National Scholar Updates

We are confronted daily basis with choices that require us to consult others before making a decision. We may call a lawyer for advice on a legal issue or an accountant for advice on our taxes. We do this because although we may be very good at what we do, no one person knows everything—and it is helpful to be guided by a professional who deals with the issue at hand on a regular basis. If one has a sink that is leaking or an electrical outlet that is malfunctioning, one might ask an electrician or plumber for advice, and will likely follow the advice if it sounds reasonable. When it comes to issues regarding our health—and specifically issues that have significant impact on life-and-death situations—we likely consult with a physician.

 Interestingly, in serious medical situations, many observant Jews will seek a consultation with a rabbi for advice as well, to ensure that the medical decision they are making is in accordance with Jewish law and ethics. Jewish law is based on the will of God as transmitted through the Bible and understood by our sages. Therefore, all decisions a Jew makes must be in accordance with this law. The law, however, can at times be ambiguous or difficult to apply to modern medical issues. We try our best to extrapolate from what was written by our sages, which often leads to differing views on what Jewish law would prescribe in different medical situations. It is surprising however, that even in situations where the vast majority of rabbis are in agreement with what the law should be, the vast majority of laypeople believe otherwise. This is not because they disagree with the rabbinic judgments; rather it is often because they are unaware of them. Rulings on medical issues do not get published in everyday books that are found in the synagogue, and rumor becomes the most efficient medium to spread incorrect concepts.

 In my practice, I have noticed three possible causes as to why a patient may receive improper advice from his or her rabbi regarding medical decision-making. It is important to note that I have had many positive experiences with the interaction between rabbi, doctor, and patient; however the cases below are meant to illustrate the times the system fails. Although the current system often does work, and provides an excellent service to both doctors and patients, there are still too many times when it does not. The purpose here is to evaluate why some situations are not handled properly and how we can learn from our past mistakes for the benefit of the Jewish community in the future.

The first issue is simply not knowing the law. Often, what the general public believes to be the law, is not actually the law. Consider the following scenario: A Jewish man is in a car accident and is brought to the hospital and placed on a respirator because he is not breathing on his own after hitting his head. The remainder of the body is intact, his heart is still beating, blood is flowing through the veins and all organs are functioning well. A neurologist performs an exam and determines the person to be brain dead. The doctor recommends removing the respirator and all intravenous fluids and sustenance, which will inevitably cause the breathing to stop, leading to cardiac arrest and the death of the other organs. If one took a poll of the general community, one would likely find that many people incorrectly believe that according to Jewish law this person is still alive and the machines cannot be turned off. Most rabbis have accepted that brain death is equivalent to death in Jewish law and that in this case the machines should be turned off. The Chief Rabbinate of Israel (both Ashkenazic and Sephardic) has therefore legislated it into Israeli law and once brain death is determined, all medical intervention should cease, despite a continuing heartbeat, and the body should be buried as soon as possible (ASSIA – Jewish Medical Ethics, Vol. I, No. 2, May 1989, pp. 2–10). The only intervention permissible at this point would be to harvest the viable organs. Leaving the brain dead body on a respirator or continuing to manipulate the body with medical intervention is considered disrespectful to the body and is against Jewish Law. (Shulhan Arukh, Yoreh Deah 339:1) It is unclear to me why, although the majority of rabbis have ruled one way, many of lay people believe the other. This often leads to a situation when in an attempt to follow Jewish law, one will actually be transgressing the law by simply not knowing the ruling of the chief rabbinate and going on assumptions based on what popular opinion says the law is.

A second problem that arises is when we seek a rabbinic consultation and are only presented with one view of the law and are advised accordingly. When seeking a consultation, one not only seeks the opinion of the person they are consulting with but often expects to be informed of different opinions on the matter and then advised based on the personal views of the consultant. This holds true in many fields of consultation. However, when seeking a rabbinic consultation, rabbis often present the law based on one view without presenting the other opinions available. At times this advice may be following only one view of the law while differing from the majority view. In medicine, there are times when there is disagreement among the experts regarding the best treatment. A responsible doctor will present both sides to the patient and may even explain why he personally believes one view to be preferable to the other. But it would not be appropriate to present the case as having only one solution that all agree on. The same holds true for rabbis. If there is more than one acceptable opinion on the matter, the person who is coming for a consultation expects to be given all the information available. This is especially true when a rabbi gives advice based on a sole opinion, which disagrees with that of the majority. Even if the rabbi chooses to follow the view of the minority position, he should at least inform the patient that there is a majority view that disagrees.  This situation usually arises when most people know of the minority view and it is therefore easy to accept when told to them by the rabbi as it conforms to what they in any case thought to be the law. An example of this situation is the issue of abortion. Again, if one were to poll the average Orthodox Jew on the acceptability of abortion in Jewish Law, the majority would plainly state that the fetus is a life and it is therefore forbidden to terminate the pregnancy according to Jewish law. Some may go so far as to state that it may even be tantamount to murder. Although this is the correct Catholic view, it does not accord with Jewish law. There is essentially no sage that suggests that the fetus is considered a life and aborting it would be considered murder. This would mean that if that were the case, then someone would deserve the death penalty for performing an abortion, since there would be no difference in status before or after birth. In actuality, none of the early sources of Judaism from the Bible through the Mishna and Talmud make any mention of forbidding abortion. On the contrary, it seems from the Torah that if one caused another women to abort against her will, he simply pays a fine (Exodus 21:22). This is not to say we encourage wholesale abortions at anytime in pregnancy for any purpose, but the majority of rabbis do allow abortions in early pregnancy (some allow within 40 days of conception which is the equivalent of about the eighth week of pregnancy while others allow up to three months from conception which is about the 15^th week of pregnancy) for a host of different reasons including medical or psychological stress and the need to abort after a rape or adulterous union. Again, the chief rabbinate of Israel, both Ashkenazic and Sephardic, follow the majority view and have ruled as such in Israel. Interestingly, Rabbi Eliezer Waldenburg, a highly respected Ashkenazic rabbi has allowed abortions even in the seventh to ninth month since there is no real source within Jewish Law for only allowing it up to 40 days or three months (Tzitz Eliezer 13:102). These are arbitrary numbers that do not have any significant biological basis. With this introduction one can understand how problematic this can become should someone get improper advice from her rabbinic consultant. Imagine the young girl that is raped, or the married woman who was raped or had an affair that becomes pregnant and goes to her rabbi for advice. I have seen cases of rabbis that advise her that she must continue the pregnancy since abortion is a transgression of Jewish law and hence the will of God. Without providing all the information, this young girl will now have to care for this child her whole life and will always be a reminder of the horrible way she conceived. The married woman will give birth to a mamzer who will be forbidden to marry an ordinary Jew. All this could have been avoided if the woman simply had received the proper consultation.

We see similar problems when dealing with the issue of abortion for a baby with a genetic malformation. Many rabbis have permitted abortion in these situations; even if it is not assured that the baby will be born with a defect but only has a high probability of that likelihood. Different rabbis have varying opinions about when and under what circumstances an abortion is permissible. The most lenient view is that of Rabbi Shaul Yisraeli (Amud Hayemini 32). He permits abortion to prevent potential psychological stress to the mother or the potential child. He goes so far as to rule that even if the sole problem is a genetic malformation that will only affect his looks, an abortion is permitted as it may cause others to look at him in such a way that would produce psychological stress. He states that there is no greater pain than this and he reminds us that in Jewish law, emotional pain is considered even more serious than physical pain. This is very different from the view held by Rabbi Moshe Feinstein. Although Rabbi Feinstein recognizes the importance and need for premarital testing for Tay Sachs, he unfortunately, did not go one step further. He does write that when one's health is potentially in danger, and a genetic test can avert or alleviate that danger, the test must be taken. He therefore discourages carrier couples from marrying since this will lead to a 25 percent chance at each pregnancy of having a child with Tay Sachs (a debilitating progressive disorder that gradually leads to loss of mental and physical function, and at the peak of the symptoms the child goes blind, has seizures, and suffers in a hospital bed as the parents look on helplessly). This is why he appropriately supports premarital testing and admits the need to avoid giving birth to a child with Tay Sachs. However, situations have arisen where premarital testing was not done, or where testing may have been done but the couple felt a strong desire and commitment to each other that they decided to get married in any case. In these situations, the must make a choice on how to proceed with childbearing. They can risk having children with Tay Sachs, or they can opt to perform prenatal testing while the mother is in early stages of pregnancy, so that if it’s found that the baby has Tay Sachs they can abort the pregnancy, within the appropriate time frame as defined by Jewish law, thus saving the future child and the family from this pain. Rabbi Feinstein ruled that families in this situation must go through with the pregnancy, thereby creating a child that is destined to pain and suffering. This ruling seems to contradict his usual mode of requiring us to use medical technology in order to preserve and improve quality of life. What is most surprising is that according to traditional Judaism there is no law against performing abortions even on a healthy baby found in any of the early sources of Jewish law. Rabbi Feinstein forbade the abortion not on legal grounds, but on philosophical grounds. He felt that we are not in a position to play God, and we can always hope for a miracle that this baby’s genes will somehow miraculously change and he will not have the disease. This is again surprising as it seems to contradict what we know from the Talmud, that in general we do not rely on miracles and specifically in pregnancy we are taught by our sages that a baby’s genes cannot change and therefore it is improper to pray for the gender of the baby once this has already been determined (Berakhot 60a, Shulhan Arukh Orah Hayyim 230:1). Rabbi Feinstein also allows and even requires one, to “play God” when it comes to other areas of medicine and treatment, but mysteriously not in this situation.  

In addition to this philosophical issue, Rabbi Feinstein defends his position based on a mystical tradition. According to one view, a soul cannot achieve complete perfection until it has been placed in a body and has been born. In order to assure that this fetus’s soul (if it has one) is able to enter the world to come, Rabbi Feinstein requires a mother to carry the pregnancy to term. Rabbi Eliezer Waldenberg took issue with Rabbi Feinstein in a heated written debate (Tzitz Eliezer 14:100). He argued that we do not even know if that mystical concept is correct as it is just one opinion, and that even if that were correct, who gave us the obligation to assure that every soul is born and goes to the afterlife, or even the right to purposefully continue a pregnancy that would ultimately lead to the pain and suffering of the future child and the family? It should be noted, that although, Rabbi Waldenberg allowed abortions in situations such as these even into the ninth month of pregnancy, most rabbis have adopted stances allowing abortions only in the first trimester at various time points. There is no rabbi that has forbidden abortion outright in all circumstances. Although the Catholic religion did forbid abortion in all circumstances as they deemed the fetus a full human life, it is clear that Judaism has never held this approach, as the fetus does not have full human status before delivery. Since the fetus is not an independent human life, and is simply a part of the mother, it should be treated as any other body part that is ill and requires surgical intervention. It is common knowledge that finding the best possible mate is a difficult task. With Rabbi Waldenberg’s approach, even if we discourage Tay Sachs carrier couples from marrying, we at least do not have to ban it completely, and in circumstances where the potential marriage is beneficial for the couple, we are able to allow the marriage and still prevent suffering of future offspring. Again, we can now understand the situations that have arisen where a woman was pregnant with a Tay Sachs baby and went to her rabbi for a consultation who only informed her of Rabbi Feinstein’s view without disclosing the other opinion.

Another common problem is when a rabbi is consulted regarding issues he may not be familiar with and/or may not have full knowledge of. A scenario that has occurred in my practice several times is when a rabbi is consulted and he does not seek out or is not interested in having all the information. As an example, a child has ADHD and has significant difficulty in both his Judaic and secular studies to the point that he is failing and is not progressing academically. This often leads to poor self-esteem and lack of self-confidence. In a situation such as this I have recommended a trial with a stimulant medication that has been found to effectively correct the chemical imbalance, thereby allowing the child to succeed academically. In addition to academic improvement these children typically improve their overall quality of life. This is secondary not only to their improved education but also to improved confidence and self-esteem. These children are sometimes quite impulsive and can often experience physical injury due to their symptoms as well. The decision on whether or not to treat is done only after fully evaluating the child and receiving information from several sources, including the school, on how these symptoms are affecting this particular child. One such patient’s mother subsequent to the medical consultation, called a rebbe in Israel for a religious consultation on whether she can administer the medication to her child. Not willing to discuss the situation with the doctor and without personally knowing the family, the rebbe felt comfortable forbidding the woman from using the medication. This is unfortunate for the child who continues to fail in school and to have a dangerous level of impulsivity, and who has poor social interactions and growth due to these symptoms. Had the rabbi understood better how the disorder is affecting this particular child by getting to know him, through interactions and dialogue with the child’s teachers, family, and physicians, the rebbe may have been able to come to a more comprehensive ruling that takes into account all the factors involved. In another instance, the same rebbe approved a child in a similar situation to take the same medication. The rebbe did not know or meet either child, and yet made medical decisions on their behalf.

One of the most common medical questions asked of rabbis regards circumcision. One such question pertains to possibly delaying the circumcision due to jaundice. The common decision among rabbis and mohalim is to delay the circumcision based even on moderately elevated levels of bilirubin and jaundice. There is no medical reason to delay the circumcision in these cases and one is therefore delaying the circumcision, in these situations, unnecessarily. Medically, circumcisions are done routinely in these situations without adverse events, and there is therefore no justification to delay the circumcision. Within this category, is also the question of metzitzah. In brief, after the circumcision is complete, there is a tradition that the mohel sucks some blood out from the incision site. For convenience this was done with direct suction from the mohel’s mouth without a barrier. This procedure was done for medical reasons that are no longer valid. On the contrary, it is currently medically beneficial not to perform this procedure at all, especially without a barrier, as there is risk of infection from the procedure. This is especially true in situations where the mohel may be infected with the herpes virus and may transmit this to the child. Unfortunately, doctors are rarely consulted prior to the procedure, and rabbis are asked to make the decision on whether this procedure should be performed and how it should be performed. Without the proper precautions, we have seen many cases of children being infected and developing seizures. This is sometimes a permanent condition caused by this procedure. It seems ironic that a procedure that the rabbis instituted to protect our children, is now having the opposite effect; yet rabbis who are not trained in the specialty of infectious diseases can not make a sound decision without consultation with an expert in the field.       

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            In the modern world we are very concerned and are careful regarding who we consult regarding our physical health decisions. When we have a general concern we are comfortable asking our local general practitioner physician for advice. However, when we have a specific concern we would never only consult with a generalist but will make every effort to ask a specialist in the field who deals with those issues often. Even with all that, we will often still seek a third or fourth opinion from other respected specialists in the field who have proven their depth of knowledge in the subject. Unfortunately the vast majority of people do not afford the same importance to their religious and spiritual decisions and well-being. Similar to physicians, we have many generalist rabbis who have made a career around helping the masses. They are available for all general religious needs from attending a circumcision to attending the funeral. These rabbis are much needed and fill an important role in the communities’ lives. Some work from the pulpit, some as teachers in our schools, and some simply offer advice in their free time from whatever other career they are simultaneously pursuing. However, these generalist rabbis cannot be expected to be experts in every single area of Jewish Law and ethics. We expect too much from our rabbis. Even in the time of the Talmud, we find statements of rabbis admitting they are expert in the laws of isur v’heter (forbidden and permitted matters) but not hoshen mishpat (financial law) for example. The semikha system developed at that time even incorporated different examinations for the different categories of Jewish law. There were three general categories at the time: laws for daily living, business law, laws regarding permitting first-born animals (these are known as Yoreh Yoreh, Yadin Yadin, and Yatir Yatir). Rabbis would only advise people in areas of law within which they received their certification. Today, just as the body of knowledge in medicine has made it impossible to master every area in depth, the same holds true for the rabbinate.

In addition to the Bible and Mishna, which the rabbis of the talmudic period had to be experts in, we have 2,000 more years of literature that rabbis need to be knowledgeable about when making their rulings.  In addition to this enormous body of religious literature, before rendering a decision, the rabbi needs to fully understand the medical, financial, technological, etc. issues at hand at well. It is almost impossible for one person to be able to master all this in a lifetime, especially with today’s rapid advancements in science and technology. How can a rabbi decide laws regarding Internet transactions on Shabbat without a complete understanding of the intricate details of the network and the way the financial transactions occur, even if he were a full expert in Jewish business law? Today that is simply not enough. How can a rabbi decide if a genetically engineered fruit or animal can be kosher without having both a deep understanding of kosher laws, and of genetic engineering? Similarly, how can a rabbi make a decision regarding euthanasia, brain death, organ transplantation, genetics, abortion, medical Shabbat laws, and so forth, without having a full mastery of biology, physiology, and the physics and technology that comprise the respirator, the heart-lung machine, the electroencephalogram? It is simply not reasonable or appropriate to expect all this from every generalist rabbi.

One option is for a rabbi to have available a group of experts he trusts in certain fields who also have a strong understanding of Jewish law and whom he can consult when needed. An ideal option that has emerged is specialist rabbi. Many rabbis have taken upon themselves to become specialists in a particular field. There are rabbis who are particularly knowledgeable about Jewish law regarding end-of-life issues, transplant issues, medicine on Shabbat issues, bankruptcy law, Jewish law regarding technological issues, and so forth. Unfortunately the majority of community members will approach their generalist rabbi with all these questions, leading to an answer, which at times may produce unintended and unfortunate consequences. People would rarely go to their generalist physician for a consultation regarding their advanced-stage brain tumor. It would be inappropriate to expect a complete answer from the generalist. Rather the generalist should refer the patient to a neurosurgeon and/or neuro-oncologist for the proper advice. We should treat our religious health with at least the same level of importance and expectations, and when dealing with a specialized issue, a specialist rabbi should be consulted.

