National Scholar Updates

In suburban Baltimore, MD, the Jewish Community Center in Owings Mills is contemplating establishing Shabbat hours with activities. The Orthodox community called a protest rally in opposition to this policy change. The rally’s purpose was to celebrate “the beauty and sanctity of Shabbat.” The rally was “officially” against “nobody,” but seemed to be occasioned by the new Shabbat policy of the JCC. In much of contemporary Orthodox life, spin is critical; one must sound “liberal” and reasonable but act traditionally and with a countercultural, parochial agenda.

“’This is going to be a very positive program for the support of Sabbath observance,’ said Eli Schlossberg, one of the rally’s organizers. “Just like the last one we had, we’re not coming out against anything or anybody.” If this euphemistic claim were indeed the case, that the rally and Orthodoxy is “positive” and not against anyone, the rally would have occurred not in response to the JCC opening on Shabbat, but as an unconditioned and unconditional invitation to experience Shabbat.

The Owings Mills facility is not located in an Orthodox neighborhood, and it serves a largely non-Orthodox population. On the other hand, the Park Heights JCC, serving a mostly Orthodox population, will not open on Shabbat. A 3500 person protest took place 12 years ago when the Owings Mills JCC considered opening on Shabbat. The social/religious meaning of the new rally and the rhetoric that justifies the rally requires analysis.

My own position is that the JCC ought to be closed, but the Orthodox community should not squander its moral voice on these kinds of communal conflicts. Orthodoxy must teach by gentle example and not with coercion or protests.

We have to examine and understand
[1] The position of those who want the JCC in Owings Mills to remain closed,
[2] The reasons supporting the opening of the JCC on Shabbat,
[3] The position of Rabbi Joseph Soloveitchik regarding religious coercion, and
[4] What a responsible Orthodox response ought to be

[1] The position of those who want the JCC in Owings Mills to remain closed Those who advocate forcing the JCC to remain closed on Shabbat maintain that the word “Jewish” really means something significant, dear, and sacred. Being Jewish means that Shabbat is important, beautiful, divine, and yes, obligatory. It is a violation of Judaism to desecrate the Sabbath, and “Judaism” and “Sabbath violation” are as antithetical as are the terms “Jewish” and “non-Jewish.”

Opening the JCC on Shabbat will offend good, pious, and sincere Jews, the most Jewish of Jews, the Jews for whom Judaism is too precious to be compromised. And violating the Sabbath in the name of the community will disrupt and, heaven forefend, undermine the unity of the community, whose existence is assured by the commitments and feelings of the consistently, fervently and steadfastly Orthodox community who observe the Shabbat and want all Israel to share in Shabbat observance. God said: “remember and observe” the Sabbath and we dare not forget what God commands in the Ten Commandments. How can we call ourselves Jewish if we deny what God says, ignore what God orders, and we without sensitivity to Jewish belief, practice, and sensibilities?

[2] The reasons supporting the opening the JCC on Shabbat, Those who wish to open the JCC have their reasons as well, which from the perspective of its segment of the Jewish community, also make sense. And in order to feel their feelings and respect their integrity, we, the Orthodox community, are morally and religiously required to hear them as we wish to be heard by them. Rightly or wrongly, there are those who adhere to different Judaisms, who believe, behave and belong as Jews without Orthodox commitments. In New York, the “Y” is open on Shabbat; in Israel, people are allowed to observe Judaism any way that they choose; and in Haifa, busses run on Shabbat. Just as Orthodox Jews resent and resist pressure to abandon their cherished beliefs and opinions, other Jews who identify as Jews also cherish their autonomy, the right to define their personal expressions of spiritual identity, and do not look to Orthodoxy for authenticity, be the issue rite observance or right morality, and for whom Shabbat afternoon is leisure time to be celebrated as a matter of personal choice. Why should the beliefs of others impede, impinge, or impose themselves on those who believe differently?

Jews have always defined themselves differently. Today we call this phenomenon “pluralism.” We have a right to act in ways that others believe to be wrong. Orthodoxy has its own issues. People with the wrong head covering, the wrong color of clothes, with the contamination of secular studies and ideas, and those unwilling to accept the Orthodox flow are not, for some, “really Orthodox” either. So let’s live and let live, agree agreeably to disagree, and to compete constructively with each other and not contend cantankerously against each other.

[3] The position of Rabbi Joseph Soloveitchik regarding religious coercion In Thinking Aloud, p.41, edited by Rabbi David Holzer, a record of R. Soloveitchik’s oral musings on current issues appear, teaching three essential doctrines: a. thinking is allowed b. we are allowed to disagree with the consensus c. coercion may never be used in modernity to enforce compliance.

When Rabbi Joseph Soloveitchik was sent to Berlin to study philosophy, pressure was put on his father, Rabbi Moshe, to disallow the study, the exposure to heresy, the very bad social religious example of non-conformity, and the frontal challenge to accepted, conventional religion. Rabbi Joseph went to Berlin, and his father, R. Moshe, blackballed by fanatics, came to America to teach at Yeshiva University.

The Biblical Joshua and Caleb defied the consensus of 10 wrong-headed spies, Moses ignored the consensus created by Pharaoh’s tyranny, the prophets rejected the consensus of ancient Israel’s regnant elites, and no Judaism that is authentically Orthodox regards the consensus of a self-selecting clique to be a covenantal command. When told by a student that his understanding of a Talmudic passage disagrees with the “consensus of latter day sages,” i.e., aharonim, R. Soloveitchik responded that he too is an aharon, a latter day sage. There is no rule in Judaism that insists that a post-Talmudic rabbinic consensus, which is not convincing, may be coercively applied.

Rabbi Soloveitchik is modern and not ultra-Orthodox for a reason. Just as the Biblical Joseph saw ancient Israel in Egypt as a new reality, requiring a different approach to a world that is different from that of his ancestors, R. Joseph Soloveitchik saw the Holocaust and Israeli statehood as new realities which Jewish law must address and confront. He therefore contends:

I am at loggerheads [i.e., in disagreement] with the entire [Orthodox] Jewish community. But I can’t help it. No undue influence and no coercive circumstances must interfere with the behavior of the person. If one is constrained by legislation which is provided by effective sanctions, by public opinion, by ulterior considerations to conform to certain codes of morality or ethical standards, then the sublime sacrificial action is desecrated, vulgarized. [Think Aloud, p. 41]

For R. Soloveitchik, the individual conscience, both of others as well as his own, is inviolate. Being coerced to observe the Sabbath makes for an angry Jew, not an observant, believing or loyal Jew. Folkways and customs are neither commandments nor are they inherently religious acts. R. Soloveitchik regards the placing of phylacteries [tefilin] on the person of one who has no cognition is a meaningless act, and not a religious deed. An Orthodox Judaism that coerces conformity, that stifles individuality, i.e., the very image of God, and applies social disapproval for actions and attitudes that regnant elites regard to be socially disruptive, secularizes the sacred and is not Orthodox at all.

[4] What a responsible Orthodox response ought to be If I am reading Rabbi Soloveitchik correctly, Orthodox Judaism in modern times must understand mitsva not as “good deed,” a secularizing of Torah, and not as a coercive “command,” but as a “precept,” more enjoining than commanding, never denying the possibility of dissent. Those who would ride to or swim at the JCC will do so in less Jewish environments, facilitating intermarriage. Orthodoxy must be a loving, accepting moral model, not a coercive clique of clerics for whom conformity to their righteous will is unreasonably reified into the rule of God.

Orthodox Jews have a right to require kosher food at the JCC, so that the JCC be the center of an inclusive, i.e., not excluding, Jewish community. No one forces Orthodox Jews to violate their conscience; Orthodox leaders must take pains to respect the feelings of non-Orthodox Jews who believe, behave, and belong differently. Orthodoxy has a right to demand that it not be excluded from the organized Jewish community; in return, Orthodoxy must serve as a model and not a menace, as a conscience but not as an enforcer, as pious gentle examples of goodness and not as a judgmental thought or behavioral police force.

More critically, Orthodoxy must walk humbly before God and show dignity before humankind. All too often, Orthodox Jewish leaders confuse respect for God with respect for human leaders. God has a right to rule absolutely, human leaders do not have this right. God gave the Torah as a book that we read, share, revere, and reference, sanctifying our conversation. If Orthodox Judaism is to be a Judaism for all times, seasons, and Jews, it must in modern times apply Rabbi Joseph Soloveitchik’s strategy of sharing the Torah in respectful conversation. Jews who do not like Orthodox Jews will not wish to live as Orthodox Jews.

Rather than coerce or manipulate others to conform to Orthodox norms, subtly conceding that Orthodoxy is right and other Judaisms are wrong, Orthodox Jews must become God’s goodwill ambassadors instead of appearing as God’s political shock troopers. By respecting the integrity of the other, the image of God that inheres in the other may shine; by speaking as if our voice is God’s voice, it is God’s voice that is sadly silenced. Rabbi Moshe ibn Hagiz taught that the Torah was given without coercion; that Israel’s decision to accept the Torah had to be reported to God because a literal reading of what God said did not indicate that a mountain was threateningly suspended over Israel’s collective head. Only people who are free to resist the Torah are able to accept the Torah freely. Orthodoxy denies this existential choice to other Jews in defiance of God’s Sinaitic example.

What should I do when my best and most honest reading of halakhic texts contradicts
my deepest sense of right and wrong? Can I relate with reverence to talmudic
rhetoric that, if used by a contemporary, would fill me with disgust or
outrage? What should I think when I am intellectually convinced by historical
or philosophic positions that seem to contradict significant elements of Jewish
tradition?

Torah is the standard by which values must be judged, yet a person without values
cannot properly interpret Torah. If Torah cannot anchor us against the winds
and tides of moral fads, what use is Torah? And yet—how can we know that “Do
not murder” is the norm, and “Erase the memory of Amalek” the problematic
exception, unless we approach Torah with a prior unshakeable commitment to the
value of all human life?

I have struggled with these questions since high school and emerged with an
enhanced but clear-eyed commitment to and appreciation for halakha and rabbinic
tradition. In that process nothing challenged my faith more than finding
teachers who were afraid of difficult religious questions or whose character
made it hard to believe that Torah improved the world. Nothing strengthened my
faith more than friends and teachers who faced religious challenges without
flinching, and whose character embodied Torah at its best—but they were all too
rare.

The Center for Modern Torah Leadership (CMTL) was founded twelve
years ago to make sure that my children and students would have a community of
friends and teachers who would model commitment to Torah through intellectual,
religious, and personal courage. More than that—it was created to make such
friends and teachers the norm in the Orthodox community.

CMTL fosters a vision of fully committed halakhic
Judaism that embraces the intellectual and moral challenges of modernity as
spiritual opportunities and takes the ultimate significance of all human beings
as tselem Elokim (created in the image
of God) as a norm by which all Torah interpretations should be evaluated. We recognize that
ideas and rhetoric have consequences, and we understand that Torah is mediated
by the character of Torah leaders.

CMTL nurtures and develops Jewish leaders who conceive of themselves as producers of
Torah. We believe that the Jewish people is responsible for the face that our
Divine Torah presents in this world, and that we are obligated to produce Torah
that represents the best in ourselves and constitutes a sanctification of God’s
Name.

We further believe that the Modern Orthodox community could and should be the lead
contributor to that project, but is not fulfilling its potential. I want to
offer here a diagnosis of why that is so, and explain how CMTL’s
work will enable Modern Orthodoxy to fulfill its mission.

Modern Orthodoxy at its best combines passionate and punctilious halakhic observance
with commitment to core concepts such as recognizing the tselem Elokim in every human being, regardless of gender or ethnicity,
and affirming the intrinsic importance of knowledge, regardless of its source.
In a healthy law-based culture, values and law continually interpenetrate, and
jurists, legislators, and laity alike see themselves as engaged in the common
task of aligning law and cultural values and practices with one another. Many
of the best and brightest of Modern Orthodoxy’s laity, by contrast, seek at
best to reconcile themselves to halakha as it is, and Modern Orthodox rabbis
often feel compelled to choose between intellectual and moral integrity when
deciding halakhic issues.

For example: Many Modern Orthodox Jews believe that all human beings are created
equal, but that halakha requires breaking Shabbat to save Jewish lives and bans
breaking Shabbat to save non-Jewish lives. Many Modern Orthodox Jews believe
that men and women are equal partners in marriage, but that halakha gives
husbands the power to financially blackmail wives in case of divorce. Many
Modern Orthodox Jews find spiritual inspiration and deep meaning in Shakespeare
and Milton, but believe that halakha forbids reading all Christian religious
works or works with erotic components. This cannot continue if Modern Orthodoxy
is to thrive.

Let me dramatize the effects of this in the following way. Imagine for a moment two
Orthodox Jewish communities. In the first, rabbis are given the narrowest of
talmudic educations and censured if they seek any kind of breadth of knowledge.
Rabbis are expected to remain ignorant of economics, history, jurisprudence,
biology, and the liberal arts except insofar as they can be derived from
traditional talmudic study.

In the second, rabbis are expected to obtain broad and deep general knowledge and competence. Rabbis are
expected to have a good grasp of economics, history, jurisprudence, biology, as
well as the liberal arts, and to have graduate competence in at least one field
other than traditional talmudic study.

            Now imagine further two Orthodox Jewish communities. In the first, rabbis are given broad
authority over areas of religious life that impinge on economics, history,
jurisprudence, biology, and the liberal arts. In the second, rabbis are given
authority solely over issues of technical halakha.

It should be evident that Modern Orthodoxy is the community that expects great
breadth of knowledge in its rabbis while greatly narrowing their authority. The
reason for this is that the community does not believe that its rabbis live
integrated religious lives, that their breadth of knowledge is effectively
translated into Torah and halakha. And the community is certainly not entirely
mistaken in this regard. The gaps between values and law, and between
intellectual commitments and creeds, are significant.

I do not wish to suggest that this problem emerges entirely from clear
misunderstandings of Torah, whereas the Torah properly interpreted would be in
perfect consonance with Modern Orthodox commitments. This would be facile; “The
Torah is not in Heaven,” and so halakha, for example, is what the halakhically
observant community and its halakhic authorities see as halakhically
justifiable. That category today—we need to acknowledge this openly—includes
positions that many of us in the Modern Orthodox community would exclude, and
excludes positions that many of us would include. For example: It seems to me
halakhically justifiable today to assert that non-Jewish doctors may not
perform abortions even to save the life of a mother, and not halakhically
justifiable to say that women have the same obligation to study Torah that men
do, although I would be more comfortable with the reverse situation.

Nor do I wish to suggest that Modern Orthodoxy should create a sectarian,
separatist halakha on the basis of its values, paying no practical or
intellectual attention to those who disagree with or delegitimate its
conclusions. First of all, I think that in all but the most extreme cases this
would itself be a violation of lo
titgodedu, the halakhic prohibition against forming factions. Second, a
major premise of the Torah and rabbinic tradition is that the Jews are a
political community bound by religious law. As Abraham Lincoln noted, no legal
community can survive as such if everyone reserves the right to secede when a
legal decision goes against them. I think the attempt to create a sectarian
Modern Orthodox halakha would most likely produce not a new halakhic community
but rather yet another non-halakhic community.

What I suggest instead is that Modern Orthodoxy needs to follow the strategy of Bet
Hillel. We need to remain in dialogue with and cite those with whom we
disagree, while at the same time seeking to change the contours of the overall
halakhic community’s understanding of Torah. This does not mean that we need to
convince every observant Jew that our interpretations are correct, although we
should strive to convince as many as possible. It does mean that we need to
develop a community that models complete devotion to Torah and halakha and
believes with complete intellectual and spiritual integrity that our core
values emerge from and are rooted in Torah, and in language and texts that
speak to the entire observant community.

 There is a vicious cycle here. The felt gap
between values and the halakhic community’s understanding of Torah can prevent
commitment to halakha, yet Torah will not expand to include values that are not
endorsed by those committed to halakha. But I believe that we can imbue our
students, our colleagues, and our friends with the conviction that the Jewish
people is responsible for Torah as well as to Torah.

