and now if the divine wants to share with the world it must be done through communication, which is revelation.[14] The students often realized that each of these positions have different strengths when it comes to answering theological questions. Sometimes the discussion of theistic evolution brought us to questions regarding the expression of divine will in nature, on the one hand, and humans’ ability to be agents with real free will, on the other. R. Kook’s view seemed to allow a simpler understanding of the former, whereas R. Soloveitchik’s a clearer explanation of the latter.

One of the most important lessons to be learned about these conversations is that rather than singling out the compatibility of religion and evolution as a particular challenge, it can be seen instead as an example of many broader debates. For instance, when someone recovers from an illness, is that because of prayers that were uttered or medicine that was taken? When the Israeli War of Independence was won, did that indicate that the generals had devised exceptional battle plans or that God willed the creation of a modern Jewish State? We are unaware of the nature of interaction between divine will and natural processes in so many realms, why do we single out the tension between evolution and religion for concern?

While I know that these ontological issues are often beyond our human capacities to determine, I also experience the yearning to understand the world we live in just a little bit better. In these moments of confrontation yet again with questions about “Truth, truth, truths,” I sometimes think of the words of the historian of religion Karen Armstrong, who has argued that our conception of religious truth has been harmed by the rise of science in the last 400 years. Until that time, she claims, people viewed religious experience as an opportunity to revel in the greatest mysteries of existence—in all that we do not know and understand. Since the scientific revolution however, people have expected from religion the kind of truth we have come to know from science. This turn, to elevate scientific truth as the only kind of worthwhile truth, she argues is a big mistake that must be undone. In its stead, she believes we must cultivate the awareness that we can benefit greatly from being able to encounter different kinds of truth in our lives, and appreciate each for the unique gifts it bestows.

Works Cited

Brown, J. (2013) New Heavens and a New Earth: the Jewish Reception of  Copernican Thought. Oxford University Press.

Cantor, G., and Swetlitz, M. (eds.) (2006) Jewish Tradition and the Challenge of      Darwinism. University of Chicago Press.

Hertz, J. H. (ed.) (1929) The Pentateuch and Haftorahs: Hebrew Text, English Translation and Commentary. Vol. 1. London: Oxford University Press.

Magid, S. (1999) “Deconstructing the Mystical: The Anti-Mystical Kabbalism in            Rabbi Hayyim of Volozhin’s Nefesh Ha-Hayyim” The Journal of Jewish   Thought and Philosophy 9: 21–67.

Numbers, R. (2006) The Creationists: From Scientific Creationism to Intelligent Design, Expanded Edition. Cambridge: Harvard University Press.

Pear, R. S. A. (2013) And It Was Good? American Modern Orthodox Engagement with Evolution 1925–2012. Unpublished PhD Dissertation, Bar Ilan University.

———. (2014) “Arguing about Evolution for the Sake of Heaven: American Orthodox Rabbis in the 1930s–50s Dispute Darwinism’s Merit and Meaning,” Fides et Historia 46:1 (Winter/Spring): 21–39.

———. (2015) “Differences Over Darwinism: American Orthodox Jewish Responses to Evolution in the 1920s,” Aleph: Historical Studies in Science and Judaism      15:2: 343–387.

———. (forthcoming) “Agreeing to Disagree: American Orthodox Jewish Scientists’    Confrontation with Evolution in the 1960s,” Religion and American Culture.

Pear, R. S. A., Berger, D., and Klein, M. (2015) “Report from the Field: A Pilot Project on      the Teaching of Jewish Views of Evolution in Israel” International Journal of   Jewish Education Research 25:8: 59–66.

Sacks, J. (2011) The Great Partnership: Science, Religion, and the Search for Meaning. Schocken Books: New York.

Shatz, D. 2008. “Is There Science in the Bible? An Assessment of Biblical         Concordism.” Tradition 42 (2): 198–244.

Soloveitchik, J. B. (2005) The Emergence of Ethical Man. Michael S. Berger (ed.)    Jersey City: Ktav.

The Torah is a deep and exciting body of knowledge which embodies everlasting truths.  This is not simply a statement of belief but the result of millennia of proof. 

Although a revolution in its day when such things as human sacrifice were common, today the tenet of the ten commandments:  “Thou shalt not kill.” is a “creed” (a synonym for Tenet) for nearly the whole world.  And that is just the tip of the iceberg of truths found in knowledge gleaned from the Torah which today is part of common belief for the society that humanity has evolved. 