            One such example that is often encountered is prenatal testing for Duchene Muscular Dystrophy. Duchene is a devastating disorder in boys that begin as healthy children, but by toddler years have difficulty walking, by teenage years require the use of a wheelchair, and by their late teens require use of a ventilator for respiratory support. This condition leads to death in early adulthood. Throughout this period of motor and physical decline, the patients are cognitively intact and have a full understanding of what is in store for them. This disorder is caused by a genetic mutation on the X chromosome. Every father has one X and one Y chromosome, while every mother has two X chromosomes but no Y chromosome. The sons will all inherit the Y chromosome from their father and either of the mother’s two X chromosomes, while daughter with all inherit their father’s X chromosome and either of the mother’s X chromosomes. When a child has a mutated X chromosome in a certain region, this causes Duchene Muscular dystrophy as described above. These boys rarely have children, as they die so young. Girls however have two X chromosomes, so that even if one is defective the other can almost completely compensate for it. Therefore an adult woman may be a carrier of the disorder, yet can still lead a full healthy life (possibly with some mild weakness). When a couple give birth to a child who is found in early childhood to have Duchene Muscular Dystrophy, she will be counseled that half her male children (the ones that inherit the defective X from her) will have the disease, while the other half will be healthy. In addition, half her daughters will be carriers (the ones that inherit the defective X from her) like she is, and will be in the same situation as she is when they get older. The parents at this point have to make a serious decision that affects the remainder of their life. They can either not have any more children (and this decision is very different for a couple where the first child was found to have Duchene compared to when it is their fourth child) or to continue building their family. If they continue to build their family they have a 25 percent chance of giving birth to another son who will have the disease (and suffer and die young) and a 25 percent chance of having a daughter who is a carrier and will have to make these same decisions in adulthood.

One option available to them is to perform genetic testing during the early stages of pregnancy to determine if the fetus is a boy or a girl and if it has the defective chromosome. This affords the parents the option of aborting the fetus in the early stages of pregnancy and then trying again. This will lead to a healthy family that can continue to grow and fulfill their dreams and religious and spiritual goals. Although this last option appears to be the most obvious choice for many, it is highly underutilized in the Orthodox Jewish community. The main reason for this is the issue described in the prior paragraph. When facing this decision, the family will often ask either their local generalist rabbi or in some communities the rebbe of the entire community for advice and guidance. These rabbis are then expected to make these decisions and rulings without a complete understanding of the situation, the medical information and technology available, all the Jewish laws involved and the overall ramifications of their decisions on the family. Some of the worst cases I have witnessed included a family that was aware of the diagnosis, but was advised by their rabbi that they have a religious obligation to procreate no matter what the situation and must simply have faith in God. This unfortunately left the family with three affected sons, two carrier daughters, and two healthy children. To make matters worse, the eldest sister was not informed of the family genetic condition and was married without informing the groom. They had two affected children before she came to a neurologist, where she was finally informed of the genetic situation, and that all the suffering that her two children would go through over the next 20 years could have been easily avoided, had her mother received the appropriate advice from her spiritual leader. Luckily this young woman was more open to help, and I was able to show her that using current technology, she can be tested in such an early stage of pregnancy that would allow her to abort the affected fetuses within her acceptable window for early abortion.

 This true event is only one of dozens in which I have been personally involved, and there are obviously many more in which I have not been involved. It is unclear to me (as the rabbi refused to discuss the issue despite my sincere effort at a respectful discussion) why this particular rabbi, and others make such unfortunate decisions in these life-changing situations. It may be that they are not experts in the laws of abortions, where the vast majority of rabbinic authorities allow at least early (first trimester or 40 days) abortions in these types of situations; it may be that they misunderstood the situation and its ramifications caused by a lack of communication with the physician; it may also be a lack of familiarity with modern medical breakthroughs that are literally occurring daily, that they were not able to come to a more sympathetic decision. How many people have asked their rabbi for advice but were referred to a specialist rabbi instead? It seems to occur very rarely. It is human nature for the rabbi to feel the pressure of coming up with the solution to the problem himself. Many doctors behave the same way and will try to answer a patient’s questions to the best of their ability, even if they are not experts in the field. This is simply human nature. What is important is not whom to blame, the laypeople for expecting too much of their rabbi, or the rabbis for not referring the laypeople to a specialist rabbi. Rather, the important issue at hand is how to fix a broken system that doesn’t want to be fixed. Rabbi Yosef Caro ruled that someone who is not an expert in a particular field is not permitted to give medical advice or treatment—and if he does he can be considered a murderer (Yoreh Deah 336:1). The Aruh haShulhan adds that according to halakha, one must be licensed in the field of question and approved by the state (in whichever governing body has jurisdiction) to offer such advice. These rules apply to doctors and all the more so to rabbis who may not have such training or certification.

At what point do we decide to stand up to our leadership and demand a better system? How much suffering must continue in vain before we fix this broken system? There is a current concept based on a misunderstood passage in Pirke Avoth that is held in high regard, which is “Ase Lekha Rav,” make for yourself a rabbi (Avoth 1:6). This is commonly understood today as stating that every Jew must pick one rabbi and always follow that rabbi. It is considered inappropriate to ask another rabbi other than your own, a question of Jewish law. This is absurd and has never been the way our ancestors operated. This new rule, of only asking one rabbi every type of question, is not founded in halakha. Even the rabbis of the Talmud understood that some rabbis had expertise in business law, agricultural law, marital law, etc. and specific rabbis had differing authority based on their area of expertise. Why is it that we expect a rabbi who may have not even studied basic biology to understand the intricacies of complex genetics? The majority of doctors, who went through rigorous medical training, still do not comprehend cutting-edge medical genetics. It wasn’t until 1953 that Watson and Crick famously described the structure of DNA and it wasn’t until many years later and even until very recently that we are beginning to understand how to test and manipulate genes. My grandfather, Dr. Albert Moghrabi, for example, a first-class physician, studied in medical school in the 1940s, prior to the discoveries of Watson and Crick. Although he is an expert in general medicine and has kept current in his knowledge of genetics, he admits not to be an expert in genetics and would refer to a specialist for genetic counseling.

It is important to realize that there is no one that is “at fault” here. Both the rabbis and the community want what is best for our physical and spiritual health. However, it is the current system that is failing, as it is not structured to keep up with developments of modern life. I believe the best way to address these issues is to have the rabbis, laypeople, and doctors sit down together to openly discuss ways to fix the system. It can’t be stressed enough that the problem does not stem from the rabbis, the laypeople, or the doctors. Rather, it stems from the defective interaction between these three groups that leads to the problems mentioned above. As a start, one possible solution may be to publish a book listing both generalist and specialist rabbis in different fields so that one can easily be referred to the appropriate authority who can handle the question for which they are seeking guidance. This is a simple and effective way to help both the community, and the rabbis that are being asked questions that are outside their expertise. Doctors can also use this resource to direct their patients to appropriate authorities, and rabbis would also have a resource open to themselves to assure what they are doing is in accord with Jewish law. Many doctors already have a specialist rabbi that they consult; this would provide a list of rabbis in different specialties as well. This may also lead to training programs where rabbis are specifically trained in different fields of medicine so that they can have a better understanding of the situations they are being asked to advise. It would be helpful to have some rabbis attend a neurology clinic, or a cancer clinic, or an intensive care unit once per week or for a six-month training period. We need the appropriate leaders to organize this with our local hospitals and yeshivot. For every case mentioned above where there was inappropriate advice, I can name ten cases where the interaction between the rabbi, the patient, and myself was invaluable. In many of these high-stress situations, open dialogue with rabbis complements the medical treatment by encouraging and supporting the patient from a religious standpoint. This engenders more confidence in the doctor and the treatment leading to better outcomes for the patient. Without a rabbi’s involvement, a religious patient may be scared and untrusting of the modern treatments. A rabbi who has the medical knowledge and spiritual leadership can support the treatment and the patient in ways the doctor never could. It is time that we demand the same level of treatment of our religious and spiritual well being that we demand for our physical and medical well-being. In this time of health care reform, it is appropriate to look into rabbinic care refinements as well.

When exploring certain topics in the Talmud a discussion can be opened by use of a particular verse from which a principle that underlies an entire subject is learned. For example

…
Rabbi Shmuel bar Naḥmani introduced this passage with an introduction from here… (Megillah 10b). 

This approach came immediately to mind while reading Rabbi Hayyim Angel’s new book, Keys To The Palace: Exploring the Reglioius Value of Reading Tanakh from Kodesh Press. This work consists of twenty essays from Rabbi Angel on a variety of topics ranging from academic Bible study, to the afterlife, to perspectives on several of the Psalms. What cuts across and unites the work is Rabbi Angel’s mastery of Tanakh and his courageous pursuit of pshat. 

Perhaps I should back up a bit to provide some context. Having been a product of more right-leaning Yeshivot, for years I had lamented my lack of having a good grasp of nach. Fortunately, I recently stumbled across what I would term a revolution in the teaching and learning of Neviim and Ketuvim in a serious way, for adults. One of the pillars at the center of this movement is Rabbi Angel. 

The current work provides the reader with an entree into this world by offering numerous and variegated keys throughout these essays, which have been culled from a number of other works or scholarly publications, into parts of Nach and matters germane to academic Jewish studies today. Each chapter stands on its own, though several reference common topics, such as David’s taking of Batsheva.   

Each essay serves as a key to the topic at hand. In a few short pages Rabbi Angel poses powerful questions, covers the responses of many of the traditional and non-traditional sources, and provides a helpful summary and concise endnotes. The essays are too brief to be exhaustive of the topic, but instead whet the readers curiosity to learn and explore further.  

In his even-handed presentation of how to approach and incorporate academic and non-Jewish sources into the traditional study of Tanakh, Rabbi Angel exposes the reader to some of the towering and influential work that has been generated in Israel and, outside of the scholarly community, may not be well known to the English speaking audience.  

Perhaps as an inversion of Maimonides aphorism to accept the truth from whatever source it comes, Rabbi Angel rejects unconvincing solutions, no matter who proffers them. The author provides many viewpoints on a question and discusses the relative strengths and weakness so that the reader has a clear understanding of where the truth lies.  In his search for pshat and the most reasonable explanation the author presents Tanakh unvarnished,  and in so doing challenges the reader to think deeply, appreciate nuance, and continue to seek the “keys to encountering God in his Palace”.

(Rabbi Hayyim Angel's book can be purchased through the online store at jewishideas.org)

Despite the rhetoric emanating from certain camps of Orthodox Judaism, studying secular knowledge lishmah—knowledge for knowledge’s sake—is a widely accepted notion among Jewish thinkers. In fact, virtually none of the great Jewish personalities who discuss the value of secular knowledge—from Rav Saadiah Gaon and Rambam to Rav Kook and Rav Soloveitchik—speak of its utilitarian value. Rambam does not praise Aristotle’s philosophy for its salary-increasing powers, nor does Rav Kook laud university studies because of their utility in getting into a good law school.

            Rav Samson Raphael Hirsch is a classic example of this knowledge-lishmah school of thought. Not only does he extol the spiritual value of secular studies, he explicitly derides those who see knowledge as a tool in advancing one’s career. Two quotations (many more can be adduced) from his essays should suffice to establish this point. In “The Relevance of Secular Studies,” Rav Hirsch writes:

[A]ny supporter of education and culture should deplore the fact that when these secular studies are evaluated in terms of their usefulness to the young, too much stress is often placed on so-called practical utility and necessity. Under such circumstances, the young are in danger of losing the pure joy of acquiring knowledge for its own sake, so that they will no longer take pleasure in the moral and spiritual benefits to be obtained by study.

            And in “The Joy of Learning,” Rav Hirsch has this to say:

[W]e forget that by hurrying to impose the yoke of the materialistic, or, as we like to put it euphemistically, the practical aims of life upon the dawn and springtime of childhood and early youth, we only deprive our children prematurely of the bloom of flowering youth and nip our children’s spiritual yearnings in the bud. Instead of encouraging our children to get wisdom for its own sake, we raise them to become only clever and shrewd, judging everything in the light of self-interest and respecting only those intellectual and spiritual pursuits that are likely to yield the highest dividends in terms of material gain. A generation raised on such a philosophy of life will never be able to experience that true joy of learning, which regards knowledge itself as the supreme reward.

            Rav Hirsch also stresses that educators must not give their students the impression that their secular studies are simply a necessary concession to modern times. Such an impression is both incorrect and harmful, for “[o]nly ideas rooted in genuine conviction will be received with enthusiasm. Products of compromise can expect no more than grudging acceptance forced by considerations of expediency.”

Thus far, Rav Hirsch merely emerges as another proponent—albeit an enthusiastic and vocal one—in the long line of Jewish thinkers who see inherent value in studying secular knowledge.

What distinguishes Rav Hirsch, however, and what makes him a fascinating case study is that more than once in his essays on education, he cites statements of Hazal, our Sages, regarding learning Torah lishmah to bolster his position that one should study secular knowledge lishmah.

For instance, in an essay discussing general—not specifically Torah—education, “Ethical Training in the Classroom,” Rav Hirsch cites Pirkei Avot 2:6, “v’lo am ha’arets hassid” and remarkably translates this aphorism as “[A]n uneducated man will not attain the moral grandeur of selfless devotion to duty.” Traditionally, the term am ha’arets applies to someone ignorant vis-à-vis Torah, not general, knowledge. And yet, Rav Hirsch either ignores or pretends not to know this.

Even if Rav Hirsch understands am ha’arets in a nontraditional sense, he also applies other statements of Hazal to secular knowledge that almost certainly apply exclusively to the study of Torah. For example, he cites Kiddushin 40b, “Limud gadol she-haLimud meivi lidei ma’aseh,” and translates this statement as “Knowledge has priority because only the right kind of knowledge can give rise to the right practice.” Two sentences later he paraphrases Pirkei Avot 4:7 as “[I]t was considered a desecration of knowledge and the striving after knowledge to use learning as a ‘crown of self-glorification’ or a ‘tool for making a living.’” Rav Hirsch applies these quotations to secular studies without even hinting that in their original context they refer specifically to the study of Torah.

Nor does Rav Hirsch limit himself to select quotations. In the same essay he makes this general statement about Hazal:

[O]ur Sages were enemies of ignorance. They regarded education, intellectual enlightenment, and the acquisition of knowledge as the first of all moral commandments. They viewed the dissemination of intellectual enlightenment among all classes of the population as the prime concern of the nation, and the training of a child’s mind as the first and most sacred duty of fatherhood. They considered it a matter of conscience for every Jewish father to see that his child should not remain a boor and am ha’arets; no Jewish child must be allowed to grow up as an ignorant, uneducated person.

            Frankly, this is staggering. Rav Hirsch talks of Hazal as enemies of ignorance, generally speaking, not as enemies of Torah ignorance—even though most of Hazal’s statements concerning education surely apply to Torah education only. Nor does Rav Hirsch apparently feel the need to explain himself (and an explanation is desperately needed, especially keeping in mind the vast difference between Torah study and other fields of knowledge in the minds of many Orthodox Jews). Rav Hirsch never says something to the effect of, “Although our Sages speak of Torah education, we can apply the principle behind their statements to other fields of study as well.”

            While Rav Hirsch’s employment of Hazal in speaking of secular knowledge is most pronounced in his essay, “Ethical Training in the Classroom,” he blurs the lines between Torah and secular knowledge in other essays as well. For example, in “Education in the Rabbinic Era,” which concerns the educational values of the mishnaic and talmudic sages, Rav Hirsch concludes by asking, “If the pure delight in knowledge for its own sake should, once again, become the common heritage of an entire nation, might it not contribute, in some fashion, to the uplifting, the healing, and the greater happiness of all mankind?” Again, Rav Hirsch speaks of “knowledge”—generically—even though the mishnaic and talmudic sages’ educational values concern Torah knowledge.

            In “Talmudic Judaism and Society,” Rav Hirsch, citing Shabbat 31a, writes that the second question Heaven asks a person after he or she dies is “[D]id you set aside a fixed time each day for continuing your studies?” The actual question, as found in the Talmud, is “Kavata itim laTorah?—Did you set aside fixed times for the study of Torah?” Rav Hirsch somehow morphs “Torah” into “studies.” Further blurring the lines, Rav Hirsch cites this statement of Hazal among a series of other talmudic statements, all of which concern generic knowledge, not Torah knowledge.

Finally, in “The Joy of Learning,” Rav Hirsch attempts to convince parents of the need to instill a love of learning in their children even though he describes his era as “so materialistic, and materialistic concerns are given such prominence…”. He contrasts his age’s attitude to knowledge with “the spirit of true scholarship, which, until very recently, was cherished by the members of the Jewish nation.” Of course, this “true scholarship” cherished by Jews was Torah scholarship. Indeed, in subsequent sentences in this essay Rav Hirsch writes specifically of “Jewish scholarship.” Nonetheless, Rav Hirsch is less than crystal clear in this essay when he employs, without qualification, the words “scholarship” and “knowledge.”