Here are some illustrations of how CMTL
accomplishes the tasks outlined above:

The Rabbis and Educators Professional Community

            CMTL brings a select group of Jewish scholars and teachers together to discuss
challenging issues in an environment of intense listening and complete
commitment. This is, to my knowledge, the only Orthodox leadership setting that
explicitly sets out to have women and rabbis work as equals in the task of
producing Torah, measured by their scholarship, talent, commitment, and
character—without regard for titles. Our first conference addressed the prima
facie conflict between the central modern value of autonomy and the phenomenon
of “asking a sh’elah,” of asking a
halakhic decisor for a binding decision. Among the issues discussed was whether
students should be taught to see that act as a valorous symbolic submission to
the Divine Will, or, on the contrary, as a recognition of personal inadequacy,
which they should strive to overcome through greater education. We’ve now run a
highly successful second conference and have over one hundred rabbis and
educators interested in forming an ongoing professional community.

The Summer Bet Midrash

For the past twelve summers, we
have brought a group of college and semikha
students with excellent textual skills together for a full-time, six-week
seminar centered on a practical halakhic topic. Summer Bet Midrash Fellows
learn to take responsibility for Torah by writing a practical halakhic
responsum to a case that tests their knowledge, skills, commitment, and
character. They are challenged to confront areas of discomfort and use them l’hagdil
Torah u’leha’adirah, to expand and strengthen Torah. Summer Bet Midrash
Fellows discover, for example, that finding ways to free agunot and finding mandates for treating non-Jews as beings created
b’tselem Elokim is a matter of obligation to Torah as well as to human
beings. They discover that Torah is shaped by those who teach and implement it.
Finally, they discover that Torah is affected by the character of scholars as
well as their ideas, and particularly the necessity of courage and integrity
for healthy pesak halakha (halakhic decision-making).

It is worth noting that to our
knowledge the Summer Bet Midrash is the only Orthodox program that explicitly
seeks to give women the experience of deciding halakha.

The Campus Program

            CMTL brings Orthodox college students from across the Boston area together for
shiurim and discussions of religious issues that have immediate relevance to
their experiences. Our goal is for these students to see themselves as the
vanguard of Orthodoxy, as those who have the first opportunity to see how and
whether contemporary ideas and values can contribute to the expansion and
strengthening of Torah. Students from Harvard, MIT, Brandeis, Wellesley,
Lesley, and Boston University participate, and we look forward to making our
reach broader through an East Coast Shabbaton next semester. CMTL
also sponsors lectures on many campuses.

The tsad ha-shaveh, the
unifying theme, of all these programs is that they help participants develop a
vision of Torah that fosters a holistic religious life. They enable
participants to affirm their experience of being deeply moral and religiously
inspirational Jews; their love of great art, music, and literature; their
commitment to improving the ethics of every society they feel part of; their
belief in the ontological equality of men and women—and all in the context of a
community that supports their questions and is willing to profoundly challenge their
answers.

            CMTL already has a significant effect on our community. Summer Bet Midrash alumni,
for example, have served or are serving as Jewish Learning Initiative Fellows
at Princeton, University of Pennsylvania, Brandeis, and University of Maryland.
But our current programs are only a kernel that we anticipate will grow into
the intellectual engine of our community, including a semester-long full-time
fellowship integrating Israelis and Americans, a program for Orthodox
investigative journalism, and major curriculum development initiatives.

            I want to close with a d’var Torah
that in some ways encapsulates everything I’ve tried to say here.

            Mishnah Tractate Avot (often translated “Ethics of Our Fathers,” but better translated
as “Chapters of Principles”) begins by reciting the chain of transmission of
the Oral Torah. “Moshe received the Torah from Sinai and transmitted it to
Joshua, and Joshua to the Elders, the Elders to the Prophets, and the Prophets
transmitted it to the Men of the Great Assembly.” Two questions about the
wording are apparent:

1. Why does the chain begin with Moses as receiver, rather
than with God as transmitter?

2. Why are the transfers from Moses to Joshua, and from the
Prophets to the Men of the Great Assembly, distinguished as “transmissions,” as
opposed to those from Joshua to the Elders and from the Elders to the Prophets?

The answer to the first question
is that our tradition wishes to emphasize that authority in Judaism can never
be based on a claim of direct Revelation. All Jewish claims of authority must
go through Moses’ revelation and be accountable to the text and traditions that
record it. This makes Judaism profoundly anti-charismatic, as appeals to Divine
authority have no standing. But the price of eliminating such appeals is that
we cannot count on God to correct our errors.

However, this picture is
oversimplified. How can I claim that Judaism is anti-charismatic when prophecy
continued for many years after the death of Moses? We need to qualify that
claim as follows: While Moses was alive, he turned to God for the answers to
both his halakhic and his less formal, more value-oriented questions. Before Moses
died, he transmitted Torah to Joshua, that is to say that a qualitative
change occurred, and it was no longer legitimate for halakhic questions to be
resolved by unmediated Divine Revelation. Prophets could still claim that the
Mosaic revelation intended particular values, but their charismatic authority
was subject to the intellectual processes of the legal tradition. On the other
hand, the outcomes of the formal processes of halakha could be critiqued on the
basis of prophetic value statements.

Prophecy ended by the time of the
Men of the Great Assembly, at which point Torah underwent yet another
qualitative change—to an era of complete human responsibility for Torah, in
which we have no tool other than the text of the original Revelation to correct
our errors. Only our own study of Torah can correct us if our halakha ignores
the cries of the weak, or if our rhetoric denies the humanity of those we see
as Other.

The Center for Modern Torah Leadership makes it possible for our community to fulfill that responsibility.
It creates the contexts and content that let us hold a mirror up to our
community and ask whether the Torah we learn and live by is everything it
should be. If you’re interested in learning more of our Torah, or about our
program—or if you are interested in helping us take responsibility for
Torah—please visit us at www.Torahleadership.org.

            The rabbis depict our forebears Abraham and Sarah spreading the knowledge of Hashem far and wide. Some formulations of this idea actually use the verb gayyer (=to convert).^[2] Moreover, the Talmud ascribes to God, no less, the designation of the partriarchs as “those who first made Me known in the world” and to Israel the claim “we have made Thee known in the world”.^[3] But why marshall texts to demonstrate the obvious: Torah and Talmud mostly^[4] see Israel as having received the Torah that they might be its torch-bearers. Thus in rabbinic tradition welcoming gere sedeq (=righteous converts) into the covenant is deemed to be a misvah.^[5] So giyyoor being a misvah giyyoor was sacrosanct. Or at least so we thought.

            Then early last year news broke of men and women who had converted to Judaism under the auspices of respected Israeli rabbis and were now being declared gentiles. The initial perplexity that greeted the news turned into disbelief as reports began to speak of conversions anulled in the hundreds and thousands by Israel’s supreme rabbinic court. Eventually we managed to procure a copy of that court’s decision that allegedly set in motion the overturning of conversions. The following is the picture as it emerges from the pages of that document.

            It all begins in Ashdod when a couple appears before the local rabbinic court seeking a divorce. The court informs the couple that it is impossible to get divorced unless one was first married. Jewish law, it explains, does not recognize marriage between a Jew and a gentile. And because the woman is a gentile, the court does not look upon them as husband and wife. Having lived in the belief that she was Jewish ever since her conversion many years prior, the woman is flabbergasted. She appeals to the supreme rabbinic court in Jerusalem. On February 2^nd, 2008, that august body issues its reasoned pesaq in a 53 page document that essentially upholds the Ashdod ruling.

            The Beth Din’s Pesaq of February 2008 (hereafter BDP) is problematic in at least three areas. First, it makes assertions that are inconsistent with the facts. For example, it states that all the posqeem (=halakhic decisors) throughout the generations have ruled conversion retroactively invalid if the convert fails to live up to his/her commitments. When we consult the posqeem - whether it be Rambam,^[6] Tur,^[7] or Shulhan Arukh^[8] to mention three of the most eminent - we find them saying the exact opposite. Indeed, there seems to be only a single dissenting rishon, namely the author of Hagahot Mordecai.^[9] Now in order to appreciate the Hagahot Mordecai’s position we need to recall the talmudic passage from which he claims to derive the idea of retroactively invalid giyyoor. The Mishnah at Yebamoth 24b reads:

A man who was alleged to have had relations with ... a non-Jewish woman and she later converted he shall not marry [the woman]. If, however, he married her they shall not be separated. If a man was alleged to have had relations with a married woman and she was subsequently divorced, then even if they went ahead and married they shall be separated.

The convert of this Mishnah is one whose motives for conversion cannot help but raise doubts. Nevertheless, in ruling that “if married they shall not be separated”, the Mishnah implies the conversion to be valid. But can this implication be correct when it would seem to contradict another tannaic source? That is what the Gemara wants to know, and it begins by citing the counter source.

Surely we have learnt in a Baraitha: Whether it is a man who converts for the sake of a woman or a woman for the sake of a man; whether the person converts for the sake of the royal table or to be employed by Solomon - none of these are converts according to R. Nehemiah. For R. Nehemiah would say: those who convert for fear of lions; those who convert on the prompting of a dream; those who converted in the days of Mordecai and Esther - none of these are converts ...

Inasmuch as he invalidates conversions undertaken for less than the purest motives, R. Nehemiah is irreconcilable with our Mishnah - or rather with the inference the Gemara had drawn from it. So ought that initial inference to be rejected? No, says the Gemara, because apropos of this very issue R. Yitzhak bar Shemuel bar Marta transmitted in the name of Rav that the law is KE-DIBRE HA-OMER (=according to the one who says) ‘They are all converts’ (Yeb. ibid.).

            Now Rav (d. around 250) having bestraddled the tannaic and amoraic eras, is allowed to dispute a tanna^[10] - a licence not granted other amoraim. However, it is not on the strength of his quasi-tannaic status that Rav rules here at Yeb. 24b, but rather does he side with the anonymous tanna who disagreed with R. Nehemiah and “says ‘They are all converts’”. Hence the Gemara’s original inference is vindicated; for though it places our Mishnah at odds with R. Nehemiah, it keeps it in line with the tanna cited and seconded by Rav. And it is the decision of Rav (which the Gemara identifies as consistent with the Mishnah) that post talmudic halakhists follow almost to a man. But as noted earlier, there is a dissenter: Hagahot Mordecai.

Although the Talmud rules there [at Yeb. 24b] that they are all full proselytes, we could say that it refers only to cases where we see them rectifying their ways even if their initial motive was marriage etc. ...^[11] I prefer this interpretation to the alternative which would posit an amora [i.e. Rav] ruling not in accordance with the baraitha of R. Nehemiah. Moreover, the undisputed baraitha [cited Yeb. ibid.] that says no converts were accepted in the days of David and Solomon [for fear of ulterior motives] supports us.^[12] What I have written here is my own opinion, not what I received from my teachers; and my understanding should not be relied upon.

            One has to wonder whether Hagahot Mordecai had the words KE-DIBRE HA-OMER in his copy of the Talmud. Be that as may, there is nothing anomalous about a halakhist relying upon a variant reading of the Talmud. Similarly, halakhists will occasionally argue for following a da‘at yaheed (=minority opinion). However, what is so disconcerting about BDP is its insistence that the exceptional view of Hagahot Mordecai is shared by all posqeem throughout the generations.^[13]

            The second bone we have to pick with BDP is over its ad hominem slurs. Stooping to the level of personal attacks is usually a sign of desperation. How else to explain its ploy of declaring venerable members of named Israeli judiciaries to be resha‘eem? And classifying people resha‘eem is tantamount to impugning their credentials to act as witnesses - and by analogy also as judges.^[14] The prohibition to accept the testimony of a rasha‘ is derived from Scripture, as explained by the Talmud and conveniently codified by Rambam:

“Resha‘eem [=unjust or guilty persons; felons] are disqualified from giving testimony as it says [Exod 23:1] ‘You shall not make common cause with a rasha‘ to be a witness of hamas. Tradition understands this scripture to be saying ‘Do not let a rasha‘ be a witness’.” (Yad, Edut 10:1)

Proclaiming a dayyan (= judge of a rabbinic court; plural: dayyaneem) a rasha‘ is a grave matter and one would expect to learn which court of law convicted him and on what count. Instead BDP arrogates to itself the authority of ruling fellow dayyaneem resha‘eem without even hearing the men’s defence. If that were not egregious enough, the primary charge it cites against the dayyaneem rests on the following circular reasoning. Conversion requires a beth din (see Yeb.46b). Since they are resha‘eem, their court is no court, and consequently the people they convert remain gentiles. The Torah pronounces a curse on anyone who leads a blind person astray (Deut 27:18 cf. Lev 19:14). In making the people they convert believe themselves to have become Jews when in fact they are still gentiles, they are guilty of the sin of leading the blind astray.^[15] Hence such dayyaneem fall into the category of resha‘eem.

            Additional charges bandied about by BDP include: 1) forgery, 2) heresy and 3) brazenly disparaging Torah. The forgery charge alleges that the rasha‘ judge signed conversion certificates presided over by dayyaneem other than himself. Now these types of certificates begin with the formulaic opening be-mothab telatha ka-hada (= the three of us sat in judgment etc.) - because it is the same three judges who form the converting beth din that also go on to sign the certificate. Needless to say, a judge who did not personally sit on the court cannot lawfully put his name to such a document. But that, alleges BDP, is precisely what the ‘delinquent’ dayyan went and did. If true, nobody would dispute the impropriety of such behavior. However, the Talmud lays down a principle sheluho shel adam ke-motho.^[16] Of course misvot she-begufo i.e. duties that demand personal involvement cannot be deputized; and signing a document that claims its signatories were party to the transaction described in that document is surely such a duty. Yet it is conceivable that a senior judge might, albeit mistakenly, think of his trusted juniors as emissaries. Furthermore, unlike a bill of divorce or even a marriage contract, a giyyoor certificate has no halakhic function whatsoever. It is granted merely to serve the convert as ready proof in the future when facing bureaucracies and the like. All in all then, the forgery indictment seems a stretch.

            The heresy charge (levelled originally by the Ashdod court but cited approvingly by BDP) is even more baffling. The actual term used is epiqoros - which in popular parlance is generic for heretic. The Talmud, however, defines the epithet more narrowly. The tenth chapter of Mishnah Sanhedrin^[17] lists reprobates who forfeit their share in the world to come. One of them is the epiqoros. And it is in the course of expounding the Mishnah that the Gemara records the following definitions.

Rav and R. Haninah both say he [the epiqoros] is somebody who insults a Torah scholar. R. Yohanan and R. Yehoshua b. Levi say he is somebody who insults his fellow in the presence of a Torah scholar. Now those who classify the epiqoros as somebody who insults his fellow in the presence of a Torah scholar, the one who insults the scholar himself they classify as megalleh paneem ba-torah shelo ka-halakhah (= a brazen disparager of Torah). But for those who define epiqoros as one who insults the scholar himself, what kind of person is the megalleh paneem ba-torah? He is somebody like Manasseh son of Hezekiah^[18] (San. 99b).

Since BDP does not elaborate, one cannot be sure which definition of epiqoros it has in mind. On reflection, though, it is probably the vernacular meaning since it would be rich beyond belief for BDP to accuse another of disparaging a Torah scholar! More substantively, what is the point of BDP branding the dayyan of its disfavor an epiqoros?