From a secular perspective, the eminent Harvard biologist E. O. Wilson has attempted in his book “Consilience:  The Unity of Knowledge” to unify the base of human knowledge:  The sciences and the humanities [E. O. Wilson, Consilience:  The Unity of Knowledge, Alfred A. Knopf, Inc.  New York 1998].  The book received acclaim from reviewers.  However, this seminal work completely leaves out the body of enlightenment from the Torah and its place within the consilience of knowledge. 

The object of the present article is to suggest the place that the Torah may occupy within this unification of human knowledge.  The deeper question is:  Do we get some insight into the hand of Hashem and His ways by trying, with evolving scientific knowledge, to achieve such a consilience of the secular with the spiritual?  In essence, this article is a scientist trying to look at the evolving principles in science and see how some of them may interface with the structure laid out in Consilience: The Unity of Knowledge.

Scientists generally and physicists specifically are captivated by attempts at unified understandings.  An example is the attempts at unifying our understandings of the forces of nature that are still to be fully resolved.  So, this attempt at consilience certainly tries to emulate the penchant of scientists for unification.

Torah and Science As Viewed by Past Giants

If we are attempting an understanding of this unity through science, then it is incumbent on us to refer to the thoughts of giants of the past as to the role of science in bridging Torah and other areas of knowledge. 

To get a glimpse into the past we divide this section into two parts.  The first is the near-present while the second is the near-past.

A View From The Near-Present:  An Orthodox Jewish Scientist’s View

In our generation, there was a great theoretical physicist who established a new school of science and his name was Professor Cyril Domb.  He was also a great Talmid Hakham. 

Michael Fisher, a student of Cyril Domb and a colleague of one of us at Cornell and a great theoretical physicist in his own right, who was seriously considered for a Nobel Prize for his work on the physics and chemisty underlying ice formation, has written a lovely perspective on Professor Domb [Michael Fisher, “Cyril Domb: A Personal View and Appreciation J Stat Phys (2011) 145:510–517 DOI 10.1007/s10955-011-0381-x].  This paper highlights his great scientific accomplishments but also his deeply held Orthodox Jewish beliefs.   

However, what the paper by Fisher did not emphasize was the great interest that Professor Domb had in bridging science and Jewish thought.  His book Challenge takes a special place on the book shelf of any Orthodox Jewish scientist. [see by Aryeh Carmell and Cyril Domb, Challenge: Torah Views on Science and Its Problems, Feldheim Pub; 2nd edition (January 1988)].  With such great individuals as Cyril Domb who have gone before, the current authors are humbled by the request to put down some thoughts that may add a few planks to this bridge which has been established and contributed to by so many people over the centuries.

Professor Domb who received many great honors in his lifetime, including being elected a Fellow of the Royal Society, still lives in the hearts of those he left behind to paraphrase the 18^th century Scottish poet Thomas Campbell.  Thus, it is fitting to start out with a significant message that he left from his special scientific and Jewish perspective.  As Professor Domb used to say, the difference between Torah and science is that Torah is constant and never changes but science is constantly changing. 

So, with this missive from a revered scientist we appreciate that any perspective given in this article is bounded by the evolution that will surely take place in science from the moment that this article appears. 

A View from The Past:  The View of Our Great Sages

The Hebrew word Hitbonenut is a central term in Hasidut. The basic meaning of the term is to look at the creation of God in order to love, awe and connect to God.

Surprisingly, the origin of Hitbonenut comes from the Rambam, a giant who may be considered by many people the opposite of Hasidut. In the Halakhot of the foundations of the Torah (Chapter 2, Halakha 2) he writes that the way to love and awe God is to look at the wonderful creations in the world and see the wisdom of God with no boundaries.  This immediately leads one to love and praise God and be filled with a desire to know Him.

From the perspective of a scientist, one learns the internal structure and interactions of many aspects of the world, be it sub-nuclear particles or leaves.  One of us (AL) always thinks of this when he sees a leaf.  He compares his reaction to a leaf before and after he understood the internal structures which are sculpted in such intricate detail to hold the chemicals critical in the actions of a leaf, namely photosynthesis.  But even this is not all, since, with scientific knowledge one begins to get a glimpse at the deep physics, biophysics and chemistry that are interconnected in an ultra-precise way in a leaf.  It is this intricacy that underlies all of photosynthesis from the light that is captured, to the funneling of the light energy to create oxygen so crucial to humanity and the intricate detail of how carbon dioxide effused by man is taken in and food and fodder is created.  Now couple this to the diverse beauty of a leaf and its synergistic place in sustaining the world and humanity and no scientist who knows about this cannot say to himself how wondrous is this world.

