Judaism book extracts

The Chief Rabbi’s critical ideas

Thu, 09 May 2013 12:11:51 +0100

The special contribution made by the thought of Chief Rabbi Sacks is that it not only continues the venerable Jewish philosophical tradition of maintaining traditional faith in the face of external intellectual challenges, but also moves beyond this tradition by showing how core Jewish teachings can address the dilemmas of the secular world itself.

What makes Lord Sacks’s approach so effective is that he is able to do this without any expectation of the wider world taking on Judaism’s theological beliefs.

Jonathan Sacks has written works, such as Crisis and Covenant, that address the modern equivalent of the theoretical theological questions that concerned his medieval forbears. He has written on the classical texts of the Jewish tradition in the Covenant and Conversation series and his Haggadah. He has written works that address how Judaism is to deal with its own difficulties in the modern world, such as One People? and Radical Then, Radical Now.

But perhaps the most important theme of his work for the world at large, the one that best embodies the message of torah vechochmah, is that the imperative today is to elucidate what faith means to those within the fold without losing hold of how that internal understanding of faith can affect those outside it.

However, this is expressly not to be carried out through a reduction of faith to a form of meaningless universalism. It is to be done in a manner that is proudly particularistic, and yet able to engage the world around it and contribute to its rebuilding in an age when many would have us believe that religious faith is the cause of its destruction.

A critique that has been directed at modern Jewish thinkers such as Buber and Emmanuel Levinas (1906–95), rightly or wrongly, is that their thought cannot be applied beyond the sphere of the individual to that of society. That is not a critique that can be levelled at Jonathan Sacks.

From The Politics of Hope through To Heal a Fractured World and Future Tense, through his articles in broadsheet newspapers across the English-speaking world and his television and radio broadcasts, the interest in civil and political society as a specifically religious concern is central to his work, but in a manner that is utterly opposed to the sort of theocracy or fanaticism that currently besmirches religion in the eyes of the world.

Lord Sacks is fond of saying that religion is an essential part of the human conversation. His thought therefore suggests to us that in a world in which, paradoxically, the more difference has become accepted, the more difference becomes a cause of strife, the role that religion can play, in each of its legitimate guises, is a matter for immediate and urgent engagement.

And it is the attempt to engage that paradox and find a way to neutralize it on which the Chief Rabbi has spoken, to members of all religions and to those with none. It is this combination of the inward-looking and the outward-looking that Jonathan Sacks brings to the forefront of his thought and our minds.

In writing of the need for Jews to recover faith, he notes that he searches not for “simple faith, not naïve optimism, but faith that [we] are not alone in the world” . It is a challenge to faiths to understand themselves on their own terms with an eye on how those terms can nonetheless form part of a global tapestry. It is an understanding of one’s own faith on one’s own terms, without any recourse to simple reductionism, in a manner that maintains its uniqueness without leaving it isolated, that Lord Sacks endeavours to formulate.

His work challenges religious thinkers to chart a new direction for religious thought that works towards a form of universalism in which they can simultaneously remain proud of their particularity. In the spirit of
this world-view, this volume is devoted to the overarching framework within which the Chief Rabbi grapples with the interaction of the universal and the particular – a framework that he calls torah vechochmah.

Torah, for Jonathan Sacks, represents the particularistic, inherited teachings of Judaism, while chochmah (wisdom) refers to the universal realm of the sciences and humanities. Framed in religious terms,
“Chochmah is where we encounter God through creation; Torah is how we hear God through revelation.”

MICHAEL J. HARRIS and DANIEL RYNHOLD
----------------------------------------------------------

A New Musar?

In tribute to the intellectual contributions of Jonathan Sacks, this festschrift has brought together essays on ethics, justice, religion, and leadership by some of the leading experts in these fields, with complementary essays on similar themes by prominent Jewish studies scholars whose work the Chief Rabbi admires.

Each section of the book reflects the value of bringing Jewish teachings and secular wisdom into dialogue with one another. Before concluding, we would like to explore briefly a specific new direction for further creative intellectual work inspired by Rabbi Sacks’s teaching.