            It will be recalled that, based on Exodus 23:1, resha‘eem are disqualified from giving testimony. Besides rasha‘, Exodus 23:1 contains another operative word: hamas.^[19] The Talmud (San. 27a) records a dispute between Abayye and Rava as to whether or not hamas modifies rasha‘. Rava holds that the word hamas modifies rasha‘; hence anti-social behavior is prerequisite for witness disqualification. For Abayye, on the other hand, even non-hamas wrongdoing (e.g. ritual delinquency that is a matter between a person and God), is sufficient to lose a witness his credibility. Thus Abbaye would disqualify not only a mumar le-te’avon^[20] but also a mumar le-hakh‘ees. But even according to Abbaye a person is disqualified to testify by virtue of wrong action. Yes; wrong action, not unorthodox thought. Yet Rambam, writes:

“Informers and epiqorseen ... ^[21] the Sages had no need to name in their list of people unfit to give evidence because they listed only Jewish miscreants. But such rebellious infidels are worse than idolaters...” (Yad Edut 11:10)

There is nothing odd about the inclusion of informers because their guilt yesh bo ma‘aseh (=involves action)^[22] and is consequently ascertainable (and where appropriate punishable) by a human tribunal. But the appearance of heretics, whose fate the Mishnah leaves to divine judgment, is striking.^[23] Nevertheless, by means of an ingenious a fortiori argument of Rambam’s own devising, heresy is made a crime for courts to discover and to act upon - in this case invalidating the testimony of such that are found to be heretics.

            By dragging in heretics Rambam breaks new ground. Magistrates on the watch for heresy are a far cry from the Talmud’s standards of objectivity, and, what is more, seem dangerously close to the murky realm of inquisitions and thought police. So the question is, Why would Rambam have introduced this drastic innovation? We know it was not conformity to the Talmud that impelled him, because the Talmud never mentions heretics in connection with testimony. Moreover, as we saw, Rambam makes no secret of the fact that heretics transpired as a result of his own extrapolation. Something other than the Talmud, then, must have impelled Rambam to bring up heretics. In any event, once epiqorseen are blacklisted and Rambam’s ruling is adopted by later codes, declaring someone an epiqoros immediately impugns his eligibility to testify or to adjudicate. Hence, in levelling its heresy charge, BDP aims to undermine the authority of its targeted beth din.

            The related aspersion megalleh paneem ba-torah shelo ka-halakhah (again, borrowed and endorsed by BDP p.4) is meant to inculpate the dayyan in question with insulting scholars (rather than imitating Manasseh - see San. 99b cited above).^[24] If you ask ‘which scholars? What insult?’ BDP has its answer pat. We have already met BDP’s assertion that ‘all the posqeem throughout the generations have ruled conversion retroactively invalid if the convert fails to live up to his/her commitments’. That being BDP’s premise, it follows as night follows day, that to flout such a unanimous ruling of halakhists down the ages is nothing short of brazen effrontery.

            Finally, BDP’s gravest imputation of all: the ‘rogue’ beth din failed to elicit qabbalat misvot^[25] from those it purported to convert. Now qabbalat misvot is an integral component of giyyoor and in the opinion of many posqeem it is also a sine qua non. That any beth din could skip qabbalat misvot seems incredible. Yet that is what happened according to the allegation repeated over and over in BDP.^[26]

POSTSCRIPT

            What are we supposed to make of this document and its extraordinary contentions? Manifestly the 53 page screed is animated by more than sober halakhic logic; dare one say by something akin to polemical zeal? But whereas the written word has a life of its own and must be judged on its merits, people should always be given the benefit of the doubt. Indeed, because of the imperative to judge men charitably,^[27] one wants to try and extenuate that zeal. Clues within BDP suggest that recent tendencies towards a politicization of giyyoor may have raised its authors’ hackles.^[28]

            For there is no denying the attempt in certain quarters to fuse the ideas of nationality and divinity in a manner redolent of the old Baalism. What follows is an example of this phenomenon.      

From the Rambam’s words we learn that candidates for conversion must express their wish to join, simultaneously, both the people of Israel and its Torah. ‘Entering the covenant’ [in Rambam’s formulation, Issure Bi‘ah 13:4] refers to the congregation of Israel that consists of children of the covenant. ‘Taking shelter under the Shekhinah’s wings’ [Rambam’s formulation ibid.] means living as a member of the Jewish religion ... The requirement to express this twofold identification with the Jewish nation as well as with its God and Torah, was learnt by our sages of blessed memory from Ruth the Moabitess. When seeking to impress her mother-in-law Naomi of her [Ruth’s] spiritual and practical preparedness to cast her lot with Judaism, Ruth speaks the words “... Your people is my people and your God is my God”. The equal emphasis on the people and its God as the objects of [the convert’s] adoptive identity clearly demonstrates that the religion and the nationhood are a single indivisible entity in Judaism ... Clearly, then, already in such an early era [as Ruth’s], conversion was conceived of as a procedure simultaneously both religious and national, whose elements are inseperable.” (Mi Hu Yehudi? by Avner Shaki, vol. 2 Jerusalem 1978 p. 343).

Shaki’s enunciation of the nation-divinity amalgam would not merit citation were it not that he invokes Scripture, Sages and Maimonides in support. But seeing that he does, it behooves us to examine these sources’ alleged espousal of ‘Shakian dualism’. Ruth’s “Your people” we shall consider shortly. As for the unsubstantiated claim that the sages deduced from Ruth “a twofold identification with the Jewish nation as well as with its God and Torah” we are unable to comment upon, since no source is indicated.^[29] Rambam certainly mentions covenant: “Similarly throughout the generations, when a non-Jew wishes to enter the covenant and take shelter under the Shekhinah’s wings...”. The only question is whether Rambam was using the phrase ‘entering the covenant’ as shorthand for joining the polity of the children of the covenant. Rambam’s classic commentators refer us to a baraitha in Keritot that mandates all subsequent conversions to reenact, as it were, the conversion leading up to the Sinai/Horeb covenant.^[30]

Ribbi [Judah the Partriach] says as with your forefathers so with [proselytes] throughout your generations. Just as your forefathers did not enter into the [Sinaitic] covenant except through circumcision, immersion and propitiation by means of blood [sacrifice] neither shall they enter the covenant except through circumcision, immersion and propitiation by means of blood [sacrifice] (Ker. 9a).

            The covenant Rambam alludes to is the very one under discussion in Keritot; which, in turn, is the Torah’s covenant mediated by Moses between God and the people who were to become the covenantal community. In other words, the pledge made at Sinai as understood by tradition was to God rather than to a group of human beings. Hence, the proselyte’s entering into the covenant, modelled on the Sinai prototype, is about the neophyte’s commitment to God rather than to a group that Shaki calls ‘children of the covenant’.

            Needless to say, among Jews who take their faith seriously, equating a person’s political choices with his/her choice to ‘enter under the shekhinah’s wings’ must seem to border on the sacriligious. Without belittling one iota tribal and national allegiances, they are surely of a different order from the plighting of one’s troth to Hashem. Moreover, the Talmud categorically forbids associating the Name of Heaven with anything else.^[31] Hence the extreme unease that attempts such as Shaki’s to politicize giyyoor engender in the bosom of many a Torah-oriented Jew who ponders Scriptures such as 2Kgs 17:26-28.

It was reported to the king of Assyria saying ‘The peoples that you deported and settled in the cities of Samaria do not know the law of the god of the land and he sent among them lions that are devouring them because they know not the law of the god of the land’. The king of Assyria gave orders that one of the priests who had been deported from there should be sent back in order to teach them the law of the god of the land. So one of the priests who had been exiled from Samaria came back and dwelt in Bethel and taught them how to fear Hashem.

Two irreconcilable voices speak to us in these verses. The first is the voice of paganism whose gods are territorial, each presiding over his/her national borders. Then in verse 28 we hear the Torah’s voice, that instead of the idolatrous ‘god of the land’, speaks of fearing Hashem. A closely related pagan concept to the territorial, is the national god that is essentially an apotheosis of a people and its collective identity and aspirations. Naomi recognizes the nation-god nexus of Moabite religion when she says to Ruth ‘Behold your sister-in-law has gone back to her people and to her gods’ (Ruth 1:15). Perhaps Ruth was projecting some such Moabite territorial theology onto Hashem when she responded ‘Your people shall be my people and your God my God’ (v. 16).^[32]

            But even if one shares BDP’s dismay at the way politics has come to invade and dilute giyyoor (and other aspects of religion), it is quite another proposition to condone the methodology it employs to counter the lamentable trend (assuming such trends to be BDP’s driving gripe). Besides, even a cause worthy in the abstract, has to yield if it leads to real people suffering. This was the way of our Sages who opened a back-door for gereem gerureem when conventional giyyoor was inapplicable.^[33] They even offered a halfway conversion whereby a person attained the status of ger toshav (as distinct from ger sedeq). Ger toshav is not a mere synonym for Noahide. No. The ger toshav formally forswore idolatry and accepted faith in Hashem and belief in revelation.^[34] Withal, never did the Sages say let idolaters stew in their idolatry. Today, when the ger toshav option has fallen into desuetude, extra vigilance is called for. Not so much in order to catch and keep out ‘rotten apples’ (though that too), but to ensure that no seeker after Hashem is left out in the cold.

[1]      See Job 31:32, and especially its midrashic interpretations (e.g. Exod. Rab. 19:4).

[2]      See, for example, Targum Yonathan to Gen 12:5.

[3]      Men.53a.

[4]      The word ‘mostly’ is used advisedly because some - notably priests whose status was inherited - seem to have conceived of Jewishness as also being hereditary. The Talmud suggests that there were priests who looked askance upon both converts and conversion (see Mihnah Rosh Hash. 1:7; Yom. 71b et al).

[5]      Yeb. 47b.

[6]      Issure Bi‘ah 13:17.

[7]      Yore De‘ah 268 end.

[8]      Yore De‘ah 268:12.

[9]      The author of the glosses known as Hagahot Mordecai remains elusive. R. Hayim Yoseph Daveed Azulai (HYDA d.1806) surmizes that he lived a century or so after R. Mordecai b. Hillel ha-Kohen (d. 1298) whose work he glossates.

[10]    See Erub. 50b, Ket. 8a, Git. 38b, San. 83b.

[11]    These words of the Hagahot imply that if the convert’s subsequent behavior does not exhibit “rectitude of ways”, then the conversion is retroactively null and void.

[12]    Since it does not address the be-de‘abad (=post factum) situation, it is unclear how the David-Solomon baraitha supports R. Nehemia. On the contrary, had the David-Solomon baraitha emanated from the school of R. Nehemiah we know how it would have been worded. For at Yeb. 76a-b we learn the reason converts were not accepted in the halcyon days of David and his son “because their motive is likely to have been the royal table”. And conversion undertaken with an eye on the royal board is invalidated by R. Nehemia even be-de‘abad : “whether the person converts for the sake of the royal table or to be employed by Solomon - none of these are converts”.

[13]    More than a century ago when R. Yitzhak Schmelkes chose to follow the Hagahot Mordecai he did not dissimulate his own predilection for the tentative proposal of Hagahot Mordecai. Rather did R. Schmelkes opt for full disclosure: “Although he [Hagahot Mordecai] wrote that his understanding was not to be relied on, we rely upon his understanding” (Beth Yitzhak vol. Yore De‘ah responsum 100 [p.86]).

[14]    Actually a judge’s moral qualifications are spelled out in the Torah (see Exod 18:21; Deut 1:13, 16:18). Nevertheless for a ruling to be anulled on grounds of the judge’s unfitness, there would have to be evidence of resha‘ .

[15]    BDP devotes five pages (7-12) to lifne ivver (= the sin of misleading the blind).

[16]    Literally ‘one’s proxy is like oneself’. As a legal concept it means that a person can appoint a shaliah (=proxy) to deputize on his/her behalf in carrying out non-personal duties. The Talmud provides numerous examples such as priests offering sacrifices on behalf of the laity; tithing; effecting betrothal by conveying the medium of betrothal from a man to his destined bride; most familiar, perhaps, is the shaliah sibboor or precentor who recites the prayers on behalf of the congregation (see Qid. 41b-42a et al.).

[17]    In many editions it appears as the eleventh chapter.

[18]    Described earlier on San. 99b as a man who would use his sermons to mock Torah: Did Moses have nothing better to write than ‘Lotan’s sister was Timna’ (Gen 36:22)? or ‘Timna was a concubine to Eliphaz’ (Gen 36:12)? or ‘Reuben went in harvest time and found mandrakes’ (Gen 30:14)?

[19]    Hamas is often translated violence. Rabbinic sources render some occurrences of hamas ‘robbery’ or ‘armed robbery’ (see Targums and Rashi to Gen 6:13). At San. 27a the rasha‘ of hamas is defined as someone who in the act of transgressing misvot causes material harm also to fellow humans - which definition embraces also venal folks who will do anything for lucre.

[20]    Literally ‘a renegade out of expediency [or for pleasure]’ e.g. a person who eats non-kosher food because it is cheaper than kosher (see Rashi San. 27a s.v. h”g mumar okhel nevelot le-te’avon).

[21]    In many printed editions the text continues “and mumars”. Others omit mumars (see Lehem Mishneh ad loc.). The editio princeps (Rome 1480) instead of mumars has “sectarians (minin) and apostates (meshumadin).

[22]    Or at least treacherous speech. While some reckon speech as ‘action’, according to all tannaim wrong thought is outside the purview of the courts (see San. 65a-b et al).

[23]    Especially when we recall Rambam’s own definitions of epiqorseen as persons guilty not of wrong speech but of heterodox opinions (even if they happen to verbalize those opinions). “There are three that are called epiqorseen: 1) the person who denies prophecy and the possibility of knowledge reaching the human heart from the Creator; 2) one who denies the prophecy of Moses our teacher; 3) one who says the Creator has no knowledge of the affairs of man. Each of these is an epiqoros” (Yad, Teshubah 3:8 and see Kesef Mishneh’s comment ad loc.).

[24]    Both the long form megalleh paneem ba-torah shelo ka-halakhah and the short megalleh paneem ba-torah occur at San. 99b and are used there interchangeably, as we saw. At Avot 3:11 most MSS have the short form whereas printed editions typically the long. Incidentally, the dispute over the definition of megalleh paneem seems not to have been resolved; hardly surprising seeing that there are no ramifications for earthly bate din. Thus Rashi explains the megalleh paneem of Avot with reference to Manasseh, while Rambam identifies the megalleh as one who brazenly and ostentatiously defies Torah.

[25]    Literally: acceptance of misvot. The requirement for the prospective ger to express his/her acceptance after being apprised of the liabilities as well as the privileges inherent in Judaism is laid down in the baraitha.“They acquaint him with some of the easier misvot and some of the heavier misvot; they acquaint him with the sin of [neglecting] to leave behind for the poor fallen or forgotten sheaves or the ‘corner’ and of [neglecting] to give the tithe of the poor. Furthermore... they say to him ‘hitherto if you ate suet you were not liable for kareth; if you desecrated the Sabbath you were not liable for seqilah but henceforth you will be liable’... And just as they acquaint him with the punishments for [breaking] misvot similarly do they acquaint him with their [the misvot’s] rewards. They say to him ‘Know that the world-to-come is reserved for the righteous, but Israel at present is unable to receive (le-qabbel) either great good or great travail’. They do not burden him with more [words] or with stringencies. If he ACCEPTS, he is circumcised forthwith...” (Yeb. 47a-b).

[26]    “The woman bringing the appeal did not accept observance of misvot” (p.1); “qabbalat misvot did not occur in the case of the appellant” (p.3); “an additional transgression is their declaring a non-Jew who did not accept to observe the misvot of Hashem’s Torah... to be a Jew” (p.7) etc.

[27]    Avot 1:6.

[28]    E.g. “The conversion of [a certain] deaf-mute will not bring her to a state of misvah observance... The only possible consequence of the conversion would be a social one - something that neither constitutes conversion nor bestows any zekhut (=spiritual advantage)...” ( p.19); “There is certainly no misvah upon a beth din or any other Israelite to make efforts to bring non-Jews into the Israelite fold [sic] - a fortiori when the person’s only attachment will be of a national kind and not an attachment to the God of Israel and the Torah of Israel.” (p.20); “Despite what was said, national or social goals must not be recognized ... they see themselves belonging to the Jewish people only in the national-social sense without any inward religious connection ...” (p.21) etc.