Within such a feeling one understands Rabbi Shneior Zalman from Ladi (The Alte' Rebbe) in his book Tanya in which he writes that a man looking deeply at the world realizes how God is everywhere and it brings him to search and love and awe God.

The Unity of Knowledge:  Can We Fit The Torah In and How?

Consciousness is multidimensional. A spiritual giant has one view of a multidimensional view and then there are those who have both a spiritual and scientific view.  Professor Cyril Domb was certainly such a person.  Another extraordinary individual, whom we had the fortune to know personally, was Rabbi Solomon Sassoon [see his book:  Reality Revisited: A New Look at Computers and Minds, Physics and Evolution, Feldheim 1991. p. 251].  In essence, when one appreciates the science, an additional component of consciousness is achieved that brings an even deeper understanding of the beauty of the world.

Wilson in his book puts great emphasis on the centrality of Biology and Genetics in what has led to society and the humanities that have evolved from the consciousness of man and the awareness he has of his surroundings. 

This consciousness and this awareness in all corners of our world has stimulated humanity to seek spirituality.  This is in all parts of the world.  There is no society that did not search for the spiritual.  In general, in these societies there are special individuals who have led their people/disciples to search beyond the material.  These individuals do touch some part of the spiritual but arrive at some parts of the truth without the generality of the Torah as perceived by the forefathers of Judaism. 

It is certainly clear, however, that there is something in the nature of humans that makes them search for the spiritual. 

From a scientific point of view, a possible insight to comprehend this appearance in humanity of individuals searching for the truths of spirituality needed for the harmonious structure of the world comes from an evolving understanding of the biochemical basis of the genetic alterations in humans.  And, of course genetics is central in Wilson’s structure. 

It is now clear that very small genetic defects can cause very large changes.  This has been seen regularly since the first understandings of molecular genetics when Linus Pauling showed in the 1950s that sickle cell anemia, which causes enormous physiological problems, resulted from a single change in one amino acid in the protein hemoglobin.  From a qualitative perspective this is approximately an ~0.02% change in one protein that results in this disease. Therefore, it should not be surprising that more recently there has been a growing body of evidence that very small changes in proteins can cause large changes in many different aspects of our life including the ability to learn [Marla B. Sokolowski, “Drosophila: Genetics meets behavior,” p879     | doi:10.1038/35098592 (2001)]. 

One of the first systems that highlighted this possibility was the foraging behavior of fruit flies.  In this system, even single genetic mutations, resulting in a reduction in the activity of a single protein by only a relatively small percentage, could change the foraging behavior for food after satiation from fruit flies that do forage to ones that never forage.  This is also supported by experiments on mutant rats on a critical protein in the neurons of the brain called the GABA receptor that effect learning and this is only the start of a growing body of such evidence. 

Thus, a good hypothesis is that relatively small genetic changes could either cause beneficial or less than beneficial changes in human behavior.  So, genetic diversity has the potential to result in behavioral diversity that, with a finite probability and within a defined time span, can produce an individual who searches for truths that alter the framework in which man lives.

It can even be said that biological systems have a built-in, relatively high frequency of genetic change that also results in behavioral diversity.  One interpretation of these new perceptions is that humans may have a built-in tendency for extremism.  Especially in our world today we see such alarming extreme behavior from the negative perspective.  Obviously, however, extremes can also be positive.  A telling recent example was the genius of Einstein.

In actuality, out of this diversity a rainbow of individuals can result some of whom are extraordinary and take human kind on new and enlightened paths. 

Most of us are in the middle and for us what Thomas Edison used to say: “that genius is one percent inspiration and 99% perspiration” is telling and an important reminder.  Although Edison coined this phrase, it was the grandmother of one of us (AL), Hannah Meyer who ingrained this in all of our family and it has helped AL tremendously.   

The Torah has many examples of these exceptional individuals from Noah to Abraham, to Isaac and Jacob and to Joseph and Moshe.  These people had a genetic make-up to break out of the crowd and give the world new spiritual directions.  This allowed them to touch the body of Truth that is the Torah and allowed the Jewish people to be a shining light to the peoples of the world.  Not only have these everlasting Truths of the Torah lasted through the millennia, but they have been adopted with a universality that may give some vision of what Sephardim say in the Aleinu LeShabeiakh, that there will be a day that our concept of one God will be accepted universally.

The Model

With the evolving understandings described above, how can the Torah be integrated into Wilson’s structure of the consilience of knowledge

A suggested diagrammatic view of such an integrated structure in the higher structure of knowledge as noted by Wilson is shown below.