Over the years, Rabbi Sacks has sometimes mentioned specific areas of secular wisdom which could fruitfully be studied together with Torah to generate new insights into both domains. One intriguing suggestion is that contemporary approaches to psychology, particularly cognitive behaviour therapy and positive psychology, could be combined with Torah to create a “new musar movement”.

In Future Tense, Rabbi Sacks notes that these approaches to psychology are more in keeping with the spirit of Judaism than Freudian psychoanalysis, which is based on the Greek myth of Oedipus, and presents an essentially tragic conception of human existence. The leitmotif of Judaism, by contrast, according to Rabbi Sacks, is hope; indeed, the Jewish task in the contemporary world is “to be the voice of hope in an age of fear; the countervoice in the conversation of mankind”.

Hope, however, must be distinguished from naïve optimism:

“One of the most important distinctions I have learned in the course of reflection on Jewish history is the difference between optimism and hope. Optimism is the belief that things will get better. Hope is the faith that, together, we can make things better. Optimism is a passive virtue, hope an active one. It takes no courage to be an optimist, but it takes a great deal of courage to have hope. Knowing what we do of our past, no Jew can be an optimist. But Jews have never – despite a history of sometimes awesome suffering – given up hope.”

What might a “new musar movement” or a contemporary “Jewish” psychology, rooted in hope, look like? After a brief introduction to traditional musar, cognitive behaviour therapy, and positive psychology, we will suggest ways in which such a movement could draw on Jewish thought and practice together with these approaches to psychology.

Musar is a Hebrew word meaning “instruction”, “discipline”, or “conduct”. The movement, which originated among non-Chasidic Orthodox Jews in Lithuania in the 19th century, was noted for its focus on the individual’s development of virtues or good midot (personal qualities), and, in particular, for emphasising the relationship between human beings at least as much as that between the individual and God.

Many stories are told that highlight the ethical sensibilities of Rabbi Israel Salanter and the other ba’alei musar (musar teachers). For example, Rabbi Salanter was once observed using only the bare minimum amount
of water to wash his hands in the ritual fashion. When a surprised student asked whether it wasn’t religiously preferable to wash more thoroughly, he replied, “Not at the expense of the water carrier”, who would then have a heavier burden to carry.

This focus on responsibility for the material well-being of other people as a central religious value is one of the hallmarks of Rabbi Salanter’s teaching, and has been translated into a contemporary philosophical idiom by Emmanuel Levinas as “the other’s material needs are my spiritual needs”.

Although musar still forms part of the curriculum in some Orthodox yeshivahs, and is undergoing a modest revival amongst progressive Jews as well, there is no doubt that its heyday has long since passed. The “new musar” would not necessarily use any of the same techniques as the old, but it would address some of the same questions: how can we best help ourselves and each other to change negative behaviours and to develop the midot the Torah demands of us?

In addition, as the Chief Rabbi has pointed out, the contemporary era necessitates an increased emphasis on interpersonal skills, particularly “listening, respecting, praising, mediating and finding lateral solutions offering a way beyond the zero-sum game of conflict”, and the new musar would need to help people develop these interpersonal virtues.

Finally, in the spirit of Jonathan Sacks’s writings, the new musar would aspire to be of relevance to both Jews and non-Jews, regardless of their level of religious observance.

TAMRA WRIGHT

Excerpted with permission from Maggid Books, a division of Koren Publishers Jerusalem. www.korenpub.com

How Lord Sacks came to be chief

Mon, 21 Jan 2013 13:25:58 +0000

Addressing the Chief Rabbinate Conference committee in London on the last Sunday in February 1990 – some 15 months after commencing its search for a successor to Lord Jakobovits – United Synagogue president Sidney Frosh, who had headed the seven-man “sifting” (selection) committee, revealed that during the previous year, his team had had “correspondence from all over the country, offering advice and endorsing support for more than one rabbi”.

Suggested candidates had been located in Britain, Israel, the United States, Canada, Australia, and South Africa, ranging from communal rabbis and dayanim to heads of yeshivot and academics. It had soon become clear, however, that “if at all possible, the new Chief Rabbi should be an Englishman, or at least conversant with the Anglo-Jewish scene”.