[29]    If anything, the Talmud would seem to invest Ruth’s ostensibly national ‘Your people' clause with religious significance. “She [Naomi] said to her ...‘We have 613 commandments’. She [Ruth] replied ‘Your people is my people...’” (Yeb. 47b).

[30]    Rabbinic sources typically consider the Hebrews to have had the status of Noahides prior to the giving of the Torah (see, for example, Rashi at San. 82a “It was prior to Sinai that Moses had married Jethro’s daughter, all at that time having the status of Noahides. When the Torah was given they all, she [Jethro’s daughter] as well as proselytes of the mixed multitude included, entered into full misvah-hood”).

[31]    Suk. 45b, San. 63a.

[32]    Boaz, while applauding both, separates her commitment to God (Ruth 2:12) from her national and familial loyalties (v. 11). Moreover, the distinctive phrase la-hasot tahat kenafaim (taking refuge or shelter under wings) Scripture uses exclusively of the relationship between an individual and Hashem (cf. Ps 36:8, 57:2, 91:4).

[33]    See Yeb. 79a, Avod Zar. 3b, 24a; Yerushalmi Qid. 65c, San. 23d.

[34]    “The person who accepts them [the seven misvot] is called a ger toshav; but the acceptance must be solemnized in the presence of three haberim [that constitute a beth din]. Whoever accepts the seven misvot and is careful to keep them behold he is of the pious among the nations and has a share in the world-to-come. That is provided he accepts them and does them because Hashem commanded them in the Torah...” (Yad, Melakim 8:10-11; cf. Issure Bi‘ah 14:7).

Question: Confidentiality is a vital concern that impacts the freedom of expression of quite a number of professions. Many professionals receive confidential information as part and parcel of their normal involvement with their clients and/or patients. Rabbis are also privy to confidential data. At issue is whether halakha (Jewish law) provides any guidelines or rules pertaining to this matter?

Response: In terms of a general overview, it should be noted that the medical profession considers confidentiality as a cardinal precept of medical ethics. Indeed, for centuries doctors have committed themselves to the Hippocratic Oath upon assuming a medical career. The modern version of that Oath as replaced by the Declaration of Geneva adopted by the World Medical Association states, “I will respect the secrets which are confided in me, even after a patient has died”. In other words, as a doctor one may hear very private concerns. The doctor takes an oath that he or she will not divulge such information. The patient came to the doctor assuming confidentiality will govern their relationship and, therefore, the doctor must guard any and all private matters from becoming public. Yet, complications and moral quandaries may develop. A psychiatrist or therapist may have revealed to them information that might be potentially dangerous if kept confidential. Are they required to remain silent when such silence will negatively affect the community at large? Should they, for example, relate that a young man who recently proposed marriage to a young lady has AIDS? And what about, for example, the problems of the legal profession? In America, due to the rules of attorney-client-privilege and Codes of Professional Responsibility a lawyer may not reveal any information received in confidence or secret, even if necessary to prevent fraud. As such, knowledge emanating from the attorney-client relationship that Mr. X is an outright thief, may not be revealed to prevent others from being duped in a fraudulent scam. Rabbis, moreover, hear a litany of very private, painful confessions. At times, their investigation prior to serving as a wedding performer discloses very embarrassing details. Some deal with actions or illnesses that would taint the reputation of families should such information be revealed. Are rabbis obligated by Jewish law to preserve the confidentiality of their information? Or, to prevent a community liability or social problem, does Jewish law provide to rabbis the authority to reveal private information?

The first important principle is that unlike the medical and legal profession, the clergy, especially as noted by halakha, has, no special oath or rule proscribing the revealing of private, personal matters to others. In other words, there is no specific rabbi rule against violating confidentiality. It is not just rabbis who are forbidden to divulge secrets. Everyone, every Jew, no matter his or her profession or lack of a profession, is prohibited by Biblical law from telling private matters to others.

The Bible overtly states, “Thou shalt not go about as a talebearer among thy people”, (Lo Telekh ra’hil – Leviticus 19:16); the verse then concludes, “and thou shall not stand inactive (idly) by the blood of thy neighbor, I am God”. (translation, Rabbi Samson Raphael Hirsch) The practical application of this is expounded by the Rambam. He rules,…”telling tales is a great sin. It served as the cause for the murder of many Jews. [Indeed,] this is the reason why adjacent to it [the verse prohibiting talebearing] is the verse prohibiting one to not stand idly by the blood of one’s friend.” The process of talebearing takes place “when a person goes from one to another and says this is what so-and-so said, this is what I heard about so-and-so, even though it is the truth, such is destructive of the world. A worse sin included in this [Biblical] prohibition is the sin of Iashon hara. That is the telling of something which is negative to one’s friend, even though it is truthful. (Rambam, Hilkhot De'ot Chapter 7: Laws 1 and 2.) Thus the sin of revealing private, confidential information is operational whether it is negative or positive. The sin is graver when the information is or may be negative. Also, the truth or falsity of the information revealed does not in any way provide a halakhic permit to divulge a confidence. (See also, Sanhedrin 31a and Yoma 4b)

There is a fascinating Talmudic citation corroborating this concept in Pesahim (113:b). The Talmud reports that a man by the name of Tuvia sinned. He committed adultery. A man called Zigud was aware of this sin and by himself, without another witness, he came to Bet Din, the Rabbinical Court to testify against Tuvia proclaiming that Tuvia was an adulterer. Rav Papa, the senior Rav of the Bet Din, punished Zigud for testifying. Zigud was appalled. He called out in protest, “Tuvia sinned and Zigud is punished?” In other words, the Bet Din did not punish Tuvia for the alleged sin of adultery. Zigud was, however, punished for he was guilty of lashon hara, telling negatives about another. In Jewish law sins relating to adultery require the presence of a minimum of two qualified witnesses. Bet Din will not accept the testimony of a singular witness in matters pertaining to adultery. Accordingly, Zigud should have known that Bet Din would not act upon his testimony. Thus, Zigud was in effect merely spreading gossip about Tuvia. The fact that the allegation may have been true was of no concern. Zigud was punished for informing others of slanderous material. He should have kept knowledge of the immoral act to himself.

I believe that those involved in professions that deal with confidential information and subsequently divulge such private concerns to others, may be deemed to have transgressed greater sins than ordinary people who tell tales and are involved in gossip. I have no actual halakhic ruling on this, but, I do believe Biblical law intimated this concept. The Torah details the punishments to be given to different types of theft. It states that whosoever steals an ox and/or sheep pays more than a crook who robs jewels from a house. Indeed, the Torah says, “he shall pay five oxen for the ox and four sheep for the sheep”. (Exodus 21:37) Rabbi Samson Raphael Hirsch suggests that the reason for the onerous punishment for stealing an ox or sheep is that such animals are generally kept outside in the open air. As such, one must trust the community not to violate private property even though the animals are not locked up in a home. To the extent that one must place greater trust in people concerning the security of animals, the punishment for the violation of this trust must be greater than a case where something was locked up in a home. Thus, whenever there is a situation wherein confidence is assumed, the violation of such trust should generate a more onerous punishment, not just from society, but also from religious law.

Of major, practical interest is that there is a vital provision that alters the above halakhic prohibition. Namely, the Biblical prohibition to divulge confidential information is limited to cases wherein the intention of the talebearer is to hurt the feelings or merely to disparage in some way the reputation of another. But what about a case wherein the intention is to prevent crime, to withhold damage from a community, to help the person involved, in such circumstances, many rabbis rule that halacha would permit the divulging of private, confidential information. The basic source for this is the Rambam who rules, “whoever is able to save another and does not endeavor to do so, violates the [prohibition of]’ do not stand idly by the blood of your friend, therefore, one who witnesses his friend drowning in the sea or brigands attacking him and he [has the ability to] save him, or he heard that people seek harm to him…and he does not contact his friend to reveal this, he is in violation of the Biblical prohibition of ‘do not stand idly over the blood of your neighbor.’” (Rambam, Hilkhot Ro-tzeah Chapter 1:14 See also Shulhan Arukh Hoshen Mishpat 42:1, cited by Rav Ovadia Yosef, Responsa Yehaveh Daat, Volume 4: Siman 60) Indeed, Rav Ovadia Yosef contends that the reason the Biblical verse starts with a prohibition against standing idly by the blood of your neighbor is to manifest that saving a neighbor from damage is more important than maintaining the confidentiality of certain information.

Thus, the rabbi and the professional practitioner are permitted and may even be required to reveal information that may prevent harm to others. This, for example, would mandate revealing knowledge that a prospective bridegroom had AIDS. It would, moreover, require one to reveal to a prospective employer that a certain person has a serious heart condition and should not be entrusted with becoming a bus driver for young children. It would, also obligate one to divulge information that will prevent monetary damage to others even though it could destroy the reputation of the person who confided the private information. This generates a difficult moral as well as professional dilemma. The fact that a psychologist may reveal to others, the foibles or illness of their clients to hopefully prevent communal damage may jeopardize the psychologist’s entire career. Word will get out that the psychologist does not honor a code of confidentiality. Accordingly, clients will feel that they cannot trust the therapist to withhold divulging private information. Once such a rumor takes hold in the community, no one will be willing to confide in the professional. At issue is whether a person is required to jeopardize his or her professional career by revealing confidential information detrimental to others. Namely, is a person obligated to sacrifice one’s own career to prevent others from being hurt? What ruling does halakha provide in such a quandary?

When confronted with the cost of observing a mitzvah, the rule is that one is not required to expend more than one fifth of income. As such, should an item required for the performance of a mitzvah cost more than one-fifth of one’s income, the Jew would not be obligated to purchase such a costly item, even as a result he would not observe the mitzvah. This rule relates only to the observance of positive mitzvoth. When dealing with the violation of negative mitzvoth, there is no financial limit imposed upon the Jew. All funds must be expended to forestall the violation of a Biblical negative command. (Rama, Shulchan Aruch Orach Chayyim 656) Scholars, however, finely hone this rule. They contend that the issue of concern is not whether the cost of observing a mitzvah is either a violation of a positive or a negative mitzvah. The issue is whether a positive action is necessary in order to violate the negative mitzvah, or whether a violation takes place by inaction, (as termed in Talmudic parlance, shev v’al ta’aseh). (Pit-hei Teshuva, Yoreh Deah 157:4) As such, silence in the face of a crime that may occur to others, does not obligate any professional to jeopardize their careers. In a way, it revolves around the pivotal issue of conscience and personal judgment. The key question is not necessarily what does Jewish law say, but, rather, can you live with yourself by the judgment you, yourself may have made. Namely, to speak or not to speak, that is the question.

Not many years ago a woman revealed to her Rabbi in Long Island that her husband was not aware that she stopped going to the Mikvah.The Rabbi , in an attempt to prevent the husband from committing a sin, revealed this information to her husband.The woman was aghast at this violation of confidentiality. The Rabbi defended himself by stating that it was his moral and religious obligation to prevent the husband from committing sin.Regardless of who was right, one glaring truth emanated from this incident. No one in the community would ever trust again confidential matters to the Rabbi in question His role as a trusted professional was over.Once the word is out that a Rabbi may reveal confidential matters, then the public will most probably not confide in him again. One means of ameliorating the difficulties of the decision making process, is to seek the advice of an objective third party. The Mishna Berura, for example, contends that in matters pertaining to money, it is best never to make a decision by oneself. In these matters the evil inclination will seek out legal loopholes of support. (Orakh Hayyim 605:1) In other words, the decision of an outsider will be much more objective and less tainted. So too in matters relating to moral quandaries. Seek out an objective voice. Many times, the Rabbi will be asked to make the judgment as to whether it is more ethical to be silent or to reveal confidences. His decision( hopefully) will be based upon Torah and moral principles, not just personal judgments. At times, the old rule that discreticon is the best of valour serves as the guiding standard. This issue needs community dialogue and input.

“Rabbi, this is hard to talk about but…

…. our son has a non-Jewish
girlfriend.”

….I’m
feeling really shaky. My ex-husband abused me for years and now our daughter is
getting married. I don’t know if I can make it through the wedding.”

…either
that pervert leaves the community or I do. And I’m taking my family, my money
and my friends with me.”

From
the start of their careers, rabbis are bombarded with profound human dilemmas.
Congregants, friends, and even complete strangers ask them for help navigating
difficult religious and personal situations. The observant Jewish community
should be grateful for this phenomenon—we know that our mesorah, our religious tradition, has
guided generations before, and we hope, in this increasingly complex era, that
Jews turn to traditional sources of wisdom for counsel. The best community
rabbis have always been those who could make the transition from intellectual
scholarship to practical wisdom in real time and with real people. Steeped in halakha, such rabbis influence
Jewish life not only by answering the specifics of questions posed, but by
reaching beyond the manifest she’elot (halakhic questions) and
going to the emotional and psychological core of questions. Pastoral
arts of yesteryear were honed through mentorship and example. As is true in all
areas, some rabbis were more talented than others in the raw skills of
listening and advising.

The
contemporary rabbinate faces the challenges of an increasingly porous and
diverse society. Rigorous classical education in halakha remains bedrock. At
the same time, rabbinic training of today can benefit from training in
psychology and counseling. In this essay, I explain how Yeshivat Chovevei
Rabbinical School (YCT) prepares its students for pastoral counseling.
Interspersed throughout are several cases culled from real-life situations and
presented in a variety of settings. Please note that all identifying
information has been changed.

CASE #1
from “R. Shlomo,” a YCT musmakh and current
Hillel rabbi at Penn State University, wrote this email on YCT’s private
listserv in order to get feedback from colleagues and teachers.
Hi all
I hope everyone is good and enjoying their summer. I wish that I would have
been able to attend one of the summer retreats but we were working at camp
until yesterday.
Over the summer I fielded a question that I
would like to hear other people's input on. The phone call came from the mother
of a young man, a yeshiva high school graduate. He lives in the Harrisburg area. The son never attended Penn State but has a serious girlfriend who is a graduate student here. The
girlfriend is not Jewish. The mother, who is frantic, wants me to reach out to
the girlfriend to help convince her to convert (though she didn't put it so
explicitly). Neither the son nor the girlfriend is aware that the mother called
me.
At Penn State Hillel we have very little to do with graduate students, unless
they approach us. So regarding a non-Jewish grad student—I have absolutely no
reason to reach out to her.
Thanks,
Shlomo

Questions to consider:
This email query
raises several issues with which all rabbis are familiar. These include:
1.

How does the rabbi respond to the needs of distressed persons (in this
case, parents) who want the rabbi to act as their spokesperson when they feel
helpless, alienated, or otherwise unable to reach their loved one?

2.

How is pastoral counseling different over the phone, via email, or in
person? Given limited contact, how does a rabbi establish realistic goals?

3.

How does the rabbi balance religious/communal concerns with issues of
autonomy, privacy, and/or confidentiality?

4.

Should/how can a rabbi intervene in situations of inter-religious
dating?

My Response:
Hi “Shlomo,”

While I sympathize with the mother's
distress, her proposition is almost guaranteed to backfire and to alienate both
her son and the girlfriend. Rabbinic training is not suited for covert
religious operations, and unsolicited third-party interventions are very tricky.
But rabbis, especially campus rabbis, get requests such as this frequently—basically
“save my child (but I don't want him/her to know that I called you).”
I suggest that in this situation you call back the mother and tell her that you
have given the matter thought. You understand that her son’s serious
involvement with a non-Jewish woman is upsetting and you feel that the best
approach is for her to tell her son (and possibly the girlfriend if she has a
cordial relationship with her) that she wants to/has already called you. You
would then be available and open to meeting the young woman (who is the Penn
State
student) and the son. You could then explore the situation and take it from
there.

Let me know what happens.