The green is Wilson’s realization that the structure of knowledge is based on mathematics, physics, chemistry and biology.  Genetics is the outcome of biology.  Genetics is the outcome of alterations in DNA.  Genetics is a very dynamic process with alterations continually occurring. These alterations and genetics lead to humans with extreme ability to touch the Torah and its basic truths. 

Such individuals with their unique insight arise out of a structure that we know has existed from the start of the universe since even in distant stars we see the same physics and mathematics applying.  Obviously, one can just reject the need for a spiritual being.  One can instead rely on some happenstance that is completely not understandable to anyone in science and, for that matter, for which there is no example.  Or, one can ask the question what is in humanity that allows for all societies to search for the spiritual. 

This article obviously works on scientific observation and the observation is that every society searches for a spiritual being and have even touched some of the Truths that are in the Torah. 

Using the structure of Wilson and referring back to the diagram of the model one can suggest a connection between the universal human search for spirituality and the spiritual.  The dark grey rectangles are a result of Wilson’s structure and from these emanate the search for Truth indicated by light blue arrows.  Such a search led our extraordinary spiritual leaders to realize the Truths of the Torah.  These are now part of the world and have been proved over millennia in numerous areas be it Berit Milah or the Shabbath day of rest or the anathema of killing etc.

Thus, the model can be summarized as a plan laid in place from the initiation of the Universe.  This plan led to man’s consciousness and has allowed man to find His presence.  One could speculate that in generating such a structure He realized that He required the participation of man to implement the Torah and its basic Truths in the world.

A Test of the Model

In the Torah Itself

Genetic Diversity

In Bereshith, we are introduced to the twin sons of Isaac and Rebekah, Jacob and Esau.  Here is a classic case of two genetically diverse individuals--one who had the potential to touch the spiritual and the other firmly a man of the world.  We are told about their diversity even before they are born.  In spite of Esau’s great love for his spiritual father, Isaac, he was clearly not concerned about any future role when he saw his birthright as worthless. Jacob, on the other hand was most concerned with his birthright and his future role.  Nonetheless, it was his mother who, seeing his potential, finally had to urge him to move to the next step. 

Through this description in the Torah of the involvement of his mother, we see an addition to the above model, namely, free choice.  His mother saw his potential but he at first demurred to follow the ruse his mother suggested.  But, he needed to take this step in order to achieve that level of preparation of himself for the spiritual encounter. And, we see free choice in each and every one of the individuals who touch the Truths of the Torah.  This also applies tothe ultimate individual in Israel, Moshe, who debates his qualities for this spiritual role.

A Spiritual Individual in a People that is Not Part of the Jewish People

But, if the model has some validity does the Torah tell us about an individual who is not a part of the Jewish people who can touch the spiritual.  The best example of this is Balaam. Balaam cannot touch all the Truths and maybe there are other problems with this individual; but certainly he is in touch with the Spiritual, the same Spiritual being connected with Judaism and he saw the Truths expressed in the Jewish people.  Thus, as one example, Balaam saw in the Jewish people that they embodied from the Torah family privacy.  Therefore, while viewing the Jewish camp he expresses the now famous expression,“How good are your tents, O Jacob, your dwelling places Israel” [Bemidbar 24:5].  He views in the Jewish camp the beauty of the Jewish people.  He sees their appreciation of privacy expressed in personal relations in Judaism by the positioning of the opening of neighboring tents in a way that entrances did not look one into the other.

Moreover, our commentators even intimate that Balaam had great spiritual potential.  Obviously, however, due to free choice Balaam did not reach his full potential.  Namely, the Torah was there for everyone and Balaam touched it but he and others like him refused to be fully constrained by the Truths they may have seen in the Torah.

From the Talmud

Concern for the Humanity That Touched the Torah

Thus, humanity that evolved from genetics was crucial, and one critical aspect of the great Truths in the Torah is the great concern for humanity.

This is highlighted in the Torah by placing Parashat Mishpatim which emphasizes how man behaves to his fellow man directly after the ten commandments; but this is also a central theme in the Oral Torah.    

This epicenter of the Torah, as expressed in both the written Torah and Oral Torah, clearly aimed at developing a harmonious society.  To highlight this even further, an antithesis in the Torah is the less than favorable view of asceticism.

In the Torah we read in Vayikra 19:18, “I am the Lord and you shall love your neighbor as yourself etc”. With such a directive from the Torah Hillel the Elder beautifully emphasizes this criticality in the Torah when he was asked to teach a convert on one foot the whole Torah. He answered “What is hateful to you do not do to your acquaintance, that is the all of the Torah and the rest is explanation” [Babylonian Talmud, Shabbath 31A].  And, Rabbi Akiva emphasizes this by saying, “This is a great rule in the Torah”. 