            With this fascinating discovery in hand, what now? How does one explain what appears to be an intriguing misuse of Hazal and Jewish history?

            My short answer to this dilemma is “I don’t know.” One can write this apparent distortion off to Rav Hirsch’s lifelong goal of winning hearts and minds to Orthodox Judaism. However, such an answer is less than satisfactory in that it assumes a certain dishonesty on Rav Hirsch’s part. Therefore, I offer the following possible explanation.

Rav Hirsch obviously knew that he took a logical jump in applying statements of Hazal regarding Torah study to the study of general knowledge. Nonetheless, he considered the step more of a logical “skip” than a logical “leap.” In other words, unlike the vast chasm many Orthodox Jews currently see between Torah and general knowledge, Rav Hirsch views the two fields of study as basically similar to one another. Both concern God’s wisdom. The student of Torah studies the Divine word and the student of nature, history, and the people in it studies the Divine design. Both are divinity students.

            Moreover, in his essays on education, Rav Hirsch repeatedly posits that discovering the laws governing nature should inspire people to search for the laws given to govern their lives—the moral law. In Rav Hirsch’s terminology, the laws of the Creator should lead people to the laws of the Lawgiver. And by “obeying this moral law of his own free choice, man joins the great chorus of creatures that serve God.”

If, then, the proper study of Torah, nature, and history (where one sees God’s guiding hand) are all closely intertwined with the study of God’s moral law, and if “[i]n the view of Judaism, truth is one and indivisible,” Rav Hirsch’s out-of-context utilization of Hazal’s educational statements becomes more understandable. In his mind, secular studies represent another path in one’s Divine service. If so, truly how can one misuse such knowledge as a “crown for self aggrandizement” or as “a tool for making a living”? May Hazal not have had these studies in mind when they argued, “lo am ha’arets hassid”? Jewish learning is, after all, in Rav Hirsch’s opinion, “so broad and universal in character that it happily welcomes any other fields of study that aspire toward an understanding of the realities of nature and history.” And if Hazal did not have such studies in mind, are the two not similar enough to, in good faith, apply a quotation said regarding Torah to general knowledge? Very likely, Rav Hirsch felt the answer to this question was an emphatic yes.  

The rabbinic roots of the Fetaya family can be traced back to Hakham Reuven David Nawi (1770–1821). Hakham Reuven was disciple of Hakham Moshe Haim, the father of the Ben Ish Hai, and was described by the latter as “the great scholar, master of the Torah, our master….” Hakham Reuven passed away at a young age, and only one of his halakhic works, Yehi Reuven, has been published. His grandson Hakham Moshe Yeshua Yehezkel Fetaya (1830–1905) was a mystic and a poet. He founded one of the first printing houses in Baghdad in 1866, with his brother Aharon and their partner Rahamim ben Reuven. Fifty-five books were printed by the printing house until 1882, but Hakham Moshe’s own poems, covering a range of themes from mysticism to stories of personal miracles and prayers for redemption, were printed only in 1909 by his son, my great-grandfather, Hakham Yehudah.

I have heard the following story from my grandfather, Hakham Shaul Fetaya, regarding the initiation of his father into the wisdom of Kabbalah. Hakham Yosef Haim, better known as the Ben Ish Hai, who was 25 years Hakham Yehudah’s senior, used to deliver a sermon on Shabbat afternoon at the great synagogue of Baghdad, Midrash bet Zilkha, also known as Slat il-Kbiri. The Ben Ish Hai was a mesmerizing orator, and his sermons lasted several hours and included halakha, Torah commentary, ethical teachings, and Kabbalah.

In 1869, when Hakham Yehudah Fetaya was only nine years old, he came home crying one Shabbat afternoon. To his father’s inquiry, he answered that he attended the Ben Ish Hai’s sermon and felt frustrated that he could not understand the Kabbalah part of it. His father was moved by his son’s genuine interest and promised him that he would teach him Kabbalah. He did so until his son Yehudah turned 12, at which point his father told him that he has taught him all that he knows and that the time had come to search for a greater master. Young Yehudah duly enrolled in the Rabbinic Seminary of Hakham Abdallah Somekh (1813–1889), the most prominent of Baghdad’s rabbis in the nineteenth century.

In 1876, four years into his studies with Hakham Abdallah Somekh, the Hakham asked 16-year-old Yehudah to be the Hazzan for Minha at the Rabbinic Seminary. One of the older rabbis who was present protested, claiming that a Hazzan must be a married man with a full beard, but Hakham Abdallah Somekh insisted that the teenager he chose will be the Hazzan. “I cannot make his beard grow,” he said, “or marry him off right now, but since everyone agrees that a rabbi can serve as a Hazzan, I will now ordain him.” And so young Yehudah Fetaya was ordained, as a rabbi, at the age of 16.

The honor bestowed upon Hakham Yehudah by his great master did not quench his thirst for knowledge. Alongside his studies of Talmud and halakha under Hakham Abdallah, he learned Kabbalah under Hakham Shimon Agassi and the Ben Ish Hai, eventually becoming their colleague.

Hakham Yehudah was a prolific author, who wrote his first commentary on Kabbalah at the age of 23. The book, which he called Afiquei Mayim, is a commentary on Rabbi Haim Vital’s Etz Hayim, and was only published in a facsimile edition. He later expanded the commentary to what has become his magnum opus, the two-volume commentary on Etz Haim known as Beth Lehem Yehuda. This commentary was praised when first published and is still considered by leading scholars in the field as “The Rashi” on Etz Haim. Hakham Yehudah also wrote commentaries on portions of the Zohar, Yain HaReqah, on the portions known as Idera Raba and Idera Zuta, and Matoq LaNefesh on the Zohar of Parashat Mishpatim. He chose to write a commentary on those portion because they were widely studied during anniversaries for the deceased, and he wanted people to better understand what they were reading.

In general, one could say that despite his lofty field of study, Hakham Yehudah was very much down to earth and involved with the people. His house was open for all and he addressed questions and counseled people constantly. In his private diary, which is kept by my family, he describes a period in his life in which he experienced great closeness to God, a meditative state known as Devekut. He writes how his legs would carry him to his destination, while his mind and soul were elsewhere, but when he got to the yeshiva to deliver a class on Talmud, he reconnected with reality. I find that story intriguing not only because of the meditative state it describes, but for the ability of Hakham Yehudah to detach himself from this state of spiritual bliss for the sake of his students.

Among the many books of Hakham Yehudah, there are anthologies of commentaries on the Torah and Pirkei Avot, original prayers, and mystical writings, but the most popular of his works is no doubt the one he calls a notebook. That book, Minhat Yehudah, is basically a kabbalistic commentary on the Bible, but in several places, the author segues to discuss the interpretation of dreams and issues related to reincarnation. In the introduction to the book he writes that his main purpose in writing the book was to inform people of the full spiritual scope of their life in this world and the world to come and to encourage them to repent.

Among the many disciples in the field of Kabbalah were H. Sasson Mizrahi, H. Yitzhak Khadouri, H. Salman Moutzafi, and H. Salman Eliyahu, father of H. Mordecahi Eliyahu, Chief Rabbi of Israel and a very close friend of my grandfather and my family, but although his printed works focus on Kabblah, H. Yehudah’s activism and teachings were not limited to the esoteric. In one of his few halakhic responses that were preserved, he uses harsh words to criticize men who take advantage of women desperate to get married. He calls on the other judges to amend the situation where all the power was in the man’s hand, saying that women should not need to suffer by being summoned to court, or by feeling that they are tied in marriage to a man against their will.

He was also concerned with the physical and mental health of the people who came to him for a blessing or to seek help. My mother, who was eight years old when her grandfather passed away, told me that people used to say about him in Arabic “idou khudhra”—his hands are green—meaning that they felt special spiritual energy when he blessed them. She herself felt it, and I have experienced it as a child when my grandfather, H. Shaul, took care of me after I was frightened by a dog and could not sleep several nights. He sat me on his lap, placed his hand on my chest and recited verses, and I felt a pleasant warmth spreading through my body and soul. Years later, when my own children went through similar experiences, I tried to do the same, thinking that it might have been a placebo effect, but I failed.

There are many stories about H. Yehudah as a miracle worker, but the one that is close to my heart is one that can be emulated by all of us, and does not require an expertise in Kabbalah. The story is about one of his students in Baghdad, whose wife was expecting. H. Yehudah was concerned that the due date had passed, and asked the man about his wife’s health and whether she gave birth already, but his student dodged the question. The Hakham understood that something was wrong and kept pressing, until finally the man admitted that his wife was acting in a strange manner after she gave birth, and so she was sent by the embarrassed family to live with a Muslim foster family in a village outside the city. H. Yehudah asked for the name of the family and their whereabouts, and then immediately left the Rabbinic Seminary and went home. He asked his daughter Lulu, who was 17 at the time to join him, and together they traveled several hours until they arrived at the foster family’s house. They found the woman, who suffered from what today is known as postpartum depression, in a miserable condition. Besides the shock of being rejected by her family and separated from her young daughter, she was weak and emaciated, since she refused to eat non-kasher food.

H. Yehudah promised the woman that he would help her. He then traveled with his daughter Lulu to the nearest Jewish settlement and went directly to the local rabbi’s house. The rabbi was amazed to see the great hakham at his door. H. Yehudah explained that he was traveling with his daughter to Baghdad and that they were very hungry, and asked if the rabbi can offer them a hearty meal. Once the meal was ready, however, Hakham Yehudah said that he cannot delay and asked the perplexed host to pack the food “to go.” The Hakham and his daughter returned to the woman’s bedside where they fed and took care of her until she was strong enough to travel back to the city of Baghdad. When they arrived there, the women in H. Yehudah’s household took care of the woman for several months until she recovered physically and mentally. H. Yehudah then called the husband and reintroduced him to his wife, not before rebuking him for abandoning her at her darkest hour.

This story, which I have heard at a very young age, is engraved in my mind in a way which overshadows all the other stories about miracles attributed to H. Yehudah Fetaya. It is important because it teaches something that we are all capable of doing, even if we are not prodigies or great mystics. The Hakham’s great sensitivity and understanding of human nature shines through this story.

He was concerned not only with the learning of his students, but with the well-being of their families; and when he heard of the crisis he dropped everything and rushed to the woman’s help, but did not rebuke the husband yet, knowing that he would not listen to him. He traveled with his daughter, because he wanted the woman to feel comfortable with Lulu taking care of her. When visiting the rabbi’s house, he did not reveal the real reason he was asking for food, and would rather cast himself in a negative light, barging into a home and asking for food to go, in order not to embarrass the woman who needed the food. Finally, after returning to Baghdad, he made sure that the woman has fully recovered and then orchestrated her reunion with her husband and daughter.

The many halakhot that can be gleaned from this story cannot be found in any halakhic compilation, and they should be for us a guiding light in our dealings with others. This is but one example of his tireless work for the people of Baghdad and Israel.

Hakham Yehudah’s fame reached the Iraqi diaspora in India, and he was offered a position with that thriving Iraqi community, an offer that he rejected since his aspiration was to migrate to the Land of Israel. He settled in Israel in 1905, but returned to Baghdad after several years. He made a second attempt at aliya in 1923, and finally fulfilled his wish in 1934, at the age of 74. He initially lived in Ramat Gan, where there was a concentration of Iraqi Jews, but eventually moved to Jerusalem, where he was actively involved in the study circles of the kabbalist school Beth El, as well as Shoshanim LeDavid and Ohel Rahel, not far from Mahane Yehudah.

Bound by Hope

Hakham Yehudah Fetaya passed away the 27^th of Menahem Av, 74 years ago. My grandfather told me that during the funeral the sky was covered with dark clouds and heavy rain started pouring. Being that this is very atypical to the Israeli summer, people felt that the heavens were weeping for his death. Since then, each year on the anniversary of his death (except between 1948–1967), hundreds of people ascend to his grave on Har HaZetim (Mount of Olives), to read the special prayers he composed for tumultuous times, and specifically the Holocaust. He kept abreast of the news from Europe and conducted prayers for the Jews of Germany years before the Holocaust. When the war started, Hakham Yehudah’s efforts intensified. Besides running, with his son, Hakham Shaul, a center for distributing basic food staples to poor families, he wrote and published special prayers in a booklet he titled Asirei haTikva, Bound by Hope, a name that conveys the message that despite all the difficulties, we are still bound to God by our faith and hope.

The introduction to the first edition, printed in 1940, reads:

The order of prayers in this booklet is what we had to do, with great sorrow, in the holy city of Jerusalem, in the year 1940 (corresponding to the Hebrew date alluded to in the verse: Sound a great shofar and bring forth our freedom), as we were drowning in the tidal waves of disaster [in Europe]. We had to publish it to make it available for all, so we can join together, with one heart, to plead with prayer and supplications before God, and hope that He will have mercy for the remnant of his flock and will not let their blood spill like water….

Those special prayers, which Hakham Yehudah conducted almost daily at Rachel’s Tomb and other sites, were not his only effort in trying to help the Jewish People. At one point, he procured an airplane from the RAF, and with a minyan of kabbalists performed a service of Kapparot over the Land of Israel.[1]

One of the dramatic stories I heard from my grandfather was of the time his father summoned God to trial. Hakham Yehudah gathered all the sages and kabbalists of the famed Beth El and Ohel Rahel academies in Jerusalem, and summoned God to a Din Torah, a trial, with the specific purpose of acquitting the Jews and proving that God must stop the massacre in Germany. In order to have a fair trial, he appointed both a prosecutor and a defense attorney [himself, obviously] for the Jews. My grandfather told me emphatically of the warning his father issued to the prosecutor: “Speak briefly. Do not cast the Jews in a negative light. After all, they all are good people.” The trial came to an abrupt stop when the prosecutor went on a blaming rampage against the Jewish People, and would not stop despite threats and supplications. My mother added to that story that the man lost his sanity afterward. The message of that story guided my grandfather, and since he was my master, guides also me until this very day in dealing with questions of halakha, education, and working with the community. This unique event is typical of Hakham Yehudah, as well of his son, Hakham Shaul, who did not shy away from confrontations with God Himself.

The booklet Asirei haTikva offers an example of his unabated love for the Jewish People, his deep pain for their suffering, and his willingness to argue with God.

When people visited his grave on the anniversary of his death, these gatherings did not include dancing, eating, or lighting candles at the grave. Rather, the prayers he composed were read by the public in what was an awe-inspiring event that left a very deep impression on me as a young child. My grandfather, Hakham Shaul, our cantor, Gurji Yair, and many elders of the Iraqi community would go around the grave seven times, reading the prayers Hakham Yehudah composed during the Holocaust.

Hakham Shaul, following in the pathways of his great father, felt the pain of the needy and the poor, the Holocaust survivors whose spirit was broken, and those who felt imperfect, whether spiritually or physically, and his prayers echoed his pain.

The pinnacle of the prayers at Hakham Yehudah’s gravesite were the special poems he composed in honor of our Mothers, Sarah, Rivka, Rahel, and Leah. He wrote these poems in the early 1900s as an addition to the traditional Haqqafot, which mention only men. One might say that he wrote the first modern feminist Midrash. Hakham Yehudah wrote four poems, one for each one of the mothers, but Rahel received a special treatment. Her poem, Zekhut Rahel, is three times as long as all the others combined. The special affinity of Hakham Yehudah for Rahel was a product of his kabbalistic background, and of the special attention given to her by the prophet Jeremiah and the midrashic literature, but it also had a personal element. His wife’s name was Rahel (affectionately, in Iraqi Arabic: Chahla), and they had lost several children in their infancy. They had also suffered the blow of losing their married daughter Simha and her husband Shimon during the plague of 1914, and had taken the couple’s little orphaned daughter, Haviva, under their wing. The tragic life of our matriarch Rahel, was for him much more than a biblical image and a mystical metaphor for the Shekhina, it was the real-life story of a bereaved father sharing the pain with his beloved wife Rahel.

In the poem, he pleads with God but also argues bitterly with Him, demanding a better treatment for the nation and the individual. Here is the full text of the poem with my translation:

For Rahel’s Sake

 Recall, God, the merit of Rahel, for her wandering children.

She who has brought her adversary under her own bridal canopy in a sleepless night.

She hid under the bed and responded from there [instead of her sister].

Please, from your seat on high, hear her bewail and lament.

Her thundering voice, shattering walls, can be heard from great distances.

She who was buried at the crossroads, is wailing and asking:

“Where is Joseph, where is the one who hugged me? Woe to me for my sweet child!

Where is Ben Oni, who never saw me, who never rested on my chest?”

She went and asked the Patriarchs: “Where are my dear children?”

[They said:] “Go ask ben Amram, who is buried on Mount Avarim!”

“My son Moshe, please speak up, where have you abandoned the flocks?”

From the grave, speaking to her, rose a mournful, lamenting voice: 

“Why are you wandering on the mountains, what are you searching for, dear aunt?”

[She answered:] “Now is not a time for idle talk, as I have to mend the broken wall.”

Moshe, in deep sorrow, answered: “I have handed them to your son, Yehoshua.”

 [She told him:] “Yehoshua my son, please answer me, where are the tribes?”