Discussion

The original email involves Rabbi
Shlomo in a pastoral situation with several “congregants,” none of whom he
knows. They are the mother (and possibly the father by extension), her son, and
finally, the non-Jewish girlfriend who is the student at Penn State. Rabbi Shlomo understands that there is
much history behind the mother’s email and that there are many sides to the
current story. He is mindful of situations in his own past with relatives and
friends that involved interfaith relationships. Rabbi Shlomo’s awareness of the
painful feelings experienced in those personal situations help him empathize
with the current counseling situation and at the same time to maintain
professional boundaries. He might wonder if the parents have consulted with
their own rabbi. Rabbi Shlomo realizes that he can only make a limited
intervention.

I
encouraged Rabbi Shlomo to convey to the mother that he honors her concern and
that he is committed to Jewish continuity. At the same time, Rabbi Shlomo
should not carry out her strategy of contacting a student (the girlfriend), who
is not a member of Hillel and has not contacted him herself. Instead, he should
encourage the parents involved to directly express their distress to their son
and tell him that they want him and his girlfriend to meet with the Penn State rabbi. By offering his services once the
son or the girlfriend contact him, the rabbi conveys his respect for privacy
and confidentiality. Such an atmosphere of trust is more likely to facilitate
deeper discussion between them and the rabbi. Hopefully, this talk would evolve
over several in-person sessions and would include an exploration of the
couples’ relationship, their commitment to Judaism, and their mutual
expectations of the future. Only after time is spent constructing such a
dialogue can a significant conversation about conversion possibly begin.

YCT
makes pastoral counseling a mandatory course of study throughout all four years
of the program. The program rests on a three-part foundation: 1) didactic
instruction in the classroom, 2) practical experience in hospitals and rabbinic
internships, and 3) individual awareness through special group work and
supervision. Our goal is to prepare our graduate rabbis to listen to
congregants and/or students with rigor and compassion, to do competent basic
assessment by knowing what additional information is needed and tactfully
asking appropriate questions, and to bring the issue to resolution or refer the
congregant to a more expert resource.

Throughout,
we emphasize the sensitivity of the pastoral counseling encounter. Divulging
personal matters evokes powerful emotions on both sides. Rabbis need to be
aware of feelings and issues touched off within them and to monitor the
boundary between themselves and their congregants. Such awareness allows them to
chaperone the vulnerability and stigma congregants may experience.

The
didactic component of the YCT pastoral counseling program begins with a weekly
skill-building course in the first year. Through classroom instruction, reading
assignments, and role-play, students learn interview techniques. The students
explore challenges inherent in the rabbinic encounter—specifically, how to meld
the role of compassionate, non-judgmental listener with that of halakhic authority. The course
goes on to introduce classic signs and symptoms of emotional distress, such as
anxiety and depression, which rabbis are likely to come across in their
communities. Also covered are highly emotional personal and community
situations that rabbis more uniquely encounter. The psychology of ba’alei
teshuva and converts and the impact of trauma and catastrophe are but two
examples.

The
second year didactic curriculum is devoted to two pastoral areas that rabbis
deal with extensively—bikkur holim (visiting the sick) and marital and family counseling.
All of our students rotate through an intensive chaplaincy course run by
the Jewish Health Care Chaplaincy of New York. These hours are divided between
classroom instruction and hospital visits. Group sessions provide a forum for
students to discuss and process the powerful experiences evoked sitting by the
bedsides of ill and dying patients.

The
third- and fourth-year program blends counseling and practical halakha around a life-cycle
curriculum. We alternate didactics with fieldwork experience. We start with
parenthood as a development. We consider issues such as the impact of having a
disabled child and the spiritual life of young children. Other topics further
along the life cycle include adolescence, dating, courtship, and the creation
of mature intimate relationships. Pre-marital counseling is a priority; we
expect that prior to serving as mesader kiddushin at a wedding, a YCT
rabbi has spent several sessions with the couple helping them prepare for
marriage. The challenges of non-traditional individual and family life as
experienced by older singles, widowed, divorced, and homosexual persons are
discussed. Class time is allocated for infertility, adoption, infidelity, and
domestic violence. Aging, end-of-life issues, and involvement of caregivers
create increasingly complex questions in our society. While not all areas can
be covered, the goal is to give the students a basic comfort in the halakhic parameters and broad
psychological issues of major practical topics.

Fieldwork
offers a range of opportunities. Students discuss the pastoral counseling
component of their rabbinic internships in a seminar. In addition they elect
rotations through prisons, specialized hospital units, retreats for Jewish
alcoholics, and support groups.

CASE #2

a series of phone conversations between
“Rabbi Stone” (RS) in Florida
and me (MF)

Conversation #1

RS: There's a woman, Chana, who is about 47
years old and who recently left an abusive marriage. She lived here in Miami
years ago and has maintained a few close friends in the community. Chana is
temporarily living with Nancy and Jack, who are terrific people. She moved to
my community this past summer and she is doing somewhat better, but her friends
are concerned because Chana will sometimes say things like “I don't know if I
will be around in two weeks,” implying that she may commit suicide.

I think
that this may be severe depression. Nancy told
me that Chana wakes up in the middle of the night frightened about a
recipe that she is preparing for the next night, because she is worried about
missing an ingredient, and she'll stand over the kitchen table all night.
Chana’s husband used to severely criticize her cooking. Nancy
suspects that he also hit Chana.

I have only known Chana for
the past two months. She usually comes to shul Shabbos day, but hardly
talks. She rarely smiles or shows other emotion, but she recently started
coming to some of the Torah classes that I offer at the shul. I notice
that she is looking haggard and not too well groomed.

MF: This really sounds like a psychiatric
crisis—hospitalization might be warranted. But getting her to a good
psychiatrist is the critical first step. Find out from Chana if there is a
mental health professional already in the picture. If so, ask permission to
contact him/her. If she has no psychiatric care, you need to help her get some.

Conversation #2, a few days later

RS: Your last impression was on point. Chana
had no therapists or doctors, so I found two psychiatrists by calling the local
UJA/Federation office and also asking the other rabbi in town. When I called
Chana and her friend to give them the doctors’ names and numbers they told
me that Chana is already in the hospital! To make a long story short, last
night, when Nancy and Jack were asleep, Chana left the house and walked to the
hospital in the middle of the pouring rain. She left the door wide open to the
house, but left a message on Nancy and Jack’s phone that she couldn’t get back
in, so she's going to the hospital. She's currently in the hospital being
evaluated in the psychiatric ward.

MF: What a story. Thank God that even in her
impaired state the woman had the right idea—to go to a hospital. Your support
and competence continue to be invaluable to this woman. Great work.

RS: Thank you. At this point, I’m kind of
worried about Nancy and Jack. This is a huge responsibility for them. I doubt
they expected any of this when they offered their home to Chana. How much can
they be expected to do?

MF: You are wise to be thinking of them.
Supporting the caregivers is always a key factor. It can be quite impressive
how people will rise to occasions of human need. It can also be disappointing.
But your staying in close touch with Jack and Nancy
has already and will continue to mean a great deal to them. You are recognizing
and validating their effort as well as giving them practical advice.

Conversation #3, the next day

RS: I spoke to Nancy
today. Chana is doing okay in the hospital. I asked if she would like me to
visit, but Nancy
said that Chana is so embarrassed and ashamed that she doesn't want anyone to
know. I asked Nancy
to tell Chana that there is nothing to be ashamed about and that she did
the right thing by going to the hospital.

MF: Try calling Chana directly. Tell her the
same thing, how wise and protective it was of her to go to the hospital—you
admire her instincts, even in her distressed state she knew to do the right
thing. Ask her if you might drop by for ten minutes, take it from there.
Mitigating shame is the most important thing here. Self-respect and honor are
the most important ingredients in helping this woman stay in the long-term
treatment that she needs.

Conversation #4, a few months later

RS: You remember that woman we spoke about in
the winter? She has been doing much better. She has her own apartment, is
working part-time and volunteering. The problem is now that her daughter is
getting married in London
and Chana is feeling really shaky. She asked me what her religious obligations
are vis-a-vis attending the simha.
The thought of being in the presence of so many people, in an unfamiliar place,
and in such close proximity to her ex-husband terrifies her. How can I help
her?

MF: First, sit down with Chana and go through
all the events involved in the wedding. This will establish some order and then
you can work from there as to what she can reasonably tolerate. Will there be
an aufruf, for example? What about
the wedding itself—who is doing the planning? What do Chana’s daughter and her
fiancé expect? What about sheva berakhot?
The more you can help Chana anticipate the major components of the event, the
more she can make a plan as to her attendance and participation in the wedding
events. This will give her a sense of control. It will also be very helpful to
make sure that Chana has a relative or friend that she can count on for support
during what is sure to be a challenging event. Are Nancy and Jack able to
attend and be with Chana? Finally, check in that Chana has discussed all of
this with her therapist/doctor. You can ask if she is on medication and if
there is some kind of contingency plan if her anxiety or depression flares.

Discussion

Acute emotional distress is not
subtle. However, in order to recognize states such as depression or severe
panic, a rabbi has to be familiar with key signs and symptoms of these
syndromes. This does not mean that he should attempt to treat the congregant
himself. He can help a vulnerable person who might be too ashamed or
disorganized to get needed professional care. Rabbi Stone’s attention to
Chana’s appearance as well as the alarming comments reported by her friends
mobilized his concern. While her own alarming behavior actually got her to the
hospital, the rabbi’s steadfast involvement with Chana and her friends
established ongoing trust. Support of caregiver(s) is a key component of a
longer-term picture, as is follow-up over time. The rabbi needs to check in,
even with a brief chat or quick phone call, to let congregants know that he
cares and is available for consultation. Similarly, the rabbi needs to have
trusted mentors with whom he can reveal his own uncertainty and get advice.
Hopefully, his own rabbis and
teachers will be such advisors. Classmates from yeshiva as well as local clergy
who also grapple with complex pastoral matters might also be persons with whom
a rabbi can talk through such situations.

Practice and judgment are needed to
figure out what a congregant is asking when he or she poses a religious
question to a rabbi. In Chana’s case, she had not discussed her massive anxiety
regarding her daughter’s wedding with her hospital assigned outpatient
psychiatrist who she saw once a month. Instead, she sought out Rabbi Stone and
asked him a “rabbinic” question. Because of the respect and trust built
earlier, Rabbi Stone could intervene in a situation that threatened to
destabilize Chana’s fragile mental health.

In addition to class and
experiential learning, YCT incorporates a unique forum for personal
development—the process group. One of the most difficult challenges for rabbis
is the inherent loneliness of the profession. In order to be effective, rabbis
need to be simultaneously available, charismatic, and slightly separate from
their congregants.
Negotiating these boundaries requires preparation. We believe that the process
group experiences help our students encounter these issues individually while
also strengthening the bonds of trust and support between their fellow
students. Every week, throughout the entire program, each student class meets
with a process group leader, a mental health professional who makes a
commitment to work with that group for the full four years. Discussions of the
process group are entirely confidential between leaders and students. They may
explore personal, academic, religious, or any other issues that they choose. The
process group is a template for life outside the yeshiva. Undoubtedly, tension
and confrontation between group members occurs. The students need to learn how
to mediate moments of crisis in the process group and how to live with
conflicts that cannot be resolved. These skills will serve them well in their
future work as community rabbis.

Based
on the enthusiasm that the rabbinical students have for their process groups,
we provide a monthly support group for spouses. The yeshiva realizes that the
role of the rabbi’s wife is
complex. Women come from varied personal and professional backgrounds. They
anticipate different degrees of engagement in their husband’s work. The support
group, facilitated by a rebbetzin who is also a mental health
professional, allows study and exploration of these issues.

CASE #3

YCT pastoral counseling class discussion
of the following vignette

A prominent congregant,
Max, comes to speak with Rabbi Smith, who took over the synagogue a few months
earlier. Several weeks ago, another congregant, Dr. Paul, a surgeon, returned
to the community after serving six months in prison for sexual impropriety with
younger female patients. Dr. Paul is in court-mandated psychotherapy and has a
parole officer. During Dr. Paul’s prison term, his wife attended shul rarely,
but their two children came to groups and are students in the local day school.

Max demands that Dr. Paul
be ejected from the kehilla. He
states that Dr. Paul is a danger to the community. Max’s tone gets belligerent
as he threatens to switch his membership and his very generous building fund
pledge to the other synagogue in town. He hints that some of his friends may go
with him.

Students reacted
to the vignette in many ways:

Student #1: Max is out of bounds. While Dr. Paul’s
offense is reprehensible, he has been tried and convicted, and he served his
sentence. I would want to make sure that Dr. Paul has no contact with shul
youth, but neither he nor his family should be barred from the synagogue.

Student #2: I wonder if Max or anyone in his family
was ever abused? Do you know if Max used Dr. Paul or anyone in his family used
Dr. Paul for their own medical care? Perhaps Rabbi Smith can ask a few
questions to try and understand where Max’s outrage is coming from.

Student #3: You both have good points. But I can also
understand the rabbi’s anxiety. I feel kind of sick myself at the thought of
seeing this guy back in shul. Certainly
many people in the community are very uncomfortable with a convicted molester
returning to the community. How does Rabbi Smith model teshuva in this painful situation? Also, how does he deal with his
own concerns about finances if key supporters pull out?

Student #4: I’m thinking about the teshuva issue. Shouldn’t Rabbi Smith be
meeting with Dr. Paul to talk about all these things? Should he have visited
Dr. Paul in prison? Has Rabbi Smith developed any rapport with the Paul family?
Has there been any attempt at apology by Dr. Paul or restitution to his former
patients or their families? How are Mrs. Paul and their children doing? Given
the situation, should Mrs. Smith, the rabbi’s wife, be the one to reach out to
Mrs. Paul?

Student #5: This may not be the main point, but
assuming that Dr. Paul stays in the community, does he get any kibbudim (community honors)? Let’s say he used to be a leader in
his synagogue or his son is having a
bar mitzvah in the next few months….

Discussion

All of the points raised by students
in class discussion are valid. Criminal behaviors, especially sexual or violent
offenses, shake the foundations of any community, especially a religious
community. Most of us believe that religious life makes better people, or at
least safeguards us against certain kinds of violations. Integrating an
offender back into community life is a significant challenge. Whether a rabbi
was present throughout the whole episode, or came in new, as in the case of
Rabbi Smith, he needs to meet with key constituents. These include Dr. Paul,
the Paul family, and any other people who request rabbinic counseling. Such
members may have been victimized by Dr. Paul or have other experience with
sexual trauma. Although Rabbi Smith respects the confidentiality of individuals
involved, the overall scenario is known to the larger community.

As
Dr. Paul’s return to the community is sure to elicit discomfort, if not
outright protest as in the case of Max, Rabbi Smith would do well to meet with
several involved synagogue members to anticipate and plan for larger reaction.

The rabbi’s grasp of individual and
group dynamics is key. Rabbi Smith’s understanding of the tensions and
vulnerabilities inherent in the Max/Dr. Paul situation allow him to formulate a
clear plan for which the rabbi can mobilize support.

Building
a comprehensive pastoral counseling program requires commitment of precious
academic time and financial resources. Even more, it calls for flexibility of
mind and tolerance. Today’s Jewish world desperately needs learned rabbis who
can reach kehillot through involvement in the day-to-day challenges of
living. Pastoral counseling is thus a building block in the foundation of Yeshivat Chovevei Torah Rabbinical School. We hope that semikha preparation
elsewhere seeks to prepare graduates for these challenges, and we look forward
to collaborative efforts in the service of all Jewish communities.

There is a type of "middle of the road" approach in religious observance that is passed down from one generation to the next, an approach that does not always coincide with what is practiced in the world of the yeshiva. It is quite common for a son to return from yeshiva and begin to find fault with the practices of the household: he doesn't approve of the size of the Kiddush cup; he wants to wear tsitsith so that they hang outside his shirt; he objects to preparing tea on Shabbat (by means of a "third vessel"), but insists on using tea concentrate, and so on.