The Need for Joint Efforts of Man and God As Seen in the Blue Arrows of the Model

The Talmud in Sandhedrin highlights, in the name of Hashem, the importance of man worrying about his fellow man.  The 11^th chapter of the tractate Sanhedrin opens with a Mishna which considers which sinners will not merit the world to come. One such perceived sinner is Mica (not the prophet Mica) [Sanhedrin 103b]. In a source that is brought as part of this discussion of Mica, the angels wanted to place Mica among the evil doers since Mica set up a place of worship with an idol in close proximity to Shilo, the place of the Tabernacle before the building of the Temple.  People used to come to Mica and even engage in idol worship. As part of his hospitality Mica used to feed these travelers on the way to Shilo.  Hashem placed such emphasis on this charity that the Talmud says that Hashem prevented the Angel’s decision. He saw the charity of Mica as crucial to encourage his people to go to the Mishkan [A. Ziederman and S. Ziederman, Parashat Ki Tavo, Faculty of Jewish Knowledge Newsletter Number 1188 (2016), Bar-Ilan University].  In essence, this was a joint effort of man and God to encourage man’s worship.

The Torah Is Given for This World

Such a theme where mankind brought the Torah into this world and is its principle instrument of implementation in our society is further emphasized by a well-known event in the Oral law known as the oven of Aknai [Baba Mezi’a 59a]. The event relates to Eliezer ben Hurcanus who was one of the most prominent Tanaim in the 1st and 2nd century CE. 

The issue of the oven of Aknai concerns a debate over the halakhic status of a new type of oven. This oven was brought before the sages and the question was whether the oven was susceptible to ritual impurity. 

Rabbi Eliezer ben Hurcanus argues that the oven is ritually pure while the other rabbis, including the Nasi, who was his brother-in-law, argued that the oven was impure. Rabbi Eliezer tried to convince his colleagues of the validity of his arguments and when he failed, he relied on supernatural wonders as extraterrestrial proof of his arguments.  Finally, a heavenly voice substantiated Rabbi Eliezer. But then Rabbi Joshua quoted Devarim 30:12 that the Torah is not in heaven.   In essence, the Torah is for mankind as an available source and guide for human implementation.  If at every instant man had to ask heaven if this or that is the law, then it would not be available to mankind as an internal instant guide that could lead mankind. To paraphrase what is said in Devarim 30:11-14, the Torah is not far from us but rather, the Torah is very close to us.  It is in our mouth and our heart since we touched it and, we the Jewish people, realized what we had so that we could fulfill it.

Not Forgetting The Torah

So this brings us to a final issue.  The Torah Truths were introduced millennia ago but remain dynamic, alive, not forgotten and still effectively implemented by Jewish society in as close an emulation to its original form as possible.  What is the essence of this dynamism?  The Torah itself guides us to how to keep it alive.  In essence, the learning and transmitting are the central components that keep the Torah alive.  Learning is a truth that emanates from the Torah and has kept the Jewish people not only spiritually alive but as a people who excel in all disciplines. 

Conclusion

In conclusion, this integration of the Torah into how knowledge has been organized in the secular world relies on the fact that the spiritual has been searched for in all societies; everlasting truths have been touched by extraordinary individuals.  In reaching out and touching the Torah these extraordinary Jewish forefathers tamed the world from the drastic extremes of human behavior that result from genetics and set the way to reach the ideal of a central path, “the golden way”, as expounded by the Rambam, the ultimate philosopher who merged Torah and science as early as the 13^th century.

Introduction

In the mid-1980s when I was completing my undergraduate studies at Yeshiva University, Thursday became a weekly highlight for many students in the Bet Midrash. On that day of the week at the end of his regular Talmud discourse, one of the popular Talmud instructors would give a hashkafah or mussar talk on some contemporary topic. A good number of students from other shiurim (Talmud classes) would often attend to hear these talks. On one occasion, I recall that the rabbi spent a good portion of his time strongly critiquing the works of Professor Nehama Leibowitz zt”l. While recognizing that Nehama was a learned woman and sincere, he was extremely disturbed by the fact that she would quote quasi- and fully non-Orthodox thinkers and scholars such as Martin Buber, Franz Rosenzweig, Yehezkel Kaufmann, Umberto Cassuto, Shemuel D. Luzzatto, Benno Jacob, and others. He urged his students to refrain from using her material and to stick to books that were written al taharat ha-kodesh (in holy purity).