Faced with her agony and lament, he responded with his own tears

And the voice of their crying and wailing rose to the heavens.

“Please mother” [cried Yehoshua], “please stop, before I die and perish;”

“I have handed them to the elders and to the shepherd kings of the House of David.”

 She left him and rushed to the grave sites of the city of Zion.

[The kings] told her: “On the Temple Mount, there they shall be sought and found.”

Alas, when Rahel saw that there are no walls nor fences,

And the Temple has been burnt to the ground,

And that there are no priests nor Levites, and no Ark nor Cherubim,

She shrieked in agony, and cast away her shoes.

She tore the striped robe, and her scarf, and her dresses.

She wore sackcloth and rolled on the rocks,

Slapping her flesh to mourn her lost son.

Clad in sorrow for God’s people, she was howling in grief.

 Hurriedly she leapt above, towards God, sitting on high,

Speaking for the People of Zion, and raising her voice with tears, [she demanded:]

“Please Father, see my pain, and heed my plea with mercy!

 My Rock, My Hope, will Your people be forever lost?

How could You tear a bride from her husband’s lap and send her into exile?

How could You shoo the nesting mother, but not take care of the fledglings?

How could You abandon Your sheep among devouring lions?

How can you remain quiet while the People of Edom [Germany] turn them into sacrifices?

Were they not punished enough, were they not engulfed by vicious waters?

Are a thousand years not enough for You?

The sun is already setting on the second millennium, and the pain is not letting.

Where is the miraculous sign? When is the Time of Times?

When will you have mercy? When will you console us?

You keep putting us away, day after day!

Almighty God, redeem us already! Do not soothe us with words!”

 A voice was then heard from the Divine Throne: “Hush my daughter, oh bride of the mighty!

Let your eyes stop crying; Let your voice rest from supplications.

Because of your tears and lament, the heavenly worlds are now in exile.

And He rose up above, and mercy has been invoked.

 I shall not rest until I revenge the spilled blood of my servants,

And shortly I will sever and destroy the wicked.

I will cut the stone, smash the idol, breaking it to shards.

I will open the sealed coffers and release the swallowed souls.

Rise up, shake away your sorrow, and wear your precious clothes.”

I hear the voice of my nation saying:

“Though we are sinners, do for Your great name’s sake!”

The Midrashic Origin of Rahel’s Merit

This poem, in which Hakham Yehudah Fetaya casts Rahel as a defense attorney for her children, is based on two midrashic sources, which are in turn inter-connected. The first Midrash[2] has been made famous by Rashi, who included it in his commentary on Genesis,[3] in order to explain the mystery of how Yaakov was tricked into marrying Leah instead of Rahel. According to that Midrash, Yaakov and Rahel suspected that Lavan would attempt a deception, and so decided on a secret password to enable Yaakov to identify his bride. At the last moment, however, when Rahel realized that her father was determined to lead her sister down the aisle, she felt sorry for her and gave her the password so as not to shame her.

The second, less-known Midrash, is found in the introduction to Eikha Rabbah,[4] the midrashic commentary on the Book of Lamentations, and is based on a verse from Jeremiah[5] which describes Rahel’s agony after the destruction of the Temple:

A voice is heard in Ramah [also: a strong voice is heard]. It is the sound of wailing and bitter tears. It is the voice of Rahel, mourning her children, refuses to be consoled for her sons who are now gone!

In the dramatic narrative of the Midrash, Abraham, Yitzhak, Yaakov, and Moshe are pleading with God on behalf of the Jewish People. Each of the men steps forward and asks God that as a reward for his many sacrifices and dedication to God, the Jewish People will be forgiven and redeemed, but none of them is answered. Rahel then jumps the line, apparently uninvited, and speaks to God about her own experience with her sister. She describes how despite her great love for Yaakov she was willing to let her sister Leah take her place because she did not want her to suffer disgrace, and then levels this question at God:

I am but flesh and blood, dust and ashes, yet I was not jealous of my rival [Leah] and did not cause her shame and disgrace! You, Eternal and Merciful King, why were You jealous of idolatry, which has no value? How could you send my sons go in exile, be killed by the sword, and handed over to their enemies to do with them as they wish?

Unlike God’s treatment of the men who spoke before Rahel, He hears her request and promises redemption, using the subsequent verses in Jeremiah:[6]

Let your voice mourn no more, let your eyes shed no more tears, for your deeds are rewarded… they shall return from enemy lands… your destiny is filled with hope… as the exiled sons will come back home….

Feminine and Masculine Perspectives

At first glance it seems that Rahel’s argument follows the same pattern as the men, and that the only reason the midrashic author makes God answer her and not the others, is that Jeremiah spoke of the dialogue between Rahel and God. A more thorough and comparative reading, however, will reveal deep insights on the nature of men and women and on our understanding of divine justice.

Abraham, Yitzhak, Yaakov, and Moshe, appear before God as if they were in court. They maintain decorum, and each one presents a similar argument: “I did this and that, so I deserve a reward.” Each one of them is ignored, and they interpret it as a sign that their request is turned down, and do not argue any more. Rahel, the bereaved mother, breaks the rules. Like a wounded lioness, she pushes her way past the men and speaks uninvited, as if rebuking them for giving up and retreating.

Rahel is not asking for a reward, but rather lectures God, telling Him that He should learn from her. She suggests that she, a mortal woman, was able to overcome her natural selfishness and jealousy, and that God should follow her example and not be jealous of the “second wife” of the Israelites—the idols.

The audacity of the author of the Midrash is shocking. He questions one of the fundamental prohibitions of the Torah, arguing that God should not punish His children so harshly for worshipping idols. The author speaks more as a loving mother than as a disciplinary leader we know from the stories of the judges and the prophets. I am certain that my great-grandfather understood the pain of all mothers, and of course of his own wife Rahel, and that he took the role of defender of the Jewish people to new levels.

Mother Rahel = Hakham Yehudah

Hakham Yehudah uses the midrashic Rahel to present his theological dispute. From behind Rahel’s mask we can hear the voice of Hakham Yehudah, who conveys both his personal pain and his shock at the terrible massacre of Jews in Europe, while emphasizing the different approach of the forefathers and the one mother.

The poet uses Rahel as a symbol for the nation, and in few lines, sketches Rahel’s tragic life. He speaks of her grief for her lost descendants, and simultaneously of the grief of her immediate sons Joseph and Benjamin. Joseph is described as a toddler who is very close to his mother. In the original Hebrew, he is said to be hovering, conjuring the image of a mother and child huddling together, deriving comfort and joy from each other’s company. Benjamin is referred to here as Ben Oni, the name given to him by Rahel at birth. The name has a double entendre; it could mean the son of my sorrow, or the son of my [last] strength. Rahel is lamenting not being able to breastfeed her son, depriving him, as if it were, of the important role of the mother for the child, that of a nurturer and giver of life. Finally, as if to add insult to pain, she is buried at the crossroads, as if she were not important enough to be have proper burial.[7]

After her initial shock and mourning, she rises from the dust and takes action, going from one male leader to another to inquire about her children. In the original Midrash there is no interaction between the men and Rahel, but Hakham Yehudah creates a dialogue which intensifies the image of Rahel the bereaved mother. She uses terms of endearment when talking of her children, and includes not only her direct descendants, Joseph and Benjamin, but all 12 tribes. She uses harsh words when talking to Moshe, first accusing him of abandoning his people, and then telling him that he is wasting his time in trying to calm her.

In Rahel’s encounter with Yehoshua there is a new element. Not only does she exchange words with him, but her tears and mourning affect him so powerfully that he pleads for his life, even though the readers are aware that he speaks from the grave. The protagonists address each other as direct relatives: aunt, mother, son, showing that a true leader cares for the people the way relatives care for each other, with unconditional love. The poem shows gradual progress as Rahel moves from one man to another. The patriarchs shake away the responsibility and refer her to Moshe. Moshe tries to talk her out of worrying but she would not hear of it. Finally, Yehoshua is influenced by her emotions but it is too much for him to bear and he pleads with her to stop.

Rahel finally arrives at the Temple Mount and witnesses the destruction and desolation. Her spirit broken, she expresses her grief by slapping her flesh, a practice mentioned in the Bible[8] and still common in the Middle East. She tears her striped robe, a reference to Joseph, as well as the attack on Tamar by her brother Amnon.[9] The robe embodies the suffering of Rahel as a mother whose son was torn from her arms.

The following stanza is a turning point in the poem, and it is based on the line in the Midrash which describes Rahel as “jumping” and speaking out of turn.

 Hurriedly she leapt… she demanded… Father, see my pain, and heed my plea with mercy… How could You tear a bride from her husband’s lap and send her into exile? How could You shoo the nesting mother, but not take care of the fledglings?

Unlike the men, who remain passive in their grief, Rahel is able to rise from the crushing pain and take action. She approaches God with harsh words that are, of course, the words of Hakham Yehudah Fetaya. He again uses the language of blood relations, as he makes Rahel address God as “Father” and speaks of the Jewish People as a bride who is driven away. Of all the arguments presented here, the boldest is the analogy Hakham Yehudah draws between the people in exile and the nesting bird. This analogy refers to the commandment of sending away a nesting bird while taking its eggs or fledglings.[10] Obviously, the Torah did not mean to say that one is obligated to separate the mother from its offspring, but rather that if one needs the eggs or fledglings, he should spare the mother. The analogy Hakham Yehudah makes is bold and daring because the talmudic sages specifically said about this commandment that one is not allowed to use it to invoke divine mercy:[11]

If [the one leading the services] says: May You show mercy to us as toy did to the nesting bird… he must be silenced.

The Talmud offers two explanations that seem to suggest that the rabbis feared that such statements will encourage a discussion of theodicy, or divine justice, which was a very sensitive issue for post-destruction Judaism. Not only does Hakham Yehudah Fetaya not shy away from this issue, practically accusing God of treating Jews unfairly and of abandoning them, he very cleverly changes the dynamics of the analogy, making it more dramatic. Whereas the commandment calls for releasing the mother and taking the eggs or fledglings for consumption, in the analogy the mother is sent into exile and the fledglings become the responsibility of the hunter, which in this case is God.

Here, the evolution of Hakham Yehudah’s Rahel is complete. She first transitioned from a bereaved mother to a wandering mourner, and she now becomes a fierce advocate for the Jewish people, firing a rapid succession of 14 arguments against God’s treatment of her children. Through Rahel, Hakham Yehudah speaks of his deep pain over the Holocaust, using midrashic Edom to refer to Germany. He pleads with God but does not hesitate to use an accusatory tone, saying that God has abandoned us and that He does not keep His promises.  

The poem concludes with a promise of redemption with many mystical elements, but its essence is a replay of what has transpired between Rahel and Yehoshua. Just as Yehoshua begs Rahel to calm down because he is overwhelmed by the emotions she stirred in him, God now tells Rahel to stop crying, using the verse from Jeremiah. The reason for that request, according to Hakham Yehudah, is that her powerful prayers caused the Divine worlds to commiserate with her suffering and as a result they are now in exile. Using Rahel as a mask, Hakham Yehudah issues a call to all Jews to be relentless in their efforts to usher in the redemption.

The way to do it, as he signaled in his poem about Rahel, as well as in his teachings and leadership, is to be active and not sink into depression, indifference, and apathy. He taught us that we cannot keep quiet when people suffer and that we must constantly challenge ourselves, and God, until we have a perfect world.
 

Halakha and Kabbalah

Hakham Yehudah Fetaya is considered one of the leading kabbalists of the twentieth century, both in terms of his outstanding disciples and colleagues, and his very important commentaries. It is therefore extremely important to hear his view on the role of Kabbalah in Jewish law, as was conveyed by his son, Hakham Shaul Fetaya. My grandfather explained that halakhot influenced by or instituted by Kabbalah were never meant for the public, but rather only for the true kabbalists. That is because the idea at the basis of these laws and practices is that by performing a certain act in this world, one impacts and changes the divine worlds. Let us consider a famous example of a practice stemming from this kabbalistic approach.

Sweetening the Harsh Judgment

The Talmud says in the name of Rava that one must add water to the wine of Kiddush, or else it will be undrinkable and undeserving of being called wine.[12] Rava’s rationale is that without adding water the wine is too strong. Rava’s opinion was not accepted as binding but rather as a recommendation, and Rabbi Yosef Karo writes that one is allowed to make Kiddush with a very strong wine. He does add that it is preferable to dilute the wine, as long as it is done properly, meaning that the final product is better than the original. Rabbi Moshe Isserles, the Rema, comments on that: “Our wines are better as they are, without diluting.”[13]

According to both Rabbi Karo and the Rema, the practice of diluting wine with water should have disappeared in the modern age, as most wines are drinkable, without any addition of water. This is indeed the case for most Ashkenazim; but the Sephardic world, under the influence of Kabbalah, took a different course. The practice of adding water to wine was explained by kabbalists as an act which weakens, or sweetens, the harsh judgment, as water represents mercy and wine represents rigor.[14] To avoid extreme dilution of the wine, the Kabbalists recommended adding three drops of water to the Kiddush cup, a practice kept in many Sephardic households.

The idea that a person can change God’s mind by adding three drops of water to the Kiddush cup could be deeply disturbing to anyone who is familiar with Maimonides’ principles of faith, and specifically the one that states that God is immutable.

There are several ways to reconcile this contradiction. One is to reject all Kabbalah-influenced practices, while another is to find deeper symbolism and meditative tools in the kabbalistic principles. In the case of water and wine, for example, when one adds the water to the wine, he should contemplate his behavior and decide to make a special effort to override his anger and be more kind and sensitive.

The third approach, that of Hakham Yehudah Fetaya, is that there might be a way in which humans induce change in God’s world. However, this is a role reserved for people with a very high spiritual level, namely the true kabbalists. Hakham Shaul, faithful to his father’s teachings, taught us not to add water to wine and not to wash our hands with Last Water, another practice that would have disappeared if not for Kabbalah. In general, Hakham Shaul was uncomfortable with the popularization of Kabbalah study, as he felt that the study is technical and superficial, and that no attention is paid to spiritual growth and interpersonal relationships. He was also opposed to the phenomenon of seeking blessings from “kabbalists” and rabbis who charge for their services. He told me that Hakham Yehudah Fetaya had a very clear opinion on this issue, which is that one is not allowed to seek advice, guidance, blessings, or prayers, from anyone who expects something in return for those services.

He explained that God does not need middlemen, and if there exists a person who was invested by God with special powers or access to Him, that person should care enough for others as to offer prayers and blessings without asking for a penny. My grandfather added that even if the rabbi does not ask for a payment, but says that he will bless a couple with a child on the condition that he will serve as the Sandak, one should decline the offer.

My grandfather, Hakham Shaul Fetaya (1910–1982), refused to serve as a rabbi, and instead dedicated his life to help people from all walks of life. He was a member of the Etzel underground and helped organize caravans to Jerusalem during the War of Independence. He fought for the inclusion of Iraqi and Sephardic Jews in the administrative offices of the newly born State of Israel, and continued his father’s tradition of helping the poor and needy.

He took care not only of material needs, by personally delivering supplies to immigrant families, but also of spiritual needs, counseling and advising thousands in his little store-office near Mahane Yehuda. His method of dream interpretation was studied by Dr. Yoram Bilu, who was astounded to discover a whole world of symbolism in the mystical teachings of Hakham Shaul and his father.

In the late 1970s Hakham Shaul launched a new initiative with his daughter Simha, my mother, and Dr. Hannah and Israel Openheimer, who were Holocaust survivors. That initiative was an occupational habilitation center in which people with physical and mental disabilities learned new skills or revived old ones, in order to integrate into the regular work market. My grandfather’s motto was the verse from Job (31:15): “His maker made me as well, and we were formed in one womb.” Hakham Shaul extended his belief in equality to the religious realm as well and taught his disciples and grandchildren not to use words such as religious and secular to describe factions in Israeli society. To our question what term to use, he replied that all Jews are observant, but each one chooses to observe different mitzvoth. He taught us that religiosity is not judged by external elements, and that there is much we need to learn about others. In the spirit of equality, he also encouraged my older sisters to have a Bat Mitzvah, as early as 1969, when this was not a popular practice among observant Sephardim in Israel.

My grandfather was the epitome of a Sephardic Hakham. He knew the Bible by heart; he read and wrote poetry; he was an activist, a philanthropist, and a philosopher. He did not believe in leading from above, and preached for loving and respecting one another. His approach to halakha was accommodating and understanding. He never forced anyone to drink wine or eat matzah on Seder night, and he tried to avoid Kabbalah-influenced practices.  I remember very well how on Yom Kippur, when I was seven years old, when speaking about Shabbat observance, he said that he knows that many people watch television on Shabbat, and that he just asks them not to switch channels or play with the volume. His approach of understanding and respect has guided me in my halakhic writings and my community work.