I remember when I was a youngster entering the high-school-level yeshiva, and we began with the study of the Mishneh Berurah. Already on the first page I came across the obligation to wash one's hands in the morning upon awakening, right near the bed, without walking the distance of four cubits. This was something alien to what was customary at our home, and I was very embarrassed at the revelation that our household was not conducting itself according to halakha. I immediately adopted the new practice, to the chagrin of my parents. Only at a later stage in my life did I learn the kabbalistic basis for our household practice, its validity, and the many opinions that differed from the ruling of the Mishneh Berurah.
There are countless practices common in the households of observant Jews that do not coincide with recent books of halakhic rulings such as Mishneh Berurah, Shemirat Shabbat keHilkhata, Darkhei Tahara, and so forth. The yeshiva student's conflict between the written words of halakhic rulings and the experiential practices of the household find resolution in various ways, depending on the power of the competing sides. A household that governs itself according to halakha and a serious relationship with tradition will succeed in conveying to one who grows up within it the confidence that the "minhag (custom) of Israel is Torah" and one should not deviate from the practice of the household. But a household that is not confident in matters of tradition may lead one who is caught up in this conflict to choose to veer from the household practices. This has led to a phenomenon within the religious community of those who "turn in repentance" from the household practices and adopt a more stringent approach with practices that had not been the norms of the household. Thus, yeshiva students are identified by hanging their tsitsith outside their shirts, as called for by the Mishneh Berurah, in spite of the fact that their religiously observant fathers did not do so. We find Torah students of Sephardic backgrounds who are careful to don the tefillin of Rabbeinu Tam, even though their very traditional fathers did not do so. Many other examples could be adduced.

In all such examples, it is possible to see that the practices suggested by more recent posekim (halakhic decisors) are not universally accepted by other posekim, and it is possible to maintain the household traditions without halakhic difficulty. Clearly, in the yeshiva world there is pressure directed at elevating and purifying religious life, manifested in a meticulous concern for halakhic details. Educating the public toward the validity of the "middle of the road" approach requires the educator to be strong and comfortable with the perpetuation of tradition based on the practices of generations of religiously observant Jews. The argument that this approach fails to challenge and energize the religious soul, in the way that traditional yeshiva education does, is a serious one and should not be dismissed. It is critical to confront this challenge, but never at the expense of the tranquility of a measured and balanced Torah life.
In contradistinction to the ideal "middle of the road" approach that reflects many of the ideals of Torah im derekh erets, certain religious communities have created norms that barely meet minimal halakhic standards, for example, activities of a mixed society such as mixed swimming or dancing. The spiritual leadership of a community must take a stand with respect to these norms, either by speaking out or by remaining silent. As we know, failure to respond is in itself a response.

Because of these manifestations, many great rabbis have shunned the yoke of formal rabbinic leadership. Great sages such as the Gaon of Vilna and the Hafetz Hayyim recognized their own inability to compromise or close their eyes to the "middle of the road" approach of fulfilling the halakha. Many heads of yeshivot who came from Lithuania (Brisk and its offshoots) followed their example. They preferred to be enclosed in the four cubits of halakha and Torah, and to leave the responsibility to other rabbis to create a bridge that connects the Torah and the people. These other rabbis may have been on a lower level of Torah knowledge, but they bore on their shoulders the burden of communal leadership. Synagogue rabbis and teachers, from time immemorial, were called upon to confront communal norms that were not in line with halakha. The commandment to chastise sinners often stood in conflict with the biblical concern (in Proverbs) not to chastise someone who might then come to hate you. Is it better to choose the path of silence, or is a rabbi obligated to chastise, regardless of how people will respond? In fact, we know that many of our Sages tried hard to close their eyes to sinners, when they knew their chastisement would not have a clear positive result. However, one cannot shut one's eyes to the fact that there is also a danger in this approach.
A "middle of the road" approach to halakha that is characterized by religious compromise has caused a serious depreciation in the effective status of the "ideal middle of the road." The yeshiva world has identified the Modern Orthodox community as a community that is dissatisfied with religious principles.
It is our responsibility to restore the glory of the ideal "middle of the road" approach, and to distinguish between it and religious compromise. I am not certain that the ideal "middle of the road" approach will succeed in firing the hearts, but it is certain to maintain the warmth of Torah and derekh erets and to transmit it with care and confidence to future generations.

I will close with a comment on extra religious meticulousness during the Ten Days of Penitence. The Shulhan Arukh states that one should avoid eating "gentile bread" during this period. Rabbi Efraim Zalman Margaliot, author of Mateh Efraim, commented on this passage and noted the custom of pious people in Talmudic times to be stringent in the matter of eating food only while in a state of ritual purity. Rabbi Margaliot indicated that this stringency would be quite difficult and strange in our times. He wrote:
There are some pious individuals who are stringent with themselves and eat their food in purity during these days. One who does this, needs to seek grain upon which no water has fallen that would have made it receptive to ritual impurity; the flour needs to be mixed with fruit juice (rather than water). When he wishes to drink, he needs to bend low and drink from the river or well, so that he does not touch them and make them ritually impure.

This sort of behavior can be described as being quite strange. These are acts of piety that distance a person from normative life and cast into doubt the strong religious foundations of the general community. Rabbi Margaliot warns us about this stringency:
One should not follow this practice, unless all his deeds are in holiness and purity and he conducts himself with utmost separateness. Otherwise, this [excessive stringency] is foolishness and bad-spiritedness and presumptuousness. Each person is obligated only to do what he can do [and not to adopt unnecessary stringencies].

Would that people would fulfill that which they are obligated to do.

Esther Lapian is a teacher and teacher educator in the field of Bible studies and the teaching of Jewish texts. She works extensively in Israel and abroad as a consultant to Jewish educational organizations from every religious sector. She recently opened a private educational consulting service called Paces, aimed at "walking parents through the paces" of educational challenges presented by the Israeli school system.She made Aliyah from the United States in 1987. This article originally appeared in Hebrew, in De'ot, the magazine of Ne'emanei Torah vaAvodah, no. 42, May 2009, and has been translated into English by Sarah Nadav. This article appears in issue 7 of Conversations, the journal of the Institute for Jewish Ideas and Ideals.
During the past several years as an educator in the fields of Tanakh and Jewish studies, I have come across a prevalent and disturbing phenomenon: most of the religiously observant student teachers whom I have met are not at all interested in teaching in the mamlakhti-dati school system (the religious public school system in Israel). When the time comes for them to decide on a professional placement, they apply to secular schools, or to the new model of specialized dati-hiloni schools (religious/secular schools), or to pluralistic religious schools. Several years ago, as the head of the Tanakh department of such an experimental dati-hiloni high school, I found that more than half of the Jewish studies faculty was comprised of incredibly dedicated and talented religious young people. When I asked them to describe the thought process that brought them to an experimental framework, (in our case, a particularly demanding one), the majority of them admitted to never having even considered Mamad (religious public school system) as a professional option, for reasons that will be discussed in this paper. Some had tried to teach in the Mamad system and had given up.

Why is this true? Why are these bright, highly motivated, religiously observant young people, who are extremely knowledgeable in both Jewish and general studies, opting out of the mamlakhti-dati school system? And if they are opting out, then who is teaching our children?

In this article I would like to address these questions by relating several stories that reflect the changes that are taking place in the Mamad schools and in the teachers colleges. I want to examine how and why these changes, which are occurring in both the formal and informal frameworks of the Mamad, are alienating many young, committed and engaged religious student teachers out of its educational system. In addition, I would like to suggest conceptual and practical changes to improve an ever worsening situation.

Observations from the Field: Primary School

A Story about Matisse

When our daughter was in fifth grade at the local Mamad (religious public school), she decided to do her personal project on Matisse. We went to do research at the Israel Museum art library and spent several hours reading his biography and examining books of Matisse's paintings. Some weeks later I bumped into the teacher in the school hall, and couldn't resist asking her what she thought of my daughter's project. Well, she said hesitating, it was a bit skimpy. Skimpy?! I cried in disbelief. She's in fifth grade. She could have chosen "Water" or "Color" or "Why is the Sky Blue?" Instead she picked a difficult topic and handed in work she did herself. What do you mean by skimpy? Well, she said quietly, the truth is... I have never heard of Matisse.

After recovering from the sad implications of this story, we need to ask ourselves some hard questions: Why is a person with so little intellectual curiosity, or basic professional self-respect, hired to teach school children? Once hired, why are such teachers maintained?

The status of teacher knowledge in the secular primary schools is, unfortunately, not much better than that of the teachers in the Mamad system. It is unlikely, however, for a teacher in a secular school never to have heard of Matisse, implausible that she would not refer to an encyclopedia while grading her student's work, and inconceivable that she would look the student's parent directly in the eye and say: "I have never heard of Matisse."

Why are so many Mamad teachers like this, particularly--but not exclusively--in the younger grades? And why does a teacher in the Mamad system feel safe in doing this? The answers are not pleasant. One: Matisse was not Jewish. [In the eyes of the narrowly Orthodox] non-Jews don't count. Two: Matisse was an artist. Art is irrelevant. If the fifth grader's paper had been a biography of a great rabbinic sage, the teacher would certainly have done her homework. Three: Matisse painted nudes. Nudity is immodest and immodesty is the cardinal sin, greater than ignorance and intolerance (more on this later). In fact, the teacher had asked my daughter to remove one of Matisse's abstract line drawings of a nude from the paper. The principal insisted that it stay in. Poor Matisse, he never had a chance.

So why is this person permitted to teach our children?

The answer lies in the ever changing face of the Mamad teacher. Whereas once the Mamad teacher and principal were observant Jews who prided themselves on their abilty to combine love of Torah with love of all knowledge, today more and more Mamad teachers pride themselves on their insularity, and yes, their ignorance of all things not Jewish.

I would like to underscore this point with 3 stories from my recent experience in Mamad teachers colleges.
Observations from the Field of Teacher Training

Recently, I taught at a well-respected college for primary school educators, considered for years a pillar of dati leumi (religious Zionist) Judaism. For administrative reasons, the college hosts students from an influential hareidi -leumi midrasha (hareidi Zionist school) who pursue their B. ED at the college. They are excellent students, and their influence on the school is great-as are their demands.

Feminist Research

Early on in the semester, in a course on pedagogy, I referred to a research study by feminist scholars on a gender related educational issue. After class, some of the students approached to further discuss my conclusions, but questioned my reference to feminist scholarship.

That night, I received a call from a faculty representative from the midrasha. His official job was liaison between the midrasha and the seminar; his unofficial job was to be a watchdog for religiosity. He asked that I meet him the next day in his office allotted to him by the college.

I was told the following: academic research is not important to us. Please avoid referring to it. Feminist research is anathema to us. If you happen to teach Tanakh, do not teach comparative parshanut a la Nechama Leibowitz. We don't evaluate the great parshanim (classic rabbinic Bible commentators) - they are all equally great. We don't compare and contrast. Who are we, after all?

A Trip to London

Wanting to prevent further such confrontations, I avoided all areas of controversy--not my natural inclination. During a class exercise demonstrating varying approaches to planning, I asked my students to plan a trip to London. I noticed one pair sitting and not working. I approached to ask if they needed help. The following conversation ensued.

We have never been to London.

OK, I said, make believe.

We don't want to go to London.

Ok. I said, (thinking perhaps that they were Anglophobic). How about Paris?

We don't want to go to Paris either.

OK. Where do you want to go?

They thought for a moment and said, To the Golan.

Literary Analysis

Soon after, I began teaching at another dati leumi College intended for junior high and high school educators, also a prominent institution in dati leumi education. The school was eager to develop into an Israeli model of Yeshiva University, a degree granting religious university. In this vein, the school held a half day conference on the topic of literary approaches to teaching Tanakh. All the presenters were religiously observant. I delivered a paper on the topic of thematic reading. When I returned to class, I found my normally compliant students up in arms. How could I apply literary tools to the reading of Tanakh? Tanakh is a sacred book, not literature. It is forbidden to apply literary text analysis to the Torah.

This was compartmentalization at its best. Literary analysis, a gentler cousin of Biblical criticism, has a way of unnerving some religious people. The students' instincts were right; this material is sensitive and troubling. But what struck me most was the fear, a near panic, at what they had heard, and a refusal to have a discussion. In a house of learning, the response to ideas that challenge our assumptions cannot be flight or fear. That is the hareidi way; it is not meant to be the approach of classical dati leumi education. In addition, these were students preparing for high school teaching. Certainly the day would come when one of their students would question them on this topic. What will their response be?

The colleges and students alluded to are not marginal or atypical. They serve as major feeders of teachers to the Mamad school system. Those students are the teachers of our children today.

What the above stories have in common is that they all reflect the growing influence of the hareidi ideologies on Mamad education via hareidi-leumi teachers and attitudes: lack of curiosity bordering on disdain for all things not Jewish; distrust of academia--even while earning an academic degree; distaste for feminism- even while benefiting from the contribution of feminist activism to the equality of women in the workplace; fear of critical thinking; refusal to recognize and grapple with issues of modernity and post-modernist humanist thought; extensive use of the advances of modern research in areas of medicine and technology, along with an unwillingness to admit or to acknowledge the central role of the university in bringing about these advances.

The hareidi-leumi worldview, while clearly one I do not share, has the right to its input into the religious and political discourse of the State of Israel. But the legitimate place for the dissemination of its values is within its own schools and communities. The dati leumi school system, once the pride and joy of the dati leumi world, is emptying at a frightening rate, because the liberal dati leumi establishment refuses to acknowledge that, despite a shared commitment to the observance of (certain) mitzvoth and to the state of Israel, what divides us is greater than what unites us.

On Sukkot 2005, Ne'emanei Torah V'Avodah hosted a joint conference with Edah[1], an American organization associated with religious Zionism and modern Orthodoxy.[2] In a keynote address, Rabbi Saul Berman delineated the major ideological issues on which the hareidi world and the modern Orthodox world differ: pluralism/tolerance, the religious meaning of Medinat Israel, Jew and Gentile, da'at Torah, Torah u'maddah, humrah, women in halakha, outreach, and activism. On the majority of the issues listed, the hareidi- leumi attitude is closer to the hareidi attitude than to the dati leumi attitude.[3] Aside from the approach towards the State, we differ on the central, most significant issues of modern Jewish life.

These ideological differences weigh heavily upon the young students with whom I have contact. Humanistic in their orientation and pluralist in their outlook, they do not want to teach in the Mamad schools, because they do not want to instill values that are not theirs. They all (women and men) have academic degrees, some in Bible and in Talmud, as well as in literature, history, music, and art. They embrace the world because it is awesome, and they are curious. They cannot teach honestly without alluding to all that they know, nor do they want to.

These dati students have been to China and India, some even to London! They believe Jews are special, but they don't believe that everyone else is devoid of values. They go to concerts, they know who Matisse is, and they know a thing or two about wine. The men know how to cook... and most of the women wear slacks.
They are rigorous in their thinking, but not rigid in their outlook. They struggle to find the interface--often through reexamination of religious sources--between the yeshiva/midrasha and the university, between Levinas and dati leumi, shiurim and shira, Carlbach and Kleinstein. Their challenge is to make these worlds overlap, not to compartmentalize them.

They represent the oft alluded line between dati and leumi, between modern and Orthodox. These are the students who should be teaching our children. Most of them will not.

The Dress Code

A disturbing corollary of hareidi- leumi influence that threatens the caliber of teachers in the dati leumi schools system is the growing obsession with the dress code relating to women. Part of the reason why the teacher in the Matisse story continues to teach in our schools is because she looks the part. She and hundreds like her are teaching in our schools, despite the fact that they may be inferior teachers, because her elbows are covered, her skirts are long, and in the case of married women, her head is covered.
Over the past 10-15 years, the dati-leumi establishment has become obsessed with the dress code of women. Prominent rabbis write outrageous articles measuring centimeters on the neck and on the arms. While the suitability of male teachers is measured in how much they know and the quality of their prayer, in the case of women, the skill of pious dressing can override the skills of good teaching.