“On Sunday, February 11,” Frosh told his colleagues, “the sifting committee met with Dayan Chanoch Ehrentreu and Dayan Isaac Berger, of the London Beth Din, in order to seek their perception of the essential qualities necessary for the position of Chief Rabbi and Av Beth Din and, at the same time, their view of the credentials and suitability of the two leading personalities, Rabbi Cyril Harris and Rabbi Jonathan Sacks.

“The dayanim indicated that both were acceptable to them, but that they had a stronger preference for Rabbi Sacks.”

A similar preference, said Frosh, had earlier been expressed by the executive committee of the United Synagogue Rabbinical Council.

“After the dayanim left our meeting, and after considerable discussion, it was unanimously agreed that a recommendation go forward to the Chief Rabbinate Conference that a call be issued to Rabbi Sacks.

“Two days later, a deputation comprising [US vice-president] Victor Lucas, [Professor] Leslie Wagner and myself, accompanied by [US chief executive] Jonathan Lew, called upon Rabbi Sacks and his wife. We indicated that we were prepared to recommend the call on the understanding that he would disengage himself as speedily as possible from his present posts.

“It was left to Rabbi Sacks to consider the matter and to advise me within a few days whether he would accept the call. He met with me after Shabbat of last week and said that he would be honoured to accept the call and the high responsibilities of leadership that went with it.

“It was his wish, however, that prior to his installation, he would spend a period of intensive study in Israel under the tutelage of gedolim [Torah sages], during which, along with such study, he would be able to familiarise himself with the work of the Chief Rabbinate and batei din in Israel; this would, he believed, enhance the authority of the office.

“He would also spend time with Chief Rabbi Lord Jakobovits and the dayanim of the London Beth Din to apprise himself of the general and particular problems currently facing the Anglo-Jewish community.”

Frosh later commented: “This has been no compromise appointment. He is the best man for the job – an intellectual, a communicator and a unifier. In my view, this is the most prestigious Chief Rabbinate in the diaspora. That is why the selection took so long. It was never going to be anyone’s sinecure.”

Agreeing that Sacks’s age had been an important factor (he was then 42), Frosh added: “We must have a young approach. Rabbi Sacks is a person who can relate to the wide spread of the community, particularly young people, helping them to become more committed to Judaism. He is one of the new breed of Jewish intellectuals, well qualified to deal with contemporary issues in both the Jewish and the wider context.”

“I feel honoured and privileged,” said Sacks of his nomination, “My family and I are very excited. My Chief Rabbinate will aim to heal some of the rifts that divide the community. It will encourage debate and will not shy away from communicating Jewish values to the wider community. “I am determined, as far as possible, to emphasise what unites Jews and to encourage an atmosphere of mutual respect. But there can be no compromise in matters of halachah. There are no short cuts.”

The appointment was formally ratified at a gathering of the Chief Rabbinate Conference on the first day of April 1990, when its 200 delegates voted unanimously to rubber-stamp the call.

Despite earlier reservations, Lord Jakobovits greeted the outcome “with particular delight”. Rabbi Sacks’s record of leadership and scholarship, he affirmed, “provides every promise of a richly blessed incumbency”.

The Prophet and the Pharaoh

Thu, 15 Nov 2012 16:08:00 +0000

Note: Modern-day Armana in Egypt was the site of an ancient city called after the Pharaoh Akhenation, who brought Egypt to the realisation of monotheism

Science works on the principle that any theory has to be repeatable under the same experimental conditions and that a theory which has this characteristic will predict related findings when these are tested.

Not only are the Dead Sea Scrolls full of obvious memories of the Amarna period, as one might expect, but there are entire sections of the Bible itself that reflect life at the time of Akhenaton and the geometry of his holy city. If what I claim is correct, it would be surprising if they did not.