Here is a passage from his book Hirhurim (Musings), in which he addresses the religious elected officials and Knesset members, whom he viewed as enslaved to their seats:

…Enough PR, arguments, and animosity… instead of the noise and storms, come down to the people, walk with the people. It will not take away from your honor, it will only augment it. Didn’t God Himself come down on Mount Sinai, and doesn’t it say that Moshe came down to the people? But you… you rest on the comfortable chairs in your offices and never come down… and when you do you go to synagogues and study halls, but not to the “commoners”…

Please, if you ever decide to come down to the nation, don’t go only to those who know the values and principles, who apparently do not keep them, and who despite all this are called holy people…

Because this nation is wise, intelligent, and willing to listen, they will understand you, they are thirsty for knowledge, especially the youth, the knowledge of Jewish insight, the principles, values, and Israeli tradition. Speak to the youth. Speak to their heart. Explain gently, with love, sensitivity, and attention, and they will listen…

Teach the rabbis, the newly minted and the veterans, to be wise and not use the Torah as a tool to aggrandize themselves, so people will learn from them noble and worthy values.

Talk to the rock—it will give forth water… do not cause pain…

These words epitomize my grandfather, Hakham Shaul Fetaya. My grandfather’s love for scholarship, Bible, poetry, and music, as well his activism has deeply influenced me and my siblings, who all continued aspects of his legacy in one way or another. My oldest sister Haviva Pedaya is a professor of Jewish Philosophy and Kabbalah and a poet, and the second, Hannah, is the founder and manager of the Firqat al-Nur orchestra, and she spearheads the revival of Sephardic music and liturgy in Israel. My brother Yehudah is the rabbi of my grandfather’s synagogue in Jerusalem, Minhat Yehudah, and he teaches and maintains the unique Baghdadi traditions of Hakham Shaul. My sister Ayyala is an activist, a playwright, and a poet.

As a family, we feel now that there is an awakening, a thirst and longing for the legacy of Sephardic and Mediterranean Jews, and we hope that this legacy will contribute to the creation of bridges of understanding and mutual respect.

Mishlei 1:2-3

“To know wisdom and discipline, to comprehend words of understanding; To receive the discipline of wisdom, righteousness, justice, and equity; To give prudence to the simple, knowledge and discretion to the youth. Let the wise man hear and increase learning. The understanding man shall acquire wise counsels to understand an allegory and a figure, the words of the wise and their riddles. The fear of Hashem is the beginning of knowledge; fools despise wisdom and discipline.”

Introduction

One of the last conversations I had with my paternal grandmother before she passed away changed my life in ways that I initially could not imagine. At the timeת my grandmother was 94 years old and her memory was starting to fade a bit. From her 80’s into her 90’s she was a bastion of family history and information with a memory that spanned decades and generations. I grew up far from most of my family and after my father died my contact with my grandmother was my main source of connection to them.

In her last years, my grandmother’s conversations were often repetitive due to her advanced age with “How have you been, where have you been, I have’t seen you in a long time, etc.” being the most common points of return for her. Yet, from time to time an almost eerie sense of clarity would come over her and she would say things to me that were often profound; things that she had never told me in the past.

During one such conversation my grandmother kept returning to trivial matters until all of a sudden out of the blue she asked me, “What do you believe in?” The question caught me off guard because it was sudden and had nothing to do with the subject of the conversation. The reality was that time of my life I was in a state of flux, intellectually, even though I thought I had it all figured out.

I stumbled through various ways of trying to answer grandmother’s question, not sure why I couldn’t find the words to explain myself. After a few moments of not giving her a clear and conclusive answer she stopped me and made one of the most profound statements anyone has ever made to me.

“Let me tell you that a day is coming where you will have to be something and believe in something not because of anything I told you, not because of anything your mother has told you, and not because of anything anyone has told you. No, the day is coming when you will have to be something and believe in something because you have investigated it and you know it to be true!”

With that statement her memory faded and she fell back into the trivial conversation we were having before. From that moment forth nothing was ever the same and even though I spent many years trying to come to grips with her statement eventually it came front and center when I chose to dedicate my life to the truth like she told me. That choice led me to ground myself in the reality of Torath Mosheh to the best of my personal ability while learning how to divest myself from falsehoods.

“Through the intellect man distinguishes between the true and the false. This faculty Adam possessed perfectly and completely. The right and the wrong are terms employed in the science of apparent truths (morals), not in that of necessary truths, as, e.g., it is not correct to say, in reference to the proposition "the heavens are spherical," it is "good" or to declare the assertion that "the earth is flat" to be "bad": but we say of the one it is true, of the other it is false. Similarly our language expresses the idea of true and false by the terms emet and sheker, of the morally right and the morally wrong, by tov and ra’. Thus it is the function of the intellect to discriminate between the true and the false--a distinction which is applicable to all objects of intellectual perception.” [1]

A Minority Report

The truth, speak about it in the wrong sectors and you can get strange glances. Have a conversation about the truth with someone in modern-western based society and you may end up in argument about how there is no such thing as absolutes. I can’t even count the number of times someone, with no real experience a particular topic, would tell me something is an absolute truth when in reality due to my own research I knew it was theoretical. Some of the same people, while discussing a topic they term as “religious,” have treated my presentation of facts as problematic when they can’t find contradictions. In many of these cases they often fall back on the, “How can anyone know what the truth is?” or “Nothing can be established as the truth” method of avoiding the issue. In many cases the people who fall into this category are often are not able to see any further than their own perspectives because they are often using the wrong tools for the wrong job while not recognizing the fault in their philosophical approach.

What I mean by this is that if one wants to know if there is a possibility that the Source of Creation spoke to Am Yisrael, as the Torah describes[2], one would not pull out arguments on theoretical physics, chemistry, or mathematics. These fields of study may answer the “how” such an event may have taken place but they cannot answer “if” something actually took place. No, one would first use a historical model which is sometimes termed as a “convergence of facts” or a convergence of evidence.[3] [4] On the other hand, if one wants to make sense of the various statements made by Hazal about human perceived natural events and extra-natural events that Torath Mosheh describes as having sources from Hashem, one would not use the models for historical analysis and instead would use what is currently known in the various sciences.

Thus, when I approach any challenge or any question as to what I hold by[5], what I don’t understand, or what I desire to establish I use my experience as an electrical and an EMC Engineer in line with my studies of Torah to make decisions and come to conclusions. This, as a practice, does not take place once or a few times but is something that I interact with every day as someone who is focused on trying to understand the truth of every matter that affects my personal life and my daily philosophy.

"Adam the first, majestic man of dominion and success, and Adam the second, the lonely man of faith, obedience and defeat, are not two different people locked in an external confrontation ... but one person who is involved in self-confrontation. ...In every one of us abide two personae - the creative majestic Adam the first, and the submissive, humble Adam the second." [6]

Truth – A Daily Companion

My confrontations and struggles with living out the truth, many times as the as a singular individual from a minority or as a minority within that minority, have been varied and numerous. They have spanned my travels in America, Israel, Ethiopia, Italy, and Japan and covered numerous topics. My ammunition has been the study of texts and keeping aware of how one determines the truth in realistic situations; using the right tools for the right situation. An unexpected result of this way of life is that at times it has caused me to stand alone in a crowd, even when surrounded by people who are also Jewish. The truth and one’s dedication to it can sometimes be a lonely place but the benefits of such a stance are well worth it.

It is important note that the point here is not what about one thinks or believes about a particular matter, because both thought and belief are subjective, but instead what one “knows” to be true and can with high level of confidence and certainty establish.[7] This is something substantiated by the Tanakh and the writings of Hazal, such as the comment made by Saadya HaGaon:

“And knowledge has two sides, truth and falsehood, the knowledge of truth is known as a matter that is “from the many is many, the few is few, black is black, white is white, available/established is available/established, and lacking is lacking. Falsehood is known as a matter that is from the many are few, the few are many, black is white, white is black, available/established is lacking, and lacking is available/established.” [8]

In order to unpack these ideas and place them into real word applications, I will detail of number of situations from my life.

Struggling with the Past – New York

For seven years while living between New Jersey and Manhattan I worked at a high tech company in Pearl River, NY. During my day to day functions the truth of the Torah was an integral part of my interactions with my coworkers both Jewish and non-Jewish. I was not the only Jew working for the company but I was the only Jew who openly wore a kippa and tzitziyot. Further, within a group of about ten Jews out of about 200 non-Jews I was one of three Jews who kept Shabbat and Haggim[9] and I was further the only Jew who kept kosher. Given these facts it didn’t take long for me to become the resident answer man for Judaism and it was due to this status that I came into contact with a coworker who took much interest in discussing life issues with me.

He was a Jew with a Christian name and though that may not be so strange in the U.S. it does speak to some of the inner conflicts and contradictions he had. Over the course of the seven years we worked for the same company I had many conversations with him, many of which addressed whether or not the concept of Hashem was logical or not. Because of my willingness to address any topic without reservation or coercion he felt comfortable enough to let down his guard on many personal topics.

During one of his visits to my lab he told me that he was angry because his wife was forcing him to start preparations for their eight year old son to eventually have a Bar Mitzvah. My coworker was actually perturbed by his wife’s request since in his mind this involved years of financial expense, joining a synagogue – another expense, and personal stress for him. I listened to his complaints and when he was finished I responded in the following way.

“I am sorry to hear about your turmoil but let me ask you one question. Is this your Bar Mitzvah or your son’s? Based on what you described you obviously feel strongly about this but your son is a Jew. Do you really want to possibly face him ten or twenty years from now with him asking you why you didn’t give him a Bar Mitzvah? What if he comes to you and states that all of his friends had Bar Mitzvahs and he wants to know why he didn’t receive one? What happens when you give him your answer and he may be angry with you because you robbed him of an experience of his youth? Are you willing to face the possibility of him telling you that this was his experience and not yours to deny him?”

I told my co-worker that if the expense was the problem that there are a number of options that would cost him either nothing or close to nothing. I even offered that I could talk to people at the local Yemenite synagogue in Manhattan where I prayed because all children under the age of 13 receive the 6^th aliyah.[10] As a joke, I even told him to call the local Chabad and tell them he is giving up on all of Judaism unless his son gets a Bar Mitzvah. The joke being that there would shiluchim knocking on his door within minutes to help him for free. I stressed that the important thing is that if we are Jews and if we value our culture and history to deny his son an essential part of the normal modern development would be a sad and shameful thing for a father to do.

After my response my coworker had a silent moment and before leaving he thanked me for my response. A few weeks later he came to me and told me that after speaking with his wife he wanted me to come by their house to help get their son interested in learning Hebrew; to put him on the path of a Bar Mitzvah. I in fact did help teach his son some basic Hebrew after which his daughter proclaimed the she also wanted to learn.

My co-worker eventually opened up even more to be and I began to understand where his anger over thנקe issue of the Bar Mitzvah came from. He explained to me that he grew up in an “extremely secular” Jewish household with a mother who was a scholar and researcher.  What I mean by “extremely secular” is that he once told me that his mother the scholar made it clear that the Torah was utterly and emphatically “wrong.”

My co-worker further explained that he never realized how distant he was from his culture as a Jew until he recently attended a Passover Seder with his wife’s family. His wife’s family were at various stages of the Reform Movement but he said that he felt bad at the seder because he was the only attendant who didn’t know what they were doing. They would sing songs or perform actions as a part of the seder and he was not aware of what to say or do. He explained that during his childhood, while every other Jewish families were doing a seder on Pesah, his mother would sit he and his siblings down to explain how the haggadah was wrong and that there was no Yetziath Mitzrayim (Exodus).

Even with all of that, he was conflicted because he had an appreciation for the importance of being a Jew and he saw the relevance in the existence of the modern state of Israel but no matter how he felt he was always in the shadow of the way he was raised. My words to him were the same as what my grandmother once said to me about the importance of knowing from self-evaluation the truth. His critical decision was to determine and develop his understanding of what is the truth – Torath Mosheh vs. the path that his mother placed him on.

It is interesting to note that I had the opportunity to meet his mother at an art exhibit for his father and upon seeing my kippa and tzitziyoth her first words to me were, “You do know that whole exodus in the Haggada is wrong!” Thus began a classic debate with her stating that she had traveled to Egypt and performed research there finding no sign of any proof of such an event and that the haggada had been invented within the last 2,000 years. I course was not willing to let her statement stand unchallenged since I knew she had not done her researching using Jewish sources written in Hebrew and Aramaic from across the spectrum of the ancient Jewish world. As the argument heated up my coworker stepped in by changing the topic knowing that neither his mother nor I would give ground on the topic.

In 2007, after seven years of work I left that job in order to take on the ultimate challenge of my life - making Aliyah. After moving to Israel I only had a few sporadic contacts with my former co-worker. He left me a short message once on my former blog wishing me luck and thanking me for our interactions. I have no way of knowing what effect I had on him or his family but the truth of the matter is that maybe by being that one Jew out of several to try to walk the path of Torah publically and privately I may have been a part of a shuva process for him or maybe his children.

We Don’t Need the Har HaBayit! – Nachshonim, Israel

Thinking back on my time living in America, it is not hard to imagine situations where a Torah based Jew can feel like a singularity simply due to the lower percentage of Jews to the majority population. It is also a given that the social and professional pressure to be loose on areas of Torah such as Kashrut and Shabbat can be intense even when a handful of Jews are present. In situations where more Torah based Jews are present it isn’t so strange to have someone else who won’t eat with everyone else when business and restaurants excursions take place. In those kind of environments a Jew may feel like less of a minority in a minority but simply like one Jew of several in a non-Jewish environment – just a minority.

By like token, one would expect that it would be a lot easier to not feel isolated with these topics in Israel. We are talking about the modern state with a Jewish majority and a place where supposedly there is more respect for Torah based Jewish values, right? All I have to say is for those who have never spent more than a year here at one time you may be surprised.

I have worked in both hi-tech and in patent law here in Israel, I have also lived in at least 3 different regions of the countries, traveled at least 4 different sectors of the country, and the reality is that there can be situations where Jews who keep Torah are the minority within a secular Jewish majority; after which in contrast to the rest of the Middle East we are thus a minority within a minority.

From my professional experience here in Israel there have been numerous times when secular Israelis have called my kippa “that thing on your head” or my tzitzyoth “that stuff you are wearing.” Of course with Shabbat being an official day where no one is required to work[11] as well as the abundance of “kosher” restaurants Torah in every city; Torah based life is a lot easier to maintain in Israel than outside of it.[12] Yet, there is still the reality that the majority of the Jewish population here does not keep Torah and there are conflicts at times between so called “religious/Hereidi/Daati Leumi” interests and secular interests.

I find myself being in a weird type of middle ground where I don’t feel the need to personally enforce the Torah I hold by on others but at the same time I don’t accept, on any level, encroachment on the standard that I hold dear. At the same time, I have also felt the reach of secular elements of Israeli society which at times does everything it can to distance itself from Torath Mosheh.

I also recognize that the modern state can’t continue as it is and fulfill the prophecies that talk about Yamoth Mashiah, the establishment of an official Sanhedrin in Jerusalem, the rebuilding of the Beit HaMikdash, and the return the exiles to Eretz Yisrael. The truth for me is that something major would have to change in all facets of Israeli governance, life, and thought to facilitate such a complete worldwide social change and thus this is the contradiction of the situation.

This brings me to 2006 when I took part in a volunteer program on two military bases in the Mercaz region of Israel. During my interview process for the program it had been noticed that I wore a kippa, tzitziyoth, and also that I spoke about Torah. I was informed by the person performing the interview to not talk about “religion” when I arrived on the base since it would be frowned upon. I agreed and upon arrival when I entered my room at the barracks and met my room-mates I changed into a uniform while trying to hurry and remove my tallit katan but it was noticed by some of the guys in the room.

By chance after being asked to say the bracha for lighting the candles for Hanukha I became the answer guy since the majority of people in the area didn’t publically wear tzitziyoth. On one occasion I was asked about whether halakha allowed the use of marijuana, on another about male and female relationships, at times why does the Torah say this or that, and on another occasion why I would wake up every day at 04:00 a.m., shower, and head out.

My response to that last question led to interesting situation when I told my roommate that I was heading to the Beith Keneset to pray Shachrit at netz. He asked me, “There is a Beith Keneset here? Where is it?” I described the location to him and then I packed up my things and left. As usual, at that time of the morning there was only two of us praying in the Beit Keneseth but after finishing I noticed my roommate sitting in the back of the Beit Keneset without a tallit and without tefillin. He simple crouched himself over the chair in front of him and prayed. I went to him and asked if he wanted to borrow my tallit and tefillin but he quietly said that that was okay and he continued.

Yet, the highlight of that time was during a conversation with two younger soldiers in a conversation that turned into issues against Arabs. One of them mentioned how he hated Arabs and didn’t trust them for of course obvious and realistic reasons. Yet, before he could go any further the other young man chimed in and asked if we could change the subject because his mother was Jewish and his father was Arab/Muslim.

It was that same young man who turned to me and said he had a question for me. He asked, “You have a kippa and tzitzityoth. Tell me do you believe what the Torah says about the Luchoth HaBrith, the Aron HaQodesh, etc.” I responded, “Yes I do.” He in turned, “If all that stuff is true how come we have never found any of it?” Without pause I responded, “Let me ask you a question. The Har HaBayith (the Temple Mount), is it important or is it not important? Do we need it?” He responded, “No we don’t’ need the Har HaBayth we only need the Kotel.” It was then that I returned with the following statement.