Modesty is a significant tenet of Jewish life, but we have begun to lose all sense of proportion. When appearance is secondary to talent in a school system, the big losers are the children.

A case in point: Several years ago a new Dati Leumi academic school opened in our neighborhood to address the needs of our predominantly liberal dati-leumi population. Most of the parents, working people, professionals and academics, were eager for a superior local school for their children that could compete with excellent schools outside the neighborhood. The girls' school, however, was headed in a different direction. From its inception, it insisted that homeroom teachers wear head coverings at all times, that is, outside of school as well as in. All non- homeroom teachers, that is, art, history, math, were requested to wear a head covering in school, even if they didn't do so in their personal lives. Thus, with one swift religious stringency, the eagerly awaited alternative dati-leumi school committed to excellence, disqualified all outstanding religious teachers who didn't "look the look."[4] While the boys' school, instituted at the same time, searched for the "best and the brightest," the girls' school front line concern was attire. Not only did the students have a dress code, so did the teachers.

It is not within the scope of this paper to discuss the halakhic ins and outs of these dress demands. The point of emphasis here is that this stringent dress code does not reflect the norms or the values of the religiously observant parent body. The vast majority of the mothers in this school do not cover their hair and many wear slacks. At the opening ceremony of the school the number of mothers counted with head coverings was 10 out of 150! Thus the unstated message conveyed to girls is that their mothers are not qualified to be their religious role models.[5]

The ever increasing insistence on a dress code for teachers is another reasons my religious students avoid teaching in the Mamad system. It is important to note that some of my married dati students do in fact wear head coverings, but some do not. Some wear head coverings and slacks and want to continue to do so, not because they are rebellious, but because slacks are comfortable and efficient. These young women are halakhically committed, and halakhically informed, many are well versed in Talmudic texts. They know that the ban on slacks is a sociological issue, not a halakhic one , and that head covering has become the sociological equivalent of a kippah only recently. Graduates of midrashot and yeshivot, they spend countless hours examining the sources. Thoughtful and honest, they are looking for ways to be true to halakha and true to themselves.

Thus these young dati-leumi teachers opt for schools that will let them wear what feels comfortable, while retaining their personal sense of modesty; schools that will focus on their thinking abilities, their pedagogic skills, and their ability to touch the hearts and minds of their students. They are not going to the Mamad system.

Yet, aren't these the very teachers we want teaching in our schools?

Conclusion

The Mamad school system has lost its sense of identity; it is no longer responsive to the needs of its community. The vacuum created is being filled by ideologies that do not reflect the vision and the values of the majority of the pupils' homes and communities. By allowing vast hareidi leumi influence on our schools, we abrogate our responsibility to our own community. Not only are young teachers leaving the system, so are the children.

Talented teachers with a more embracing attitude to the modern world as well as to its challenges will find work elsewhere, in the secular public school system and in other frameworks mentioned in the opening of this paper. But who will teach the thousands of children from liberal dati leumi homes? For now, the majority of dati leumi parents are not looking for alternative frameworks, although with each passing year, more and more are doing so. They are still eager for a neighborhood school that reflects their combined commitment to Torah and general wisdom, in the broadest sense of the word.

In the final analysis, it is the teachers who make a school. In order for children to return to the Mamad system, we need to make spiritual room for the many talented young religious teachers who are grappling with the same issues as the families, teachers whose intricate approach to the world is similar to that of their students.

A Practical Suggestion for Change

The past few years has seen the development of several excellent academic programs throughout Israel which support promising young students financially in exchange for a commitment to teach Jewish studies in the religious public school system for a stipulated number of years. I would like to see the creation of similar programs that would prepare bright and motivated religious university students for teaching in the Mamad system. In exchange for tuition and financial support, perhaps by the religious branch of the Ministry of Education, as well as private donors committed to liberal religious values, they would be asked to commit to several years of teaching in the Mamad.

In addition to the regular courses in disciplinary knowledge and in pedagogy, there would be classes and workshops devoted to issues such as: the implications of the past 100 years' of Biblical research; recent Talmud research; issues related to women; national service; conflicts arising between Synagogue and State; democracy and Judaism; attitude toward non-religious Jews, and so much more. As of now, most of these issues are discussed only in informal youth programs like Gesher. Their place is in the schools.

In order to accomplish this, we need teachers who are not afraid.

There are many options for such a program of study, worthy of a separate paper. But in order for such a program to be effective, there needs to be more than specialized education for students. Just as the general public school system is reevaluating its attitude toward Jewish studies and therefore training teachers to spearhead that movement, so does the dati leumi school system need to do some serious self- reflection. Only then will they be able to bring back young dati teachers who think out of the box, who are committed to halakha and to academic research, who are rethinking old approaches--not rejecting them--who love children, love knowledge, and embrace the world.

[1] Edah was an organization "committed to... Modern Orthodoxy, which maintains a serious devotion to Torah and Halakhah while enjoying a mutually enriching relationship with the modern world."

[2] Closest Hebrew and Israeli equivalent: dati-leumi.

[3] The exceptions being: Medinat Israel, outreach and activism.

[4] The "other" girls' school this school was meant to compete with still retains the educational, and I contend, the religious edge. There is no demand for head coverings from the married teachers, including those who teach religious subjects.

[5] See "Hok ha'Kovah Koveiah," by Esther Lapian, an unpublished paper delivered at the Kolech Conference, 2006.

1.

Hello darkness, my old friend
I've come to talk with you again
 

"Can you point me to rabbis or other leadership figures in the Orthodox Jewish community who have spoken or written about the moral aspects of the financial crash and the economic crisis – and about a specifically Jewish ethical and moral view of what happened, relating also to the prominent role of Jews, including and perhaps especially observant Jews?"

"Do you know of anyone who, in the period of the stock market and property manias in the nineties and the decade just ended, talked or wrote about the trends underway in the financial sector in the US and elsewhere, and/ or in the housing market, as moral and ethical issues that should concern us deeply -- and that Orthodox / observant/ Torah True Jews should have something to say about?

These are the kind of questions I have been posing to (an admittedly unscientific sample of) rabbinic teachers, colleagues and friends in recent months. The responses can be categorized as follows:

a. "No, but why don’t you ask so-and-so, he's 'into' that kind of thing."

b. "Yes, you should see/ look up / speak to so-and-so or this-and-that." However, these references led to material that was either overtly halakhic and very narrowly focused, or that indulged in very general ethical reflections (such as that the crash and crisis highlight the role of Divine providence at the global and individual levels, or the need to adopt and maintain a modest lifestyle).

c. "Yes", followed by a referral to articles or speeches by relevant Jewish personalities – but addressed to non-Jewish audiences.

Taken together, these responses are profoundly discouraging. The answers translate as follows:

1. Even people who have a definite interest in this topic haven't seen or heard of relevant material. They, like me, want to believe that said material exists, but have no hard evidence thereof. They – we – are deliberately indulging in wishful thinking, because the alternative is too awful for us to contemplate.
2. Many people, including – or perhaps especially -- rabbis and educators actually have no clear idea what ethical and moral issues are. More precisely, they have great difficulty distinguishing between legal/ halakhic and moral/ethical treatments of issues, preferring to subsume the latter in theological, or even mystical, conceptual frameworks
3. Those who have addressed the topic from a moral perspective have preferred to direct their remarks to non-Jews. This is much the most depressing response of all.

None of this is meant to suggest that what I am looking for does not exist. Both I and most of my interlocutors continue to assume that such material does exist, that various people at various times did address various aspects of these complex and multi-faceted issues. I would therefore hope that one of the results of this article will be that kind readers will point me to 'relevant material', thereby substantiating our naïve faith.

But finding a few righteous men in Sodom will not change the basic premise of this article, which is that Orthodox Judaism, as currently conceived and practiced, is morally challenged. The ongoing financial and economic crisis is arguably not even the most severe moral challenge facing it and us. Rather, the crisis has exposed the moral bankruptcy of much of Orthodoxy – of all streams, in both the Israel and the Diaspora -- so sharply that henceforth this sorry state of affairs will be difficult, if not impossible, to continue to ignore.

To apply Warren Buffett's famous aphorism, 'you only find out who's been swimming naked, when the tide goes out' – and for the Orthodox, the tide has gone out. In the same way that the crash is already seen as marking the end of an era -- that stretched from the end of the Second World War until 2007 -- in everything from economic theory to household financial behavior; so, I believe, it marks the end of an era in Jewish history – the era of recovery from the Holocaust, which featured demographic and cultural reconstruction which came to be led by the Orthodox, but also a restructuring of Jewish values. In the latter process, some old values were downgraded, marginalized or even dropped, while others – perhaps no less ancient – were upgraded and moved to center stage.

The crisis has exposed the existence of a widespread moral darkness within, indeed at the heart of, Orthodox Judaism. This black hole expresses itself the way all such negative moral phenomena do – via silence.

2.

In restless dreams I walked alone
 

Let's cut to the quick. What I am looking for is moral leadership, which I define as people with the courage to tell at least the members of their flock, if not the world at large, what is wrong with what they are doing and how they can and should do better. In the best case, this leadership should be demonstrated in real time – i.e. with regard to what is currently happening or likely to happen, but if it appears ex post, that is considerably better than nothing.

I expect this leadership to relate to the moral and ethical aspects of that broad swathe of human existence that is currently pigeonholed by the think-only-by, about and inside-the-box society that we live in, as 'macro-economics', 'finance' and 'labour'. My reading of Torah, Nakh, Talmud and Midrash suggests that this whole aspect of human activity is central to the theory and practice of Judaism. If, therefore, it is now enveloped in crisis, it is impossible that Judaism has nothing to say about it, beyond theological platitudes and/or legal formulations. It should, therefore, be impossible for the recognized leadership of Orthodox Judaism, which constantly stresses its credentials as THE ONLY authentic Judaism, to be silent.

What do I expect it to say? What, in other words, am I talking about others talking about? The simplest and best way of illustrating this is to give a concrete example of moral leadership, as defined above. The following is an extract from a speech given to a group of Canadian bankers and other financial sector types, in February 2009 at the very height of the crisis. The speaker is Paul Volcker, the octogenarian former Chairman of the Federal Reserve Bank who, when appointed by President Carter in 1979 with a mandate to end the inflation that had been eating away at the American economy and society for 15 years, proceeded to raise interest rates to 20% per annum and push the economy into not one, but two, recessions, in order to get the job done. Clearly, he is not someone afraid of a challenge or of making sacrifices to achieve essential goals.  We 'join' the audience in the midst of Volcker's description of what went wrong and how:

You might ask how [the housing/ mortage boom] went on as long as it did. The grading agencies didn't do their job and the banks didn't do their job and the accountants went haywire. I have my own take on this. There were two things that were particularly contributory and very simple. Compensation practices had gotten totally out of hand and spurred financial people to aim for a lot of short-term money without worrying about the eventual consequences. And then there was this obscure financial engineering that none of them understood, but all their mathematical experts were telling them to trust. These two things carried us over the brink.

One of the saddest days of my life was when my grandson – and he's a particularly brilliant grandson – went to college. He was good at mathematics. And after he had been at college for a year or two I asked him what he wanted to do when he grew up. He said, "I want to be a financial engineer." My heart sank. Why was he going to waste his life on this profession?

A year or so ago, my daughter had seen something in the paper, some disparaging remarks I had made about financial engineering. She sent it to my grandson, who normally didn't communicate with me very much. He sent me an email, "Grandpa, don't blame it on us! We were just following the orders we were getting from our bosses." The only thing I could do was send him back an email, "I will not accept the Nuremberg excuse."

Bear with me as I analyse these three paragraphs. This is the former Fed chairman talking to bankers. Does he use jargon – let alone numbers, formulae or Greek symbols? No. In one paragraph, seven sentences, 108 words, he says everything any semi-intelligent Martian would need to know to understand the sources and development of the crisis, through to its denouement.

But these are bankers he is talking to. They already 'know' all this. Precisely for that reason, Volcker lays it out for them in simple words, and then lays it in to them with a series of powerful, accurate blows: Incompetents – BIFF! Liars – POW! Greedy and irresponsible – WHAM! And the coup de grace, conceited fools – CRACK!!

Then the switch from his audience's generalized stupidity to his own intense personal pain: his grandson decides to squander his promise and potential on the alchemy of financial engineering. Volcker is well aware that his smart grandson can and probably will (in the pre-crash world) earn millions in his chosen career, but that does not prevent him from defining this decision – entirely correctly from a moral and a religious perspective – as 'wasting his life'.

Most of us, even if we felt that way, would not allow it to come between us and our beloved grandchild. Volcker did – and does not shrink from telling his (now-adult) grandson that his moral compass is on a par with that of a Nazi war criminal.

That kind of thinking is what I call moral clarity and that kind of talk, in public, is what I call moral leadership. So when I ask readers to point me to written or spoken words from Orthodox Jewish leaders relating to the entire gamut of moral issues thrown up by the boom, mania, crash and bust – from systemic risk to one young man's dilemmas in life – that's the kind of thing I'm looking for.

Do you know a rabbi, of any stripe, from any stream, who stood up before, during or at least after the crash and told his congregation of real-estate/ stock-market speculators that they were scoundrels and probably criminals to boot? Do you know of a rosh yeshiva who told a talmid looking to leave the yeshiva and get a job, not to 'waste his life' in a highly-regarded and very high-paying profession? Or an Admor who told a hassid that adopting the business practices of his bosses or colleagues was morally repugnant? If you do, you have the privilege of being exposed to moral leadership. I'm looking for it, so far unsuccessfully -- and if I can’t find it among rabbis, rashei yeshiva and Admorim, I'll take it where it's available.

Yet there is a concept that "by two witnesses' testimony shall the matter be established". Let me therefore quote another prominent figure in the financial sector, this time someone in the very heart of one of its most morally problematic areas, namely mutual fund management.

John Bogle is the founder of Vanguard, a company that pioneered low-cost fund management. This is hardly the place to examine the pros and cons of Bogle's approach, but it's not irrelevant to note that his concept is based on the premise that investors in regular mutual funds are consistently and systematically ripped-off by their fund managers' panoply of fees. Here he is in an op-ed in the Wall Street Journal in April 2009:

I recently received a letter from a Vanguard shareholder who described the global financial crisis as "a crisis of ethic proportions." Substituting "ethic" for "epic" is a fine turn of phrase, and it accurately places a heavy responsibility for the meltdown on a broad deterioration in traditional ethical standards.

Commerce, business and finance have hardly been exempt from this trend. Relying on Adam Smith's "invisible hand," through which our self-interest advances the interests of society, we have depended on the marketplace and competition to create prosperity and well-being.

But self-interest got out of hand. It created a bottom-line society in which success is measured in monetary terms. Dollars became the coin of the new realm. Unchecked market forces overwhelmed traditional standards of professional conduct, developed over centuries.

The result is a shift from moral absolutism to moral relativism. We've moved from a society in which "there are some things that one simply does not do" to one in which "if everyone else is doing it, I can too." Business ethics and professional standards were lost in the shuffle.

The driving force of any profession includes not only the special knowledge, skills and standards that it demands, but the duty to serve responsibly, selflessly and wisely, and to establish an inherently ethical relationship between professionals and society. The old notion of trusting and being trusted -- which once was not only the accepted standard of business but the key to success -- came to be seen as a quaint relic of an era long gone.

It's worth citing Bogle just to put that wonderful phrase – alas, of anonymous authorship – 'a crisis of ethic proportions', before a wider audience. But here, too, a few paragraphs suffice for a man with a functioning moral compass to pinpoint the moral rot that led to the systemic disaster that is still unfolding.

3.

And no one dared
Disturb the sound of silence
 

The foregoing examples not only illustrate what moral leadership is, they also provide at least a partial answer as to why it is so rare and why, in particular, virtually no prominent Orthodox leader has given voice to the moral outrage so palpable across America since the crash, and so prevalent within the Jewish community as well – but seething beneath the surface.