This presentation shook me greatly at the time, for it flew in the face of my deep engagement and love for the works of Nehama. As a high school student, I had become involved with serious Tanakh study primarily through hearing shiurim from Rabbi David Silber and being introduced to the work of Nehama Leibowitz by my high school principal and my synagogue rabbi. Reading Nehama’s books and various essays in the late 1970s and early 1980s had expanded my knowledge and appreciation of parshanut ha-Mikra (biblical exegesis). It was also my first introduction to concepts such as close reading of texts, chiastic structure, and the important idea of milah manhah—the key or guiding word in a section. My experience with the works and ideas of Nehama had been one of expanding my knowledge and love of Torah and parshanim (commentators), adding to my sense of the sacred, insight, and creativity of the parshanim, and increasing my yirat Shamayim (fear of Heaven). This sense became sharpened when I had the great privilege to hear Nehama in the early 1980s at a few public lectures in Israel. It was solidified even more when Nehama came to visit Yeshivat Har Eztion in the early 1980s (where I was then studying), and I witnessed the great respect and deference that were shown to her by the rashei yeshiva and other teachers during her visit and shiur.

As time went on and I researched the topic more fully, I came to understand the more conservative approach and its sources, even as I did not adopt that point of view in my own learning and writing. It is clear that the overwhelming majority of the Hareidi, semi-Hareidi, and right-wing Modern Orthodox world both in the United States and in Israel, subscribe to the more restrictive point of view and strongly educate toward that perspective.[1] From my perspective, that is unfortunate as it limits the opportunities of the lomdei ha-Torah in those communities to fully enhance their engagement with the word of God.

This short article is not a scholarly treatment of both sides of the issue. Rather, it contains some reflections on the topic, some of which are adapted from portions of an essay in my recently published volume Mikra and Meaning: Studies in Bible and Its Interpretation (Maggid Publishers, 2012).[2] Before we turn to the heart of the issue, it is also important to note that our treatment does not only concern the use of non-Orthodox Jewish scholarship in the study of Tanakh. The discussion goes beyond that and must also address the use non-Jewish scholarship in its various forms.

Kabbel et ha-Emet mi-Mi she-Amaro

Today it is becoming more and more clear that one of the sharp dividing lines between the methodology used by the Haredi, semi-Haredi, and religious-Zionist Haredi (popularly referred to in Israel as Hardal) worlds on the one hand and the Modern Orthodox world on the other is the willingness to make use of non-Orthodox and non-Jewish scholarship in the study and teaching of Tanakh. The “traditional” position articulated by leading thinkers of that camp argues that our belief in Torah min ha-Shamayim (Torah from Heaven, i.e., Revelation) precludes citation of any comments or suggestions, even in neutral matters, from the pens of those not committed to that tenet. They assert that the ideas presented by these scholars are tainted and one is not permitted to use their teachings in any form. Moreover, a number of thinkers suggest that by citing the comments of non-Orthodox scholars or ideas derived from the Anchor Bible or the International Critical Commentary series alongside the comments of the parshanim, one is blurring the distinction between gedolei olam (our great rabbinic thinkers) and secular scholars, unwittingly setting up an equivalence between them that may lead students to adopt the secular scholars’ positions and attitudes in other, more controversial areas.

Elements of this debate go back to antiquity, with the locus classicus being the famous episode of R. Meir’s continued study with R. Elisha ben Avuya after the latter’s abandonment of traditional life and dogma. The Talmud formulates the dilemma as a question of the legitimacy and applicability of “eating the fruit and discarding the peel.” Our discussion is somewhat different; in religious settings, we are not discussing direct contact with non-observant or non-Jewish scholars, but rather exposure to their written works and ideas. This issue has agitated various rabbinic writers throughout the ages and continues to be a fault line until today.

Embedded in the notion of dibberah Torah be-leshon benei adam (the Torah speaks in the language of humans) is, of course, the result that insight into the text can be fathomed not only by observant Jews, but by any and all human beings who seriously study the text. The question of at what age and at what stage of intellectual and religious development a teacher should present insights from those writers is an educational one. In general, the Modern Orthodox world and its leading lights of Tanakh study, such as Prof. Nehama Leibowitz, the authors of the Da’at Mikra series, R. Yoel Bin-Nun, R. Shalom Carmy, and many others, have generally adopted the approach articulated most forcefully by Maimonides in the introduction to Shemonah Perakim in his defense of his citation of Aristotle and others in his commentaries: “kabbel et ha-emet mi-mi she-amaro—Accept the truth from wherever it originates.”