The Book of Ezekiel gives numerous clues that he is not talking about the land of Israel or the Temple at Jerusalem, when he talks about the Holy City and a huge temple:
“The House of Israel and their kings must not again defile my
holy name by their apostasy and by the corpses of their kings
at their death. When they placed their threshold next to my
threshold and their doorposts next to My doorpost with only a
wall between me and them they were defiling my holy name.”
(Ezekiel 43:7–8)

The kind of practice described has nothing to with Israelite burial custom. It is clearly a warning to Israel in their new land not to follow the Egyptian pagan practice of building a mortuary temple and housing the dead king in close proximity to the gods of the temple. This was the custom in the burial of kings and officials in ancient Egypt when a mortuary temple was built in front of the person’s tomb to accommodate the funeral arrangements and mummification. None of the burials at Amarna included an associated traditional mortuary temple.

A careful examination of the geometry of the temple and city described in Ezekiel 40–48 demonstrates without any doubt that we are looking at the Great Temple of Akhetaton and the huge virgin city built for Pharaoh Akhenaton, as his holy city dedicated to Aton. I cite a few examples.

Any explanation that tries to place this description in the land of Israel and relate it to the Temple at Jerusalem is quite absurd. Claims that the description is purely imaginary also fall, because they fail to answer where the knowledge of the landscape and setting for the building described came from, or why the accounts match so closely the layout and scenery at Amarna.

According to Ezekiel 40:44: “There were chambers for singers in the inner forecourt’. There is no mention in the Bible of singers in the temples at Jerusalem, but depictions of singers can be seen in the side chamber of the Great Temple at Akhetaton.”

Various measurements are given in Ezekiel 45:1–7.The total area designated for the Lord is 12,500 x 10,000m (taking cubits as 50cm); the area designated for the Levites is 12,500 x 5,000m; and the area designated for the city is 12,500 x 2,500m. This gives a total area of approximately 12.5 x 17.5km.

Ezekiel 46 also confirms the prophet’s knowledge of Akhetaton, through the high priest of the Temple he is describing. In verse 12 we find: “The gate that faces east shall also be opened for the Prince whenever he offers a freewill offering – be it burnt offering or offering… of wellbeing.”

Detailed excavations at Amarna, under the supervision of Barry Kemp, and the work of N. de G. Davies, Geoffrey Martin and others, support both these points. They show that the area of the city of Akhetaton was defined by 15 boundary stelae and measured approximately 12.5 x 20km, very close to the city area recorded in the Book of Ezekiel. They also support the belief that the gate to the east would have been used by the high priest at Akhetaton.

Ezekiel 46:16 makes it clear that the high priest was a hereditary prince, which is inconsistent with the name of the high priests designated in the Bible. No high priest in the Bible is referred to as having previously been a prince. “Thus said the Lord God: If the Prince makes a gift to any of his sons, it shall become the latter’s inheritance, it shall pass on to his sons”. The high priest officiating at the Great Temple at Akhetaton was called Meryre, and he was a hereditary prince.

Also significant is the description in Ezekiel 47:
“He led me back to the entrance of the Temple, and I found that
water was issuing from below the platform of the Temple –
eastward, since the Temple faced east . . .
As the man went on eastward with a measuring line in his
hand, he measured off a thousand cubits and led me across the
water; the water was ankle deep. Then he measured off another
thousand and led me across the water; the water was knee deep.
He measured off a further thousand and led me across the
water; the water was up to the waist. When he measured yet
another thousand, it was a river I could not cross; for the stream
had swollen into a stream that could not be crossed except by
swimming. ‘Do you see, O mortal?’ he said to me: and led me
back to the bank of the stream. As I came back, I saw trees in
great profusion on both banks of the stream.”

Unequivocally, from this extended description, water in large quantities is flowing into the temple, which means the temple cannot be in Jerusalem near the Temple Mount. (Strangely enough Masonic rituals include tracing boards laid on the floor during ceremonies, which show a large temple, assumed to be that in Jerusalem, with water from a river running through it.)

The description is consistent with Ezekiel being led around to the outer gate of the Temple facing east and then made to walk eastward, as his guide starts to measure, using a typical Egyptian measuring device. They walk away from the Temple towards a very wide river. Taking a cubit as 50cm, the distance from the Temple to the edge of the river is 500m as specified by Ezekiel.