Moral leadership demands a larger measure of courage than most people have. This is especially the case when your job is on the line – as it most assuredly would be for most community rabbis, if they dared take a stand that directly challenged the moral mores of their immediate community and the wider stream or branch of Judaism that they and it belonged to. And if losing their livelihood was not enough for most pulpit rabbis, school principals and even rashei yeshiva, there are also the 'knock-on' effects of their audacity on their family, from their wives – who are usually also deeply engaged in community activities, to their children, whose education and, at least in some circles, marriage prospects would be at stake.

In that sense, Paul Volcker was free to speak his mind, because he held no post and his personal and family situation is not at risk. John Bogle, of course, is independently wealthy as a result of Vanguard's success and hence similarly worry-free.

But the 'excuse' of personal/ family vulnerability does not stand up to close examination. What would the average rabbi of an Orthodox community do, if his congregants became regular visitors to gambling joints? Strip clubs? Gay bars? If board members owned such outfits? If the president was a convicted pedophile?

In fact, there is no need to use such lurid examples. Owning shops selling pork, or any business operating on Shabbat, would be quite sufficient. In any of these cases, most rabbis would be forced to take a stand, even if they were weak and sought to avoid confrontations, and whether or not their job was on the line. Nor would most school principals or rashei yeshiva hesitate to act if people engaged in these problematic activities held positions on their boards.

There's the rub. Both public Sabbath transgression and overt trafficking in pork, despite their very different halakhic implications, are clear and obvious casus belli for Orthodox religious functionaries. In such cases, accusing a rabbi of exceeding what is expected of him would strike even irreligious or non-Jewish observers, as ludicrous. Yet taking a stand against persons found guilty of a broad range of 'white-collar crimes' is not considered an obvious casus belli, even for Orthodox Jews who define themselves as observant and/or 'Torah True'. Indeed, it may well be closer to hara kiri on the part of a rabbi who tries it.

This distinction has no basis in Jewish law, let alone in the corpus of rabbinic ethical literature. But it reflects the behavioral norms of many Orthodox Jews and the mores of many Orthodox communities.

Nor is the fear, or practical impossibility, of clashing with communal lay leaders – who are usually the religious leader's employer, whether directly or indirectly – the only factor behind the phenomenon of silence. Often, the claim will be made that speaking or writing in public about these issues will cause, or spur, anti-Semitism. Today, with anti-Jewish feeling and activity on the rise almost everywhere, that is certainly not a concern that can be lightly dismissed. But it can, nonetheless, be dismissed in most cases.

Two counter-arguments immediately suggest themselves. One is that most anti-Semitism is irrational and will always find itself a 'cause', or excuse, whether we provide it or not. The other is that it is not the principled stand against moral turpitude that will cause anti-Semitism, but the failure to denounce moral breakdown and thereby facilitate its continued spread. The prominence of Jews in the hated financial elite is, in today's charged atmosphere, causing far more anti-Semitism than would the explicit denunciation of the ills of the financial system by Jewish religious personalities.

But, of course, the real reason why the anti-Semitism argument is so weak is because we cannot agree, in principle and a fortiori, to conduct our communal life on the basis of what the reaction of anti-Semites might be. The content and tone of the intra-communal debate may take account of it, but it surely cannot set the agenda.

The silence of many religious leaders in the face of moral challenges stemming from the areas of business and finance reflects conflicts of interest on their part. In many cases, rabbis have an interest in the financial wellbeing of individuals who are prominent supporters of institutions that operate under their aegis. They are therefore compromised in their ability to address problematic aspects of the business areas in which those persons are engaged – let alone the specific business practices of those persons.

Many rabbis actually seem to believe that the means can and do justify the ends, so that the worthy goal of an educational institution or a charitable endeavor may require ignoring the source of the funds that realized that goal – both the person and the business activity in which he garnered his wealth. From there it is but a short step to the implicit recognition of using wealth obtained illegally or immorally to 'buy salvation'.

Finally, as a spate of cases has shown, leadership can be complicit not by merely ignoring the issues, but by direct involvement. Obviously, in such cases there is no point in discussing moral leadership – nor do moral issues resonate with the followers.

4.

Silence like a cancer grows
 

Was it ever thus? Was there always a huge gulf between the moral heroes and the lofty ethical principles depicted in the sacred literature, and the grubby reality of life as people – rabbis and laymen alike – lived it?

No doubt to some extent it was. But there is evidence that Orthodox Jewish society did not always feature a warped value system in which business ethics and money morality is relegated to second-class status, at best.

One of the few people who has devoted himself to writing and speaking about Jewish business ethics is Dr Meir Tamari. His work and research has generated several books, as well as numerous articles published in general and Orthodox newspapers and magazines.

Tamari is convinced that the phenomenon of religious bifurcation, in which ritualistic and theological/ mystical elements of Judaism have risen to prominence whilst inter-personal and, in particular, pecuniary moral and ethical practices have withered, is neither very recent – meaning post-Holocaust, nor very ancient – meaning pre-modern.

He suggests that it was the demise of the kehilla as the lynchpin of Jewish society that started the rot. This development can be traced back to the impact of the Khmelnitsky massacres in the mid-17^th century, and the subsequent descent of most of East European Jewry into chronic and deep poverty. The political dismemberment of Poland in the late 18^th century and the Napoleonic wars were the coup de grace for the old structure, leaving a society in which a very narrow stratum had wealth whilst the mass of people had nothing – except babies, in the huge population explosion of the 19^th century.

With no fiscal autonomy – because the kehilla's taxation powers were gone – the religious leadership became entirely dependent on the few rich people available for their own financial survival and that of their families and their institutions, whether these last were yeshivot or the courts of the hassidic leaders. That structure was inherently corrupt and served as a further spur to the process already underway, as Enlightenment ideas and values spread through Jewish population centers, of a growing estrangement and eventual mass flight of Jewish youth from their ancestral religion.

This undemocratic and unhealthy social structure has survived into the 21^st century, and indeed thrived, despite the fact that today's Jewish society is completely different from that of pre-Holocaust Europe, with affluence having replaced poverty, especially in the Western Diaspora. Much academic work needs to be done to understand and explain how the structure has proved so robust, but for the purposes of this article, the existence of this social structure and its salient characteristics, including its warped moral value system, must be accepted as fact.

The proof Tamari cites for his hypothesis is telling, because it comes from direct documentary evidence of social, religious and economic conditions and values among Orthodox Jews over the centuries – namely the responsa literature. He notes a sharp decline in the percentage of responsa dealing with 'money matters' – as opposed to ritual (food, Shabbat etc.) and personal status issues --  in the modern period compared to the earlier period of Jewish history in pre-Khmelnitsky Poland and, earlier still, in Spain and Franco-Germany. This is certainly something for scholars to subject to further scrutiny.

In the more recent period – the last century or so -- Tamari notes another change creeping into the responsa literature, a change that resonates to the sounds of silence. A typical pre-modern responsum relating to a monetary dispute would provide a thorough analysis of the legal aspects of the matter under discussion and conclude by presenting a legal ruling. Often, however, it would not stop there, but would append a short addendum that discussed the moral aspects of the dispute and suggest a possible extra-legal resolution which would probably require one or both parties to rise above the letter of the law and take an ethical, rather than a purely legal view of the situation. Tamari finds that this latter approach has fallen into desuetude and is rarely found in the recent and contemporary responsa literature.

This chimes well with what we see and hear all around us: rabbis and other religious functionaries have increasingly become religious technocrats, honed in their specialties and well-versed in the professional literature pertaining to these specialties – e.g. Shabbat or medical halakhot – but increasingly distant from the empathetic approach that might enable them and their questioners/ litigants to rise above the legal sphere of din to the moral sphere of 'lifnim mishurat hadin'.

In fact, the contemporary questioner may not even want that kind of answer. That is what Haym Soloveitchik highlighted in his article, Rupture & Reconstruction, especially in the final sentence: "[Contemporary Orthodox Jews], having lost the touch of His presence …now seek solace in the pressure of His yoke". In those areas of their lives where Orthodox Jews seek rabbinic guidance, they want din, not lifnim mishurat hadin. And in the wider context, people get the leadership and the leadership style that they want and deserve – in religion as in politics.

5

And the people bowed and prayed
To the neon god they made
 

This is what John Bogle clearly understands and expressed so well in the article quoted above. The moral rot that found such dramatic expression in the financial crash of 2007-09 is rooted in the collapse of those basic human values – trust, reliability, mutual confidence – without which commercial and financial activity cannot take place. It requires no great intellectual leap to see that the same values are needed in the domestic sphere, to make marriage and family life work. The moral collapse is taking place across the board, even if the dynamics of breakdown differ between areas of human activity.

It is also essential not to fall into the trap of thinking that this is a recent process, dating back only a few years. Over twenty years ago, an investment banker of a bygone age whose name still has positive connotations for veteran New Yorkers (imagine – an investment banker who did good and was held in high esteem!), wrote a similar article making a similar point. That was Felix Rohatyn and he, too, was bemoaning the rise of a new and corrupt culture on Wall Street – a culture in which the moral concept of "it isn’t done" was replaced by the legal approach that if it isn't against the law, it's OK. Once the lawyers were in control, the next stage of the collapse of ethical behavior was the rise of the compliance culture, which effectively said that no-one can be trusted not to break the rules, so we'll watch everyone all the time.

But the moral decline of Wall Street in the 1980s that Rohatyn mourned, that Tom Wolfe lampooned in Bonfire of the Vanities and that Oliver Stone pilloried in his 1987 movie Wall Street, seems minor and almost childish compared to what we have witnessed this last decade.

Yet in the 1980s there were still relatively few Orthodox Jews in the big Wall Street banks and investment houses. By the time the naughties -- as the outgoing decade is sometimes called – rolled round, there were many, the product of hard work and excellent grades achieved in the top business schools. By this time, the obstacles to Orthodox Jews working in these lucrative and highly-regarded jobs had largely been solved – even the need to sometimes miss two consecutive working days, because of the incidence of Jewish festivals. Orthodox employees in leading firms in the world's two main financial centers of New York and London conducted minha services daily in corporate boardrooms and often managed to cram a daf yomi session, or other limmud Torah, into their long and hectic working days at the office. Their gentile colleagues thought nothing of the need to accommodate aspects of the Orthodox lifestyle. Multi-culturalism was the norm in downtown Manhattan as in London's Canary Wharf, so that trading rooms wherein bearded and skull-capped Moslems, Jews and Sikhs (turbans for them!) worked side by side became an unremarkable sight.

In between the praying, the learning, the kosher sushi and all the rest, the new generation of Orthodox youngsters participated, willingly and even enthusiastically, in the creation, design and sale to unsuspecting suckers across the country and around the world of those 'financial weapons of mass destruction' – in Warren Buffett's telling phrase -- that have inflicted massive damage on the American public and, ironically but fittingly, brought the entire Wall Street culture crashing down around them.

Most of these young people, despite (or is it because of?) their background in the world's leading yeshivot, seminaries and other institutes of advanced Jewish study,   never saw the inconsistency in this behavior. They made sure to raise the point in their job interviews with potential employers of their need to leave early on winter Fridays. Did any mention to their interviewer before taking the job, or to their superiors or peer reviewers in periodic meetings while on the job, that they felt uncomfortable – nay, sickened – by the foul-mouthed patter that was standard style on trading floors, or by the crude sexist banter and 'jokes' that were the norm in most departments of most firms?

Did any of them discuss, among themselves or with their rabbis, rebbes, mekubalim and other religious mentors, the moral chasm between the readings in the Torah and Prophets they heard read in synagogue on Shabbat morning, or the sentiments contained in their kids' divrei torah at the Shabbat table, and what they heard and did when they went back to work on Monday morning (if not on Sunday)? Were they confused? Did they feel disoriented? Or were they able to live totally compartmentalized lives?

It seems that many did and continue to do just that – as a survival mechanism for religious people in a secular and hence culturally hostile world. The multi-cultural ethos of 'live and let live' allows them to fulfill their religious obligations – washing before and reciting grace after meals, praying minha and even learning or reciting Psalms at work or while commuting – and still work in any sector, at any level.

But these achievements in the area of professional and workplace integration have exacted an enormous, terrible moral price. People integrated into companies, industries and professions where moral values have eroded or diluted have, inevitably even if unconsciously, become corrupted. Many of them are today either amoral or immoral, although they delude themselves into believing that their religion, as they understand and practice it, makes them morally superior and provides them with a large measure of immunity to the immoral wider culture in which they move.

Thus it is that there are many Orthodox Jews – from 'modern' to 'hareidi' – whose minds and hearts are already lost to Judaism. They lean emotionally toward Gordon Gekko, the villain of Wall Street, whose motto is simple and direct: "greed is good" – because it gets you what you want. Worse still, they lean intellectually toward Ayn Rand and her hero John Galt in Atlas Shrugged. Most of them, of course, have never heard of Rand, let alone read the ideas she put into John Galt's mouth. Yet the views of many of the younger generation of Orthodox Jews, especially but not only in the US, are aligned with her extreme capitalist ideology, despite its being profoundly anti-Jewish and, in the deepest sense, idolatrous.

6.

And the vision that was planted in my brain
Still remains
Within the sound of silence
 

The unfolding crisis has exposed the false gods once again as being unable to deliver the goods. Nothing new there – the young Abram tried to explain that to his father Terah in Ur of the Chaldees and it seems that Terah eventually got the point. Ayn Rand's most prominent devotee, Alan Greenspan – the man who followed Volcker as Fed chairman-- at least had the intellectual and moral courage to publicly admit that ideas he had held and nurtured for decades had been destroyed by the financial crash.

If Greenspan can see the light, there must surely be hope for all those others whose minds have been less severely poisoned. Unfortunately, the crash is likely to prove only the first stage of a prolonged crisis which will impose deep and painful changes on the economy and society of America and the entire Western world. But this trauma provides the opportunity for Orthodox Judaism to admit that it took the wrong turn some way back and needs to get onto a road that leads somewhere worth going.

How do we find our way back to where we went wrong, and how do we then go right?

Finding our way back is the definition of  teshuva, repentance. We know that the essential first step of teshuva is to accept and then admit that what we thought and/ or did was wrong. That means ending the fraudulent pretence that current Orthodox theology and lifestyle are good enough, let alone ideal.

From there, it's got to be back to basics – and basics in Judaism means education. But education can no longer mean what it is still widely taken to mean – the maintenance of traditional religious values and practices. As Haym Soloveitchik explained 15 years ago, the assumption that basic values will be effortlessly absorbed by Jewish children growing up in a Jewish culture is not true or workable in today's world.

Basic values that used to be commonly accepted and upheld by all Western societies, can no longer be taken for granted. They are going to have to be taught, imparted, inculcated – consciously and carefully. The values governing that huge part of people's lives encompassing work, income, wealth, spending and investment must be resuscitated and these activities rescued from the clutches of 'professional experts' -- and then re-integrated into an overall moral framework, along with family, health and well-being and all the other central components of our lives.

Jews have always prized learning and scholastic achievement, but they have also always had high regard for wealth and business acumen. Yissachar and Zevulun are both legitimate role models in the Jewish tradition, especially when they work in partnership. But there was always something else, more fundamental than either intellectual or material success. This something was so taken for granted that it actually went without saying -- until it now seems that it has gone completely, without even saying goodbye.

That intangible something is morality – an amorphous catch-all encompassing values such as honesty, integrity, responsibility. In the Ashkenazi-Jewish world it was termed 'mentchlichkeit' and among all Jews it was demanded of everyone, rich or poor, learned or ignorant. Before anything else and above all else, you had to be a mentsch.

One of the many aphorisms attributed to the Kotsker Rebbe relates to the way Megillat Esther introduces Mordechai as 'ish yehudi', 'a Jewish man'. The word ish seems superfluous – but that is not the case at all, said the Rebbe. First you have to be a mentsch, only then can you be a Jew.

That's what we have lost somewhere along the way and that's what we have to get back to.