You know it is interesting that you say that because there was a time when for the most part no Jew would have agreed with you. Today you say we don’t need the Har HaBayit, we only need the Kotel, and tomorrow your children will say we don’t need the Kotel we only need Jerusalem outside of the old city. After them your grandchildren will say that we don’t need Jerusalem we only need Tel Aviv. Finally, their children will claim that we don’t need Tel Aviv or Eretz Yisrael at all. You know if that is the case I don’t blame Hashem for hiding things from us because based on what you are telling me we don’t want them.

From there the conversation had to stop since their commanding officer walked in and things had to go back to normal. Yet, the truth of the matter is that maybe it didn’t. In reality, who knows what effect the conversation had on all involved.

Close Encounters, Palestinians vs Israelis – A coffee shop in Jerusalem

Several years ago I had the opportunity to meet with a professor from the United States who was researching how mixed ethnicity is viewed around the world in comparison to the U.S. We met at a coffee shop in Jerusalem and she arrived with a friend whose background I did not know and for most of the initial conversation her friend only listened attentively while taking notes. I explained my perspectives to the professor about how family background, language, and passed down traditional practices plays a major role in how one defines Middle Eastern cultures. I detailed, from my view, how the social affects, parameters, and issues of being mixed in more ancient traditional societies has more far sweeping implications than what exists for the most part in the U.S. for reasons that I spoke at length about.

As an example, I asked the professor’s friend about her family background since she had been quiet during the conversation. She responded to me that I may not want to know her background, to which I expressed no reservations. She identified herself as an American born Palestinian – her parents having been born in the Shomron region and having moved to the U.S. before she was born. I responded that I still had no problem and from there the conversation took a different turn into the realm of politics. She expressed to me that even though she identified with being a Palestinian and she was a very vocal advocate for a Palestinian state, as a secular American Palestinian she was terrified of such a state becoming Islamic and thus being no different than the existing extremist Islamic countries in the region.

I expressed that I could not imagine such a “potential Palestinian state” without some form of Islamic focus as it the only cultural background I have seen any Palestinian attach themselves to. Sure, I have heard some anti-Israel types claim that modern day Palestinians are descendants of Canaanites and the like but I have yet to see any linguistic or cultural practices in their societies that can identified as Canaanite. Further, during the entire time I have lived in Israel and traveled in the Shomron, Gush Etzion, and the Negev I have also never met a an Arab who used this claim.

The young woman had personally never heard of the claim that Palestinians were Canaanites and I explained that the reason was that the claim started as a grasp at straws to make any claim why Jews have no right to be here. Further, I asked her what kind of culture can override the one that currently exists and what common ground does it have the current Israeli one. I could tell by her facial reactions that these were also considerations she had never taken into account and to this point she had no answer.

Her response was to return to the political perspective and she stated that she could not understand why we could not all just live in peace. My retort to her was to ask the obvious questions of, “What exactly is peace, how do you maintain/obtain it on a day to day basis, when was the last time in world history that such a peace was achieved, and why does it not still stand now?” She did not have answers to my questions, and on one some level I think she had never even considered them before. It is also possible that no Jew had ever interacted with her in this way so I continued with the following statement:

“As you can hopefully see that situation is a lot more complicated than what you have considered. Yet, in all honesty I can’t tell you that you don’t have a right to fight for PA State that you or others envision using whatever means you see fit. That would be hypocritical to some degree since I have no divine mandate to dictate what you should dedicate your life to.

I do know that in reality if we Jews can’t maintain ourselves and if we don’t build the society that can withstand claims to the contrary or attacks on our perceived rights to be here then maybe we don’t have a right to be here – using basic rules of survival of the fittest.

Yet, if we can survive all of the claims against us and if we can overcome all those who are against us and if we Israelis can build a society that makes sense, what right does anyone have to oppose the reality as it would stand in that situation?

You though face a different problem; you face the challenges of authentic history and straight forward logic. Historically speaking there has never been an independent and locally elected government which defined itself as “Palestinian” here in this region. If such a nation did exist what was its currency, who were its locally elected officials, what was its local language, what ancient cultural elements can still be seen today, and why is Islam and Christianity the only two religions found being practiced by virtually all Palestinians, even by those who are secular, when these religions are respectfully between 2,000 to 1,400 years old?”

As she considered my questions, I went even further by asking her what her family’s last name is. She responded that it is “Hamdani” to which I asked what was the Hamdani family’s cultural and religion prior to the entrance of Islam in the region from Arabia. She shifted a bit and stated that she didn’t know but a moment later she claimed that more than likely they were a religion-less people. I stated that I didn’t believe that such a people existed here given the fact that we only receive rain during the winter with a delicate eco-system that can be disrupted by either too little or too much rain. That alone may cause any ancient/traditional people to pray to something, even if they didn’t do so on a regular basis.

Lastly, I informed her that Egyptian, Babylonian, Syrian, Greek and Roman accounts describe the local culture for the last few thousand years being Israeli/Jewish and during the 2^nd Temple period in the region of Shomron were the Samaritans so “if” the Hamdani family is of local ancestry, and not by import, they must have at one time been Jewish or Samaritan, one of the two. This statement seemed to shock her because it was not a part of the historical picture she had ever considered; if she had every considered one at all. So, seeing an opening I closed our conversation with the following:

What you need to do is go back to your family in the Shomron and ask the oldest members what were the Hamdanis before the entrance of Islam into this region. You may find some answers in that question that may make your future more focused.

You talked about peace. Maybe, just maybe, if we Jews and you so called Palestinians sat down and talked about ancestry and history we may find that we are from the same source, prior to the entrance of Islam in this region. We may find that at one time a number of so called Palestinians had Jewish or Samaritan ancestry – which is something that is already known to be true in a number of towns in the “so called West Bank.” [13] [14]

Yet, if this is the case this means that you and others may have a decision to make. If you find out that prior to the rise of Islam in this region the Hamdanis were either Jewish or Samaritan this may change the focus of what you are looking for on the national level. This may mean that a conflict between us is fruitless and a coexistence based on our common ancestry shouldn’t be a problem. Yet, who is willing to take these kinds of steps? It takes a bravery that some people may not want to take on because of their personal political agendas.

Listen, it is not my intent to sway you in one way or the other but if the two of us can sit here and discuss history and ancestry and do so in a civil manner why can’t those who are our so called leaders? Maybe, if they were to take this approach we could either settle this over coffee or worse, the other thing.

We parted ways that day agreeing to be who we chose to be – whatever that may have meant for her. In truth, I am not sure where her life has taken her since that point but I did sense that she walked away with a different perspective than what she entered the conversation with.

I also know, looking back, that very few people would have approached the conversation the way I did and there was a time in the past when I would have not been so “open” as I was with her. Yet, even if I am alone in how I handled the situation the truth dictates that I hold by it even if it may seem like an uneasy position to take.

Further, as much as I may have been teaching her I was also taught a lesson about the importance of making the truth the source of one’s perceived political stances and how even in the most unexpected places the pursuit of the truth can bring understanding.

Torath Mosheh vs. Unsourced Religionism

As a last consideration, I feel it necessary to discuss the times I have been at odds with my responsibility to the truth as it relates to the people whom I come into contact from the nations on the internet. I mean this in the sense of both non-Jews and even at times Jews who follow what I term as “Unsourced Religionism.”

I define Unsourced Religionism as the practices and customs that one comes up with which do not adhere to any proven historical or logical methodologies. The truth is of course in stark contrast to this method of living and often Unsourced Religionisim is the source of some of the strife found in the world. Whether it be false religious concepts that lead people astray, worthless Atheist vs. Religious debates, or the various forms of fanaticism - the lack of contact with the truth has had devastating effects on human history.

This can be seen in the various cults throughout history that have risen up and convinced both the rational and irrational to throw away their logic and replace it with feel-good brain-washing. There was a time when I would have believed that it was not worth the time to confront the falsehoods of such groups but that changed when I came to know several individuals who had been drawn into religious cults – forcing me to use the truth of the Torah to fight an intellectual war against the falsehoods.

One such incident involves one of several cults that falls under the rubric of the title “Sacred Name Movement.” This movement is made up of former Christians who have come to believe that the more prevalent forms of Christianity are influenced by paganism and that specifically the four letter name of Hashem must be pronounced/uttered in order to have salvation. Though these cults believe that the various forms of historical Christianity practices have pagan origins, they use of the New Testament and their culture involves some type of belief in Jesus being divine although they believe his name originally had the two letter name of Hashem in it.

I recognize full well that debating this type of cult is an activity that most Jews would not engage in; especially given the fact that most Jews have never even heard of them. The time and energy needed to confront these types of falsehoods can take a certain toll on a person’s personal life and often the question may be asked, “is this thing I am doing having any true effect of the world at large?” Yet, even with all the reservations I have had in the past about my involvement in this type of activity I have learned that there are times when not expressing the truth can have a negative effect on the world around us.

With that in mind, I once spent an entire year defending a book review I did against a Sacred Name cult’s supposed translation of the Tanakh due to having personally known several non-Jews who were considering involvement in these cults.[15]

The back story of this situation is that more than a decade ago I came into contact with a non-Jewish friend who had purchased a supposed translation of the Tanakh produced by said cult based on Abiline, TX. I skimmed over the book and noticed that this cult was taking huge liberties with the text with no basis in Tanakh and accurate mesorah. Because the cult used a flashy apocalyptic end of times message and prided itself on revealing things to Christians who were already exploring the so called “Jewish roots of Christianity” I realized that I needed to do something to warn those who may be tricked into joining them.

At a certain point I decided to write a review against the so called translation, spending much time on methodically breaking down how unfaithful this cult’s book was to both the original Hebrew Tanakh and also to the historical mesorah[16] of the text. I ended my review by advising all who were interested in the book to instead spend time trying to learn Hebrew and Aramaic since the people who I knew who were interested in the sacred name cults were searching for the truth but had little or no tools to determine it.

My review garnered numerous positive responses as being helpful, several personal emails requesting help with finding a more accurate translation, and requests for assistance in finding resources to learn Hebrew but it also drew the attention of the cult that created the text. Several of them, and even one of them that someone informed me was most likely the cult’s leader, wrote nasty messages to me in the comments section. I wasted no time in responding to their false accusations and claims by using both textual and historical proof to make my points. As the back and forth continued the cult members resorted to name calling and condemnations of hellfire against me and anyone who favored my review. The language they used and their refusal to prove the accuracy of their work, by providing the source text they supposedly translated from, caused a number of parties who were originally interested in their text to abandon their interest while thanking me from preventing them from wasting their money and time.

As the cult’s members descended into even more non-sense with their responses, such as calling me a Catholic at one point, the next calling me a Pharisee, and later a Saducee, the site that the review was found on started deleting the cult member’s comments since they had received so many marks as being useless in the review process of the book. As more and more potential victims of the cult began to see that joining said cult would have been a waste of time I was reminded of the Rambam’s comment in his responsa concerning teaching Torah to Christians.[17]

Yet, even with this victory there is another side of this issue and that is when I have had to do mental battle with missionary/messianic cults and organizations. Most of them are evangelical types but in one case I was approached by an Islamic organization that focuses on trying to convince Jews to convert to Islam. In the case of the latter I was engaged in a two month back and forth with a member of said Islamic organization concerning what they claimed were inaccuracies in Judaism that are only understood correctly in Islam. Having had a background in Islamic studies, I knew the claims and was able to counter them in an honest and respectful manner. I had to do so though remembering that though the truth can break through any argument the Rambam advised in one of his responses against teaching Torah to Muslims since they could in turn use that information against us.[18]

The Truth: For What It’s Worth

Whether it is being responding to falsehoods on the internet or defending the truth of Torath Mosheh against falsehood the question at times may be – what is the benefit? For what reason would a person need to interact in this way with these types of people? The answer to me comes in two forms – one for Am Yisrael and the second for all of humanity. In several instances through my responses I was able to convince missionaries to become Noachides and in a couple of instances those who debated with me became interested in becoming Jewish. Even in situations where neither of these outcomes happen I feel that I have a responsibility as a Jew to stand for the truth when possible for the sake of being an active participant in Tikun HaOlam. Further, I know of situations where Jews have been lost to Torah completely simply because no one in their immediate area stood up for the truth in a strong, public, and dignified way. To this point, I was once pleased to come across a video of a famous Kiruv rabbi here in Israel who was asked by a secular young man why should a person who is good and doesn’t do anything to hurt people make teshuva to the Torah. The rabbi calmly but boldly declared, “There is no reason except for the sake of the Truth.”

[The deception is so great] that even the best of the chasidim [faithful] among our men [scholars] of Torah, think that they are true but forbidden because the Torah forbids them. They do not realize that they are nonsensical false things that the Torah warned against, just as it warned us against [believing in] falsehoods.[19]

In Closing

Years ago I would never imagined that my grandmother’s words would have the type of effect they have had on me for all of these years. I could not have imagined the path her words would have set me on or the completeness it brought me. She passed away before I could thank her but in a small way she may have known the result. The last time I saw her, before she passed away in 2002, she stated that there were things that she told me that she never told anyone else because when my father passed away she knew that I needed something more than everyone else.

When I open my eyes and take a look around I see that there are numerous others who are also seeking to have a love affair with the truth that Hashem has placed upon us. No matter how isolated I may feel at times I must remember to look to the hills where there are others waving the banner of truth; lighting the fires of Torah to draw the attention of any willing to observe. In reality, a life dedicated to truth has a way of changing the world whether it be in passive observance or active participation.

That when judgement is made of truth it is the truth that establishes the world. It brings peace to the world. Thus Hazal teach in the Misnhah on three things the world is established, on the judgment, on the truth, and the peace. The three of them are spoken of in the pasuk (Zecharyah 5) “Truth and justice of peace you will judge your gates.” Because when judgement is done/established, the truth is done/established. And because when the truth is done the peace is done/established. [20]

Thus, I must close with saying that the truth no matter where it places a person has a way of making them jump for joy when they know they have it. The truth has a way of turning sadness to content. It can make conflict into compromise and it has the ability to empower the lonely.

With this constant wrestling with truth of the Torah we in turn fulfill the prophecy that one day Hashem would cause us to become a light to the nations because as the prophets tell us, “ten men from the nations will grab the garment corner of a Jew and state: We have received falsehoods from our fathers. Take us with you because we have heard that Hashem is with you.”[21]   

“Tzedeq, tzedeq [Correctness, correctness][22], pursue; on account you will inherit the land which Hashem your Elokim is giving to you.” (Devarim 16:20)

[23]

Violence Is Not Grounds for Divorce

by Batya Kahana-Dror

(Batya Kahana-Dror is an attorney at Mavoi Satum, an organization that assists agunot who have been denied a divorce (get) from their husbands. Mavoi Satum ("dead end") provides social and legal support as well as conducting lobbying efforts on behalf of agunot. This article was originally published in Hebrew in issue 46 of Eretz Aheret magazine, with the title "The Chief Rabbinate vs. the Jewish People.")

The approach to women's rights in the rabbinical courts today is pitting Jewish values against the democratic reality we live in. It is not a pretty picture. In the rabbinical courts the chasm between dayanim and litigants is widening. The dayanim, under the guise of democratic self-expression, refute civil law as an authoritative source, and litigants are helpless to act. The civil rights revolution has been bypassed.

The struggle of mesoravot get poses one of the greatest challenges to the religious legal system, a system that functions within a democratic reality. Points of contention include halakha versus civil law, rabbinical courts versus civil courts, theocracy versus Western liberalism, Jewish feminism versus spreading fundamentalism, and conservative, reactionary Orthodoxy versus modern liberal Orthodoxy. 

In the State of Israel, marriage and divorce between Jews is only performed, in accordance with religious law, by the Rabbinical Courts, under the authority granted by the Law of Jurisdiction in the Rabbinical Courts. In the last few decades, the handling of issues of women's status by the rabbinical courts has sorely tested Jewish values against the liberal, democratic values of the State. In the rabbinical courts, the chasm widens between the dayanim and those who stand before them, as the two sides do not speak the same language. The dayanim, using the facade of democratic discourse, refute civil law as a source of authority, and litigants are helpless. There is no synthesis between Orthodoxy and modernity that would provide a solution.

[H1] Human Rights and the Rabbinical Court

Human rights—such as the right of a person to his or her life, body, honor, property, freedom and privacy—have been determined by the Basic Law of Human Rights and Freedom. Concurrently, this law allows for legal restrictions on an individual's human rights in cases where the values of the State of Israel are challenged. Time and time again, the rabbinical courts create a schism between the halakha they believe they are applying and the values that the Basic Law represents.

This begs the question of whether the violation of a mesorevet get's rights is a case in which personal freedom is justly restricted, akin to that of a tax evader or the arrest of a criminal suspect. Is the violation of the rights of a mesorevet get, whose only crime is to ask for a divorce, a reasonable infringement, one that is deemed necessary by law? What is the benefit to the general public of a woman being denied the right to have children or being freed from a failed marriage? Is this the way to implement the Jewish values of the State of Israel?

For example, the rabbinical court in Tel Aviv granted a recalcitrant husband compensation of 60,000 NIS in exchange for his consent to grant a divorce. "The husband deserves compensation in return for his consent to grant a divorce against the position that he has expressed throughout the years" (six years). The Beit Din Hagadol [the religious supreme court] added that, "The husband had the halakhic right to continue being married. The husband agreed to abdicate this right in exchange for the right to sue for damages" ("HaDin ve-haDayan"—The Law and the Judge—edited by Dr. Amichai Redziner, published by the Rackman Center for the Status of Women, and Yad L'Isha, 4[8] and 11[10]). The court recognized the man's right to marriage and completely ignored the woman's right to freedom and her right to choose whether or not she wanted to live with this man. In addition, not only was this recognition of rights one-sided, but the court also violated the woman's basic economic rights in order to protect the man's right to be married.