That this concept was not a Maimonidean innovation is evident from the fascinating tradition cited by R. Yosef ibn Aknin in his commentary to the Song of Songs:

We find in the books of R. Hai Gaon…that he made recourse to the words of the Arabic scholars…and made use of the Quran… and such was the custom of R. Saadyah before him in his Arabic commentaries… In this regard, the Nagid describes in his book… after citing many comments of the Christian scholars that R. Matzliah b. Albazek…told him upon his arrival in Bagdad…that one day they were discussing the verse “shemen rosh al yani roshi” (Ps. 141:5) in the yeshiva, and a debate ensued as to its meaning. R. Hai directed R. Matzliah to go to the priest of the Christians and ask him what he knew about the meaning of the verse, and it was evil in his eye. And when R. Hai saw that R. Matzliah was distraught over this, he reprimanded him and said that the forefathers and the early pious ones, who are for us exemplars, would inquire of members of other faiths about the meaning of words and interpretations.[3]

This openness to the use of non-traditional scholarship can be seen in the writings of other great parshanim in our tradition. R. Abraham Ibn Ezra is well-known for challenging many Karaite interpretations of the Bible. At the same time there are numerous instances sprinkled throughout his commentaries where he cites Karaite commentaries of specific words or phrases without any opprobrium, and in some instances quite positively. This attitude is also reflected most famously in the writings of Don Isaac Abarbanel, who frequently cites Christian interpreters, quite approvingly, in his commentary on Tanakh.

In the more recent past, the monumental commentaries of R. David Zvi Hoffmann are a modern example of this approach. While vigorously engaging in battle with Bible critics of his day, he did not hesitate to use the full panoply of Jewish-traditional and non-traditional as well as non-Jewish scholarship to arrive at his understanding of peshuto shel Mikra—the plain sense of Scripture. Moreover, there is no doubt that great towering figures of the recent past, such as Rabbi Joseph B. Soloveitchik zt”l and yibadel le-hayyim tovim (may he be separated for good life), my revered teacher Rabbi Aharon Lichtenstein were strongly influenced in their readings of biblical texts by the works of Kierkegaard, Shakespeare, Milton and other thinkers.

Nehama herself articulated her philosophy on this topic in a letter written over thirty years ago:[4]

It is true that I cite the words of people who are not observant of the mitzvot, if their words seem correct to me, and can reveal the light of Torah and display its greatness and holiness to the student. [I work] according to the principle: “Accept the truth from wherever it comes.”

What can I say? Benno Jacob was an extreme Reformer, who served in the Sontag Gemeinde[5] and certainly transgressed an enormous portion of our holy Torah’s mitzvot (in addition to the fact that he was an anti-Zionist, etc.). Yet, I learned from his books (Aug um Auge has excellent proofs that “an eye for an eye” according to the simple meaning refers to monetary compensation; Quellenkritik und Exegese, Genesis, Exodus is a forceful work against the Documentary Hypothesis) more than from many books written by bona-fide God-fearing Jews. His claims against biblical criticism and his proofs of their frivolousness and their errors—no one has ever written things better than them, even Rav David Hoffmann, zt”l (as difficult as it is to mention the name of this gaon together with B. Jacob) as well as Yissachar Jacobson, a”h and Dr. Muriel who wrote a work on the Torah. Many of my friends—among them, Rabbi David Carlebach zt”l who for many years taught with me in the Seminar in Jerusalem—also learned from his works. He opened our eyes to see things which we had not seen before, and [therefore] toward a true understanding of the Torah.

Prof. [Umberto] Cassuto z”l, who was God-fearing and scrupulous regarding the mitzvot, said a number of things that are very far from my belief in Torah mi-Sinai, and I won’t be part of their dissemination. And therefore I will not pay heed to who said it, but only to what is said.

There is no need to say that [Martin] Buber was not a “good Jew”—according to the normal understanding of this concept. I knew him—and he was not in any way a man after my heart! Absolutely not...But what can I do, as I and many religious teachers learned many correct things from him in Tanakh, especially the whole concept of the key word, Leitwort, and the deep meaning that its application in Torah hints to, and although our Midrash also recognized this principle (“ne’emar kan . . . ve-ne’emar sham,” and similarly “midah ke-neged midah” and more), it is nevertheless the merit of Buber, and even more so Rosenzweig, that they expanded this concept and revealed several places that I have not found in any early sources. I will not withhold this good from students by hiding this from them.

In truth, even non-Jews, at times, (though in my opinion, rarely) offer an interpretation that is good and sharp and proper to present, and even Abravanel in select places brings the words of a Catholic bishop, and accepts his opinion over the opinions of Radak and Ralbag.

Several times, I showed talmidei hakhamim details from Benno Jacob’s important book, Aug um Auge, and they thanked me and rejoiced as if discovering a great treasure.