This is almost exactly the distance from the edge of the Great Temple at Amarna to ankle depth in the River Nile. A suggestion that the Nile may have altered its course over the years and the distances mentioned might not be applicable today is contradicted by geo-archaeological studies. Fieldwork funded by the Amarna Research Foundation, looking at the course of the river concluded: “the river was, in Akhenaten’s day, more or less where it is today”.

Go to Amarna and see for yourself. To this day the site of the Great Temple can be seen to have been 500m from the Nile and there are many trees on both sides of the river. The entire land is a flowering garden irrigated by a spring which has its source in the temple. The imagery is clear. There is no other source of water in candidate countries that would meet this description, except the Nile, and the temple has to be near that source.

A defining characteristic of the Nile is that, apart from a limited amount of rain, it is the only source of water for the whole of Egypt, and its annual flooding is essential for the irrigation of the land from the furthest south to the extreme north. In the New Jerusalem Scroll version of Ezekiel 47:8–12, we have one of the clearest confirmations that the river in question near the temple being described is the Nile. Water is said to emerge from under the threshold of the temple on the eastern side and descend from south of the altar to the outer court to irrigate the entire country!

“This water,” he told me, “runs out to the eastern region, and
flows into the Arabah; and when it comes into the sea, the sea
of foul waters, the waters will become wholesome. Every living
creature that swarms will be able to live wherever this stream
goes; the fish will be very abundant once these waters have
reached there . . . Fishermen will stand beside it all the way
from En-Gedi to En-Eglaim . . . All kinds of trees for food will
grow up upon both banks of the stream . . . because the water
for them flows from the Temple.”

The last verses here are of especial interest. The comparison above clearly shows that Ezekiel is talking about the temple at Akhetaton, but now he transplants the beneficial waters of the Nile that have flowed from the temple to the Arabah region of Canaan. The ‘foul sea’ must be the Dead Sea, and we are very near to Qumran with the mention of En-Gedi which is only a few kilometres away.

No one has yet put forward a reasonable explanation as to why the sectarians were led to Qumran by their Teacher of Righteousness. This passage in Ezekiel not only confirms a link from Akhetaton, it explains why the Essenes settled at Qumran to await the golden age associated with the true temple of God.
Strangely enough, one of the arch advocates of minimalist Bible reality, Niels Peter Lemche gets something right when he says Ezekiel’s description (Chapters 40–8) of what people assume is a future temple “in all probability really describes the original temple”.

Knowing the thread of Ezekiel’s connection to the Qumran-Essenes, as enunciated by Professor Wacholder, and their connection to Amarna, there can be little doubt that his descriptions reflect a transmitted memory of the Great Temple at Akhetaton.

So when was Ezekiel writing about what I claim is the temple of Akhetaton? Ezekiel tells us himself. At the very beginning of his work (1:1), he says that: ‘In the thirtieth year, on the fifth day of the fourth month, when I came to the community of exiles by the Chebar canal . . . it was the fifth year of the exile of King Jehoiachin’. This information puts the date at the fifth day of the month of Tamuz in the year 593 BC – seven years before the destruction of the First Temple in Jerusalem!

It is generally accepted that the Book of Ezekiel was edited later than this period, but then one has to ask the question: why is Ezekiel continually talking about oracles concerning Egypt (Chapters 29–30) and especially about a heavenly throne chariot? So concerned were the rabbis of the Tannaitic period and later, over the sensitivity of this material, that the Mishnah requires that it must only be expounded by a ‘sage that understands his own knowledge’ (Hagigah 2:1). M. Megillah 4.10 states categorically that Ezekiel’s writings on chariots should not be read at all!

One has to conclude, in the light of no other convincing explanations, that the original reason for these stringent stipulations was a knowledge that studying chariot, or “Merkabah” stories, as they are referred to in Kabbalah, inevitably led back to Egypt and possible pagan indoctrination – or true knowledge of the origins of monotheism.

After dealing with his vision of the destruction of a temple, Ezekiel turns to descriptions of its rebuilding and the plan on which it should be based. Any doubt that this description is that of a memory of the Great Temple at Akhetaton has to be dispelled by the numerous identifying details which cannot possibly relate to Jerusalem.

Day of Judgment

Thu, 30 Aug 2012 12:26:21 +0100

The potent sanctity of this