In another example, the rabbinical court does not view "regular" violence—defined as “beatings that cannot kill”—as grounds for divorce. The Ashdod rabbinical court imprisoned a man because of violence and his refusal to grant a divorce. Yet the court differentiated between "regular beatings" which does not merit a hiyuv get [a rabbinical mandate to force the man to grant a divorce], and beatings that can kill, which does in fact merit a hiyuv get (see haDin ve-haDayan 4[3]).

In the opinion of the rabbinical court, it seems that "regular" beatings are something that a woman is capable of living with, and in any event, divorce should not be imposed because of it. An act that constitutes a criminal offense in the State of Israel does not constitute grounds for divorce in the rabbinical court.

[H1] "The Altar Sheds Tears..."

Like every legal system, halakha is naturally conservative by nature, and aspires to maintain ancient legal traditions. Since halakha is a religious legal system that considers itself to be of Divine origin, it is even more conservative than the secular legal system. Despite the fact that over the centuries there has been room for creating mechanisms for halakhic change and renewal (such as edicts, special rulings, needs of the day) nevertheless, objective circumstances prevented major halakhic renewal in Orthodox society, in particular over the past 200 years.

The ongoing changes in issues of personal status create a serious challenge for halakhic adjudication in the modern age. Even those who generally favor the approach of "sit and do nothing" cannot help but apply some minimal halakhic thought to modern-day situations. How much more so, religious judges in the State of Israel, whose authority rests on the principle "rise and act," must deal with the new reality in which most of the people in need of their services are not religiously observant.

The huge immigration to Israel and the establishment of the State raised expectations among certain sectors of the Orthodox community that there would be a religious, halakhic renewal with varied and broader interpretations of the Torah. However, this has not been the case. Although solutions to some halakhic issues such as kashruth and shemita were created, the scope of halakhic jurisdiction in Israel shrunk compared to its jurisdiction in the Diaspora. All civil and criminal legislation was given to the State, which rules according to civil law. Personal status remained in the hands of the religious judges, yet it was defined and placed under the auspices of the rabbinical court system by the State.

Over time, as a result of the increasing political power of the Hareidi sector, the rabbinical court took on the character of the Hareidi community, which succeeded in positioning its own people as dayanim, judges. Only the protest of women's organizations stirred the religious-Zionist public to act, but it was too little too late. This situation created a dearth of Modern Orthodox halakhic rulings that recognize women's suffering and women's rights. In practice, the religious-Zionist community accepted the authority of the rabbinical court and did not establish an alternative model of halakhic jurisdiction.

Why did the Modern Orthodox community accept this situation? First, the rabbinical court is a national entity working on behalf of the State of Israel. The Modern Orthodox sector is predominantly Zionist and thus maintains a loyal attitude toward State institutions even though the rabbinical courts do not represent State policy. An example of this attitude can be found in the actions of Zevulun Orlev and Rabbi Yitzhak Levy, Knesset members from the now defunct National Religious Party (NRP), who continue to introduce bills to expand the judicial power of the rabbinical courts—the same court that they claim does not have enough Modern Orthodox judges. Another reason is the religious-Zionist community's narrow focus on settlements. Finally, there is a fear of opening the door to Reform and Conservative Judaism.

Women's organizations filled this void. At first they concentrated on representing women seeking divorce whose rights were being compromised. Only later, after the magnitude of the injustice came to light, did they embark on a public campaign. The accessibility of halakhic knowledge coupled with the revolution in women's religious learning enabled women to promote halakhic solutions that the rabbinical courts chose to ignore. Orthodox women's groups started calling for change. The women themselves, most of whom belong to "Kolech," slowly adopted the feminist lexicon and became flag bearers of the struggle for women's equality in the rabbinical courts. Their positions caused a furor and their actions were viewed by the Hareidi and even the Modern Orthodox as undermining halakha. Women's organizations were trapped. Their members stopped believing in the rabbis and in their ability to institute change, but at the same time did not dare to take action without rabbinic consent (although the more radical among them claimed that a struggle that relies on rabbis actually empowers rabbis and thus makes the situation worse).

While expanding the struggle for women's rights, two steps were taken. The first was recruiting the civil courts, (whether through appeals to the Supreme Court or through lawsuits in the family court) claiming compensation for damages caused by the rabbinical court. The second step was investing more resources in bringing the issue into the public arena. Lawyers, religious pleaders, and social workers were joined by women campaigners who publicized the procedures of the rabbinical courts and worked to promote legislative change that would restrict the rabbinical courts' authority.

The fact that Orthodox women's organizations are leading the campaign has its disadvantages. First, the women's campaign is viewed in the religious world as a feminist issue and not in its broader context—as a struggle between liberal and conservative attitudes—and as such does not enjoy the support of most religious men, who tend to support the rabbis. Second, the push by Orthodox women is perceived by the general public as an internal religious issue and not as a battle against the violation of human rights, so the secular public and human rights organizations are barely involved in the campaign.

[H1] The Response of the Rabbinical Courts

The threat of reducing the judicial powers of the rabbinical courts, along with the growing opposition to court rulings that do not support Western liberal tenets, have led the rabbinical courts to issue more defensive and conservative rulings.

One example of this is the ruling by the Bet Din haGadol on an erroneous get. A get was cancelled as the rabbinical court decided that it was a "mistaken get" and insisted on arranging an additional get—regardless of the fact that the rabbinical court believed that there were enough halakhic options and explanations to view it as a valid get (HaDin ve-haDayan, 16th edition, 5 [17] 8). The rabbinical court clarified that "the rabbinical court does not rush to annul a get, and in fact this happens very rarely," but they added that they are annulling the get because "in this new reality, in which [the civil courts] want to bind the hands of the rabbinical courts so that they will be unable to continue to rule on agreements that they ratified [Sima Amir's appeal to the Supreme Court], and in which civil courts enjoy easily nullifying decisions of the rabbinical courts, this situation has the potential to cause serious harm...".

It is clear from the judges' language that they obviously weigh issues that have nothing to do with the specific case before them—considerations that take into account the erosion of their authority by the civil courts. Similar statements were made by the rabbinical courts with respect to the civil courts to explain the decision to become much more stringent in this particular case and invalidate the get: "The problem is that the civil courts created an opening for parents to sue on behalf of their children in order to evade the commitments of parents toward one another in their agreements, even though we are dealing with a case in which the parents themselves are suing. This trend distorts the law and the halakha and its only purpose is to undermine the authority of the rabbinical court and is exploited by family court judges."

[H1] Halakhic Pluralism

It is important to emphasize that pluralism does exist within halakha, both intellectually and in its practical application. It developed through the geographic dispersal of the Jews, and had evolved over time since its development in Mishnaic times. If we take into account the entirety of halakhic rulings and the span of literature connected to it, we can see that the dayanim have wide avenues to maneuver within halakha. In this respect, dayanim have a broader range of choices than civil judges who are limited to one legislative codex. As such, the dayan's beliefs and attitudes have a very significant and determining influence on his choices in his rulings.

The famous ruling of Maimonides states that, "If [a woman] says, “[my husband] is repulsive to me”... he is pressured until he gives it of his own will..." In other words, according to Maimonides, a woman who claims "he is repulsive to me" will be granted an immediate get by pressuring the husband. Rabbeinu Tam, who gave more weight to the fear of "forced get" over the principle of leniency, abolished this approach. However, of all the available halakhic rulings, the rabbinical courts chose to reinstate the halakha of the Maharashdam, Shemuel ben Moshe de Medina, who lived in Salonika in the sixteenth century. The rabbinical courts have accepted his position that one has to accept the husband's conditions if the court considers them reasonable, even when the husband has already been halakhically obligated or forced to grant the get. Consequently, the man's bargaining power is increased—even though he had significantly more power than the woman to begin with—as he is entitled to absolute free will during the divorce process.

In one case, the district rabbinical court decided not to discuss forcing the husband to grant his wife a get because he agreed to grant the get if she complied with a number of conditions. In this case, the rabbinical court listed what they considered to be reasonable conditions: "We want to clarify that the right to set conditions exists, not only in the financial realm, but also in the behavioral realm, for example, she will not be allowed to eat certain foods or wear certain items of clothing. Even the rabbinical court cannot force the woman to agree to these demands, but they are binding as conditions for a get and have to be implemented even in the situation where a husband has been obligated or forced to grant the get" (HaDin ve-haDayan, 7[5]). The rabbinical court thus sees as legitimate and even reasonable to violate the freedom of choice and the dignity of women by imposing the husband's conditions on her, even after the two are completely disconnected from one another, in order not to force the husband to give the get.

Reliance on this Maharashdam ruling with its current religious-court interpretation absolves the rabbinical court of all responsibility and abandons the woman to the husband's caprices. The rabbinical court thus reduces the woman's power and makes her efforts to obtain a hiyuv get from her husband irrelevant, since the hiyuv get loses its effectiveness if the husband's conditions have to be accepted. The use of the Maharashdam's halakha leads to unprecedented extortion of the woman, and legitimizes the phenomenon of get denial.

[H1] Between "Din Torah" and "Giving Advice"

In contrast to the Maharashdam's halakha, the judges have another, just as easily accessible ruling by Rabbi Haim Palachi (an adjudicator of Jewish Law who lived in Izmir in the nineteenth century). He ruled that in a case of a couple living apart for eighteen months, the husband has to be forced to give the get. This pragmatic ruling could have solved many cases of get denial, but for the most part this ruling is not used in the rabbinical courts. Furthermore, the court warned against applying Rabbi Palachi’s halakha: "It is not his intention to force the couple to divorce but is merely a piece of advice to adjudicators" (HaDin ve-haDayan, 18[8]). Redefining Rav Palachi's ruling as "a piece of advice" rather than "Torah law" suits the increasingly stringent bias in the rabbinical courts. The juxtaposition of these rulings—that of the Maharashdam versus that of Rav Palachi's—and the ways in which they are used or not used, epitomizes the ways in which dayanim make choices, the influence of a dayan's personal outlook on his rulings, and the outrageous situation in the rabbinical courts today. Another practice that is often used in many rabbinical courts today is to recommend that the couple come to an agreement instead of the court making a decision and imposing a get. This practice is upheld even in cases where it is clear that a couple will never be able to reach an agreement because the case has dragged on for many years. In this way the dayanim encourage the prolongation of proceedings and increase the possibilities of blackmail. To emphasize the philosophy behind these procedures, MK Moshe Gafni in the State Audit Commission stated: "There is a vested interest that the rulings should not be implemented. I said this in the legislative commission as well. The altar sheds tears for a man and a woman who separate". It seems clear that the rabbinical court has its own agenda, and is not at all concerned with the parties’ needs. There is a disregard for the wishes or the rights of an individual to divorce, as halakhic conservatism will always override those individual wishes.

[H1] Expansion of the Judicial Powers of the Rabbinical Courts

In a 2006 ruling (Supreme Court ruling 8638/03 Sima Amir vs the Higher Rabbinical Court in Jerusalem), the Supreme Court ruled that "legislative principles" dictate that the authority of the rabbinical courts to rule on plaintiffs outside of the issue of marriage and divorce needs to be legislatively effectuated. The Supreme Court thus explicitly determined that it is illegal for rabbinical courts to act as arbitrators with authority on civil matters and personal status disputes that erupted as a result of their own rulings.

As a result, Knesset members from the religious parties re-proposed a law to set this expansion of jurisdiction in law. A few months after this Supreme Court ruling, the new Kadima-led government was formed, based on a coalition agreement with Shas that included a commitment to legislate on the expansion of the rabbinical court authority. Until the Sima Amir Supreme Court ruling, and even afterwards (according to the State Comptroller), the rabbinical court acted as an arbitrator on all matters.

This practice demonstrates that the rabbinical courts see themselves as an independent judicial body with added authority—a judicial body that deviates from the mandate given it by the law (personal status) and converts itself into an autonomous body. This is similar, however inconceivable, to a case in which the Labor Courts, for example, might begin judging cases under the jurisdiction of the magistrates' court because they have declared themselves arbitrators. Moreover, the rabbinical courts did not distinguish between the authority they were given and the authority they simply took for themselves. When the dayanim would act as arbitrators, they would often use the rabbinical courtrooms and stationery with the State of Israel's letterhead. The hours they dedicated to arbitration were also considered part of their regular working hours.

The dayanim were also inclined to send refusal notices to parties who refused to appear before them—in direct defiance of the arbitration law that states that a condition granting authority to the arbitrator is consent of both sides—and in this way they expressed their view that the rabbinical court is in essence the defining authority for the religious community, with no need for that society's consensus. Incidentally, the Supreme Court ruling in the case of Joseph Katz put an end to these practices (Supreme Court ruling no. 95/3260, Joseph Katz vs. the Jerusalem District Rabbinical Court [4], 590).

The rabbinical court is trying to use the governmental authority it has been given over one specific matter in order to establish itself as a court that rules on Torah issues as well as civil matters, and to promote itself as a substitute to the Israeli Justice System. These ideas find expression in the ruling of the Jerusalem Religious District Court by which the  halakha forbidding litigation in courts also applies to litigation in the Israeli Civil Courts system "as it stands today" (file 38/2824, 11 [259]).

 The rabbinical courts do not allow room for error. This is a halakhic ruling of the rabbinical court in the State of Israel that takes on a role and authority that was not granted to it, and emphatically forbids one to be judged in the Israeli Court system "as it stands today." This attitude of the rabbinical courts also finds expression in the disapproval that judges convey toward women who have opened cases in the family courts, and in their support of the demand (usually from the husband) to transfer cases from the civil to the rabbinical courts, and even to reopen cases that have already been settled. Even graver are cases in which the wife presented a damages claim against the recalcitrant husband. In these situations, the women are subjected to threats by the dayanim who claim that they will not continue to judge the get cases until the women withdraw their damages claims.

In their campaign to expand their judicial authority, the rabbinical courts found a supportive argument from an unexpected source: postmodern theory on pluralistic systems of law, which recognizes the rights of religious sects to live and be judged according to their own beliefs. These postmodern Hareidi groups want to have their cake and eat it too. On the one hand, they hold on to their own mandatory role on all issues of personal status, and are unwilling to open another rabbinic court. They are also unwilling to forego their unequivocal authority on all issues related to divorce (Law of the Jurisdiction of Rabbinical Courts, section 3, marriage and divorce, 1953). On the other hand, they demand judicial pluralism for their own people, claiming, "There is nothing wrong with people wanting to live according to their beliefs and be judged by a different set of laws."

Leaving aside the inherent contradiction, I would like to focus on the issue of judicial pluralism. From the perspective of a democratic society, there are problematic issues in this approach: voluntarism and basic values. The nagging questions generally and in this specific case are: how to ensure that only those who want to be part of a separatist legal system will be included in it; how to ensure that neither social pressure nor any other pressure will cause people to seek out the rabbinical courts; and how to ensure that basic democratic values, such as human dignity and freedom (for example, the right not to be beaten), will be preserved.

Even those who support pluralism cannot ignore the fact that religious rulings as they are applied today in rabbinical courts often do not recognize phenomena that are considered criminal—such as violence, drugs, gambling, and more—as grounds for divorce.

[H1] "I Am Satisfied"

An important tool for establishing democratic norms in the rabbinical courts is assistance from the State Comptroller's Office and the Knesset Comptroller's Committee. In contrast to other courts, the religious courts "excel" in their high number of procedural and disciplinary irregularities.

The latest State Comptroller's report, published in May this year, paints a particularly distressing portrait: reports of breaches in 83 percent of the cases in Petach Tikva, and in 75 percent of the cases in Tel Aviv; reports of excessive foot-dragging and abuse of the law; 26 percent of hearings that took place in the absence of a full panel of dayanim (which causes delays in receiving a get); 257 cases of arbitration opened in direct contravention of a clear Supreme court ruling, (decision of Sima Amir, see above); irregularities in dayanim's attendance records; dayanim taking up residence outside their area of jurisdiction, which unequivocally violates the conditions of their contract— even after being issued warning letters regarding this practice. In addition to these facts and figures, the report creates a dismal picture regarding the attitude of the management of the rabbinical court toward civil law and the rule of law. The rabbinical courts and their judges do not view the State, the law, and the body that elects them—The Committee for Appointment of Dayanim—as a source of authority over them, despite the fact that, outwardly, they present themselves as a system willing to accept criticism and to correct any improprieties.

The common attitude in the rabbinical courts about the source of their authority is that Israeli law is man-made but the rabbinical courts rely on divine authority. Former Chief Rabbi Avraham Shapiro wrote, "Courts of law derive their authority from State law, they make their rulings based on the administration of the day, what the members of the elected house of government happen to legislate. By contrast, we, the judges of the rabbinical courts, rule with the power of the authority of the Torah for all of Israel, according to the laws of the Torah" (quoted by Judge Menachem Elon in "Jewish Law", Magnus, 5733/1973).