Should I then hide the name of the author? This I cannot do. “Who are those whose waters we drink and whose names we don’t mention?” This is my opinion, which I have held to my entire life.

The Educational Dimension

A forceful and vigorous defense of this more open approach with an emphasis on some of the educational issues at stake was penned by the noted Israeli Bible scholar and educator, Dr. Moshe Ahrend z”l in 1968.[6] After presenting the essence of the conservative critique of citing non-traditional scholarship he writes:

As great as the level of the sharpness of this critique, is the potential danger and mistake inherent in them. First, let us not be so hasty to disqualify! It is not simple to decide who is or is not a “heretic”?...Those who today disqualify Mendelssohn, Weisel, and Shadal [from citation] may tomorrow disqualify Ibn Ezra, the Moreh, Rashbam, the Arukh and many others who wrote things that do not neatly correspond to the literal sense of what Maimonides wrote in Hilkhot Teshuvah (3:8) [as to the definition of the heretic]…

We cannot ignore that most people, who are part of the modern world, cannot abide by such extremism…they want to know what has been discovered in every field that helps us understand the Bible: Semitics, archeology, the study of the ancient Near East, the geography of the land of Israel, epigraphy, literary criticism, etc. They see no obligation to close themselves and ignore the discoveries [in these fields]…just as our ancients did not hesitate from using the results of the inquiries of the scholars of their day and age… We must admit that in essence and regarding the very meaning of entire sections of our holy Torah we are not actually able to understand them in any meaningful way without the assistance of the modern scholars…

Of course, caution must be taken in selection of the commentaries. However, without intellectual caution all the words of the commentators are dangerous, and the words of the Bible itself are seven-fold more dangerous. The distinction between the truth itself and the people who discover and present it, is a primary demand from anyone who aspires to understand and reach an independent spiritual life. It is only with the second critique [of Nehama] that we are fully obligated to identify with: It is necessary to clearly distinguish between the words of Torah sages, medieval as well as later ones, who are a lodestar for our behavior as well, and those scholars who we know led lives that were corrupted by sin or were consumed with the religious doubts of the era [in which they lived].[7]

Based on anecdotal evidence as to what actually goes on in the Modern Orthodox religious frameworks in which recourse is made to non-Orthodox sources, this issue does not seem to be one that causes a diminution of yirat Shamayim or ahavat Torah. On the contrary, the ability to integrate the best and most insightful comments to achieve a richer and more profound understanding of the text is often appreciated by students and helps to solidify the notion that one is seeking truth and honesty in the intellectual pursuit.

At the same time, I appreciate the concern that we should not inadvertently give students of high school or college age the sense that Nahmanides and M. Segal are on equal footing in our eyes as religious role models. The best way to avoid this problem is through two simple moves, both of which, I believe, are generally employed.

First, it is important that the use of these materials be integrated into a holistic context —careful study of the text and extensive use of Hazal and parshanim, only then supplemented by other resources. Indeed, a Genesis class in which the only positions quoted are those of M. Buber and F. Rosenzweig or H. Gunkel and Y. Kaufmann would present a skewed focus and lead to some potentially troubling results. But that is not what actually happens on the ground. For opponents of the use of this material, however, even one citation of a non-Orthodox source in a book of 600 pages is deserving of censure and calumny.

Second, it is important to maintain some distinctiveness between the parshanim, whom we view as reflecting our ultimate religious commitments and those who do not, especially in teaching younger adults. This can be accomplished either through the classical “le-havdil” formulations or by noting biographical and ideological information about the particular scholar under discussion. An example that I have used in my own teaching from time to time is: “The following solution to our problem is suggested by Benno Jacob, a modern Bible scholar who was a Reform rabbi, and many of whose beliefs and practices are, of course, in sharp conflict with our worldview. At the same time, it must be noted that he waged a fierce battle with the Bible critics in his day, was a close and excellent reader of the Humash, and often has very important comments that help us understand the Torah more profoundly.

This is one model of both appreciating and making use of “the best that has been thought of and written” (to borrow Matthew Arnold’s famous formulation) in our study of the word of God while maintaining our commitment to our bedrock principles. The seal of God is truth and we follow in His ways when we pursue truth, which we believe is the essence of the Torah which is Torat Emet. As Rav Kook taught us so many decades ago, we live in an epoch that requires emunah gedolah—a broad and encompassing faith that can hold and nurture many competing ideas and see the beauty and holiness emerging out of the complexity. An educational approach that is too restrictive and narrow will stifle our students and ourselves with the resulting bitterness and alienation that has the potential to lead many of our students to drop out of engagement with devar Hashem.

Notes