Particularly surprising was the position taken by the Chair of the State Comptroller's Committee, a member of the now defunct National Religious Party (NRP) that examined the report's findings. Besides the compliments he showered on the management of the rabbinical courts and on the Chief Rabbis for their streamlining and efforts at improvement, he expressed a clear discomfort with the content of the report to other participants in the meeting. It seemed that there was an incomprehensible gulf between the complacency felt at the meeting and the outrage felt by the public.

Religious Zionism and its Knesset representatives have adapted themselves to ultra-Orthodox practice, and not only in halakhic matters. They accept guidelines on a range of issues from rabbis—including from Chief Rabbi Shlomo Amar, a member of Shas, who himself is susceptible to the pressures of the ultra-Orthodox Lithuanian stream. The Chief Rabbis' office and the rabbinical courts, despite the fact that they are completely controlled by the ultra-Orthodox, are still supported by the religious Zionist camp, who views them as one of their own. Religious Zionist Knesset members and religious Zionism views the issue of State authority as a centerpiece of their ideology (even though after the disengagement from Gush Katif, an increasing number of voices within the Religious Zionist camp began challenging this assumption). The national religious public is still reluctant to openly come out against State institutions, even though it is clear to them that little if any national awareness exists in the present religious establishment. The national religious public is unwilling or unable to come out systematically and offer an alternative to the State establishment. Therefore, at the end of the State Comptroller's Committee meeting, Knesset member Orlev placed the primary blame for the problems in the rabbinical courts squarely on issues of funding and legislation, and concluded, "I am satisfied."

[H1] "It Is Not Your Responsibility to Finish the Work, But Neither Are You Free to Bypass It"

We have reached the peak of evading accountability. The conversion crisis exposed the differing approaches to conversion within Orthodoxy. The gap between the progressive approach and the more defensive, conservative approach within Orthodoxy has not been so clearly delineated in a long time. The public is beginning to gain an understanding about halakhic alternatives that are unavailable in today's religious establishment. The tensions between the religious legal system and the system that propounds equality and human rights are starting to show.

Two bills to improve the processes of conversion and divorce were recently proposed and then rejected. The laws intended to give communal rabbis the authority to convert potential individuals and correct the law on division of property. (This article was written in August, and since then the law on division of property before the giving of the get has passed after years of campaigning by groups such as ours.) When it comes to the injustices in the religious courts, not only does the political system avoid helping, but political pragmatism and coalition concerns overcome the need to resolve the problem of divorce in Israel. It seems that the apathy of the general public enables the emissaries of the law to displace this issue with their own political, economic and security interests

The inability to effect change has caused sectors of society to lose faith in the political system that tends to regularly cave in to ultra-Orthodox demands. This capitulation is not only politically motivated, but also emanates from the belief that ultra-Orthodox Jews are the true guardians of the Book, who see their unofficial role as maintaining the Jewish character of the State.

A Modern Orthodox alternative does not exist. The ultra-Orthodox have access to the State rabbinical courts as well as their own private courts. The Reform and Conservative movements have their own organizations. It is only the Modern Orthodox, national religious public that has no alternative. Since many traditional people identify with the national religious camp (that is, the synagogue they do attend is Orthodox), this is not a struggle between various factions, but rather the creation of an alternative that will serve a large portion of the Israeli public, and would therefore have tremendous societal importance.

The State's position, which disallows an alternative Orthodox voice, is leading us to disengagement. We have not yet healed from the wounds of the first disengagement, and we are on the brink of another huge rift in Israeli society. The degree of aversion to the religious establishment is only deepening, both in the national-religious and the secular population. The Israeli public finds it difficult to come to terms with the personal suffering caused by conservative and inflexible halakhic thinking. At the same time, the popularity of religious marriage ceremonies, which are not conducted by the rabbinical establishment, is rising among religious and secular couples- a clear show of distrust in the rabbinical establishment and the rabbinical courts.

It is up to the national religious community to publicly break away from the apologetic, defensive, conservative Orthodoxy of today, a break that would mean establishing a new Israeli Orthodox stream that would, among other things, establish its own religious courts.

Modern Orthodoxy must propose and build this alternative in an organized, systematic way. It must propose an alternative that includes broad halakhic thinking, which, while based on halakha, recognizes the greater good and modern day needs. It must propose an alternative that incorporates the knowledge acquired through the twenty-first century, including civil rights, changes in women's status, and public consensus, and seek to find solutions (including recognizing civil marriage) for the entire public.

This stream of Orthodoxy cannot define itself merely through Zionism and settlement of the land, but has to embrace halakha and its modern-day development against a backdrop of liberal Western values. It is not enough to create lenient rulings versus stringent rulings. A clear line must be drawn between halakha and its relationship to contemporary times and the society in which it operates.

The creation of an alternative religious establishment will integrate an additional halakhic outlook within the Jewish mainstream—one that has a body of followers among the religious and traditional sectors. Its institutions will return halakha to its essential dynamic state, reconnecting it to our everyday lives and at the same time reconnecting all of society to the essential character of the State of Israel as a Jewish state.

One of the enduring themes of my religious life has been the reconciliation of my Jewish and American cultural identities. As the daughter of a Modern Orthodox rabbi who taught me to look critically at the ways in which religion can be variously used and practiced, I became very aware of the pushes and pulls of different religious factions and how they have informed by beliefs. As a student of science, I gained insight into the importance of empirical knowledge and learned to look critically at the claims of universality and objectivity of research theories. My own framework for understanding differences in religious philosophy has developed over time, and centers around my personal struggles with the resolution of the cultural tension between my experience as an American—steeped in pervasive scientific values based on rational knowledge—and my experience as a Jew—with a set of mores and beliefs about the world that are strongly held but grounded within a framework that seems incompatible with the uncertainty that intellectual analysis brings.

The center of the internal struggle to integrate these seemingly incompatible aspects of myself crystallizes around my understanding of the observer effect. In science, the term observer effect refers to changes that the act of observing will make on the phenomenon being observed. Thus, every experiment is necessarily influenced by the presence of the investigator, and no researcher can be factored out of an experimental system. An elaboration of this discovery has led to the idea that as humans we inevitably try to impose order on a fundamentally chaotic universe; thus the way we structure our studies is implicitly biased and colored by human experience. This radical principle revolutionized the way we think about science and has led to a paradigm shift in the way we conceptualize and study other fields as well, comprising a vital component of postmodern scholarship.

Postmodern ideas now permeate almost every scholarly enterprise, from literature and history to psychology and sociology. Serious scholarship in many fields requires an open acknowledgment of the perspectives that provide the lens through which ideas are given meaning. The intellectual ramifications of the observer effect pervade twentieth-century intellectual thought and are an implicit part of a Western cultural sensibility. Despite its importance to our scholarship, this paradigm has not seriously influenced the way large segments of the Modern Orthodox world think about or treat religion and religious study. This disparity, as I see it, is one of the fundamental problems facing Modern Orthodoxy today. Since Judaism is taught in a factual way, while at the same time uncertainty permeates every other faction of our life, religion can become encapsulated or split off as a result.

In my various experiences growing up and living in different Jewish communities, I have found that Orthodox Jewish thought is often taught and learned in a categorical way that does not take into account differing viewpoints. As students, we are not taught to think critically about religious material or our religious leadership but must learn to do so on our own, outside of traditional educational systems. Religion is taught unequivocally, in a way that leaves out the doubts and subtleties each teacher necessarily brings to the material he or she teaches.

Under the current mainstream yeshiva system, pertinent information is selected and taught by instructors whose students are expected to grasp and apply it without significant evaluation of its merits. Teachers' formulations and interpretations are often implicitly presented and accepted as objective truths to be assimilated by their students. In this educational system, many learning experiences are characterized by acquiescence to the expertise of the teacher-as-authority. This method of indoctrination makes sense for young children as the stability and structure of an educational institution provide a sense of security, granting refuge from an ambiguous understanding of ideas. Yeshiva schooling constitutes a safe environment that provides a secure, though embryonic foundation for the understanding of religious knowledge.

The problem arises when this culture of indoctrination continues into our experiences as adult members of Orthodox communities. The dominant contemporary explanations of Jewish theology are generally given over in a way that precludes open debate or critical assessment of merit. In my experience, many religious leaders tend to be more concerned with making a point than with openly approaching others as an interpreter with a culturally bound perspective; this reluctance to address uncertainty extends to common religious discourse as well.

For many who do not acknowledge their participation in American culture, this does not pose a problem. They are content in being handed over objective knowledge, secure in the truth of their belief. But for those who choose to engage in Western culture and concomitantly adopt its cultural ethos, the struggle to integrate their American and Jewish sides is more difficult. It is not necessarily the content of the religious teachings that makes this challenging, but the way that knowledge is confused with or presented as objective truth. The prevailing methods for the dissemination of Jewish religious thought within communities are definitive and conclusive, as though the injection of any doubt or uncertainty into the discussion could lead the child or layperson astray. This trend can be alienating to those whose belief is influenced by American culture, as it leaves little space for a personal relationship with religious material. This can make it difficult to assimilate meaningful interpretations of religious information—and in effect widens the cultural divide between religious and secular selves.

The first time this conflict came starkly into my awareness was in my freshman year of college, in a humanities class covering a scholarly reading of the Old Testament. I had never before come into contact with this material—and its effects were gut-wrenching. I responded to what felt like an assault on my beliefs by holding on to my religious understanding of the Bible, defending it at all costs. As I listened to myself debate my classmates on the merits of these theories, I realized that I was approaching the issue from within a cultural perspective that was different from many of my fellow students. My only previous experience with the Bible had occurred within the framework of religious study, with an eye for one objective truth.

In this new, intellectual environment, my religious views seemed undeveloped; my beliefs were fundamental to my way of thinking but had never been challenged by the lens of historical scholarship. My previous yeshiva training had formed a secure basis for my religious beliefs but had not prepared me for impingement by the general prevailing cultural standards for critical thought. Because I could not locate my belief within a context, I was not equipped to effectively engage in intellectual discourse on the topic.

Years have passed since that shock of self-awareness, and yet I still find myself struggling with the same issues.  How is it possible to incorporate a fundamental religious belief system with a world based in critical rationality? I believe that the first step in bridging this divide would start with a growing awareness of the subjective nature of our beliefs. We may posit the existence of a set of objective religious beliefs, but as human beings interpreting these truths, our knowledge is necessarily bounded, even flawed. Even objective truths based in religious faith must be filtered through our subjectivity. The observer effect has taught us that because we are a part of the system we are studying, there is no way of standing apart, separate from our cultural milieu.

Acknowledging the biases with which we enter religious debate is never an easy task. Religion is the scaffolding on which our society is built and has provided a vital function for humanity. It forms the underpinnings for Western civilization and the guidelines by which many of us live our lives. Perhaps the centrality of Judaism’s position in our lives makes this struggle such a poignant one. It feels dangerous to subject our faith to critical examination as it may lead to a cynical deconstruction of our traditional Jewish beliefs. On the other hand, denying that our environment informs our perspective closes us off from seeing reality.

Each person must engage in his or her own quest for navigating meaning in religious tradition and modernity. For me, this has involved the reconciliation of the dueling sensibilities of my American and Jewish identities. The observer effect has helped me to locate my religious beliefs within a context. When viewed through a prism of critical rationality, Judaism becomes more complex, and is cast with ambiguity and nuance. And although it is decidedly more multifaceted and difficult, I am at peace with the uncertainty of my perspective, as it feels more compatible with the overarching environment in which I live. As humans our knowledge is necessarily limited; in our fallibility, we may take comfort in having others join in our struggle with uncertainty.

Amazingly, Jews have flourished for nearly

two thousand years in many different lands without having a

central authoritative institution of halakha. In spite of differences of custom

and emphasis which have arisen among different groups of

Jews, the essential unity of halakha was preserved. To this

day, every Jew who adheres to halakha shares in a truly

remarkable historic, religious, sociological, spiritual and national

enterprise.

Some individuals have called for

the establishment of a new Sanhedrin in our times. They

would like a revival of a central halakhic authority for the

Jewish people. The Sanhedrin would not only provide unity

in halakha, but would re-institute the original methodology

of the oral law--interpreting the Torah itself, applying the

law to life with the freedom to overrule precedents and previous

decisions.

One of those calling for a Sanhedrin was the Sephardic

Chief Rabbi of Israel, Rabbi BenzionUziel (1880-1953). In a

speech delivered on 12 Kislev 5697, he called for an authoritative

rabbinic body along the lines of the Great Court of

Jerusalem.[1]  He viewed this effort as a continuation of the

work of Rabbi Yohanan ben Zaccai, who had been instrumental

in establishing a quasi-Sanhedrin in Yavneh following the

destruction of Jerusalem by the Romans.

Rabbi Uziel believed it was the responsibility of the

rabbinate to work to achieve this goal. Rabbis are delegated

the responsibility of establishing mishpat, justice. This refers

not only to cases between contending individuals, but also to

public issues, questions of taxation and communal needs. By

working for a Sanhedrin, the rabbis will be working for a

unifying force in Jewish life. Rabbi Uziel argued that one who

simply knew how to rule on what is permitted and what is

forbidden ,or on who is guilty and who is innocent is not in the category of being a posek, a decisor

of halakha. This person is known as a talmid or talmid hakham,

 a student or a wise student. To be a posek, however,

involves having the power of the Great Court. Only the Sanhedrin

can serve as a real posek. "The responsibility of the

Sanhedrin was to clarify and distinguish between true interpretations

(which are true to the spirit of the Torah) and

casuistic interpretations (which are erroneous). "[2]

Rabbi Uziel writes that the posek draws conclusions

from the Torah and the words of the prophets, as well as from

the traditional oral law. "The posek in Israel is not bound by

precedents of the posek who precedes him. If he was,

this would lead to great damage, in that an accidental error

would be fixed as a permanent halakha even though it was

erroneous in its foundation. In order to avoid this harmful

eventuality, the authority of the Great Court was restricted

only to the time in which it sits on the chair of judgment. But

the decisions of the Great Court are not established as law and

do not obligate the judges who will come after them to judge

and to teach like them. "[3]

Rabbi Uziel was deeply impressed by the work of Moses

Maimonides and believed that he deserved the title posek.

Maimonides worked to make the laws of the Torah known to

the general public. In his comprehensive code of Jewish law,

Maimonides recorded the halakha anonymously, to signify

that it represents a consensus, not just the opinion of individuals.

He not only gathered his material from all rabbinic

literature, but he also derived benefit from the teachings of

non-Jewish thinkers. "In this matter, by the way, Maimonides

has informed us that in halakhic decisions one must

comprehend all things on the basis of their content and truth,

and not on the authority of their authors alone. Maimonides

taught a great principle: Accept the truth from those who

have stated it. "[4]

In order to restore a central authority for halakha, Rabbi

Uziel urged: "Let us arise and establish the Great Court in

Jerusalem not in order to judge cases of fines, or capital

cases and not in order to permit the firstborn because of its

blemish. Rather, let us do so in order to solve the questions of

life which confront us each day in our settlements and in our

world, and in order to create a beginning for our destined

redemption: 'And I will return your judges as in the beginning

and your advisers as formerly; for out of Zion will the

Torah proceed and the word of God ·from Jerusalem.' ''[5]

Until a Great Court is re-established in Jerusalem, the

halakha is taught by leading rabbinical sages who draw on

the vast rabbinic literature which has developed over the past

several thousand years. There are variations of opinion on

details of halakha; different sages rule differently: yet, the

halakhic process continues to provide the framework for

religious Jewish life. In order for a sage to be recognized as

authoritative, he must not only have great erudition; he must

not only be personally observant of halakha; he must also be

fully faithful to the idea that halakha is the expression of the

will of God to the Jewish people. Halakha, therefore, must

be taken seriously on its own terms.

A Sephardic Approach To Halakhah[6]

Without a Great Court in Jerusalem, it was only natural

that different approaches to halakha developed among various

Jewish communities during the past nearly two thousand

years. Customs and practices varied from place to place and

from time to time. Attitudes towards halakhic study also

differed. Certainly, the basic assumptions of the divinity of

the Torah and the authority of halakha were accepted: but

differences in style definitely did exist among religious Jewish

communities throughout the ages.

Two major streams of Jewish tradition are the Ashkenazic

and the Sepahardic. Ashkenazim (Ashkenaz means Germany

in Hebrew) primarily lived in Europe. In the Middle

Ages they were concentrated in France, Germany and Italy;

gradually, the centers of Ashkenazic Jewry shifted to Poland,

Russia and Eastern Europe in general. The common feature of

these communities is that they existed in Christian countries.

They were included within the orbit of Western civilization.

The Westernization of these communities was intensified

during the eighteenth and nineteenth centuries, when

European Jews were gaining rights of citizenship in the countries

in which they lived. The doors of Western civilization

opened to them as never before. Jews studied in European

universities; and they advanced in professional, cultural and political

life. Their struggles for civil rights were painful and not fully

successful. Anti-Jewish attitudes and actual violence against

Jews ultimately led many Ashkenazim to migrate to Israel,

the United States and other safe havens. The Nazi holocaust

during World War II decimated European Jewry, most of

which was of Ashkenazic background. Yet, Ashkenazic

Jewry today represents a large majority of world Jewry.

Ashkenazic numerical dominance has been matched by

its cultural hegemony as well. Certainly, for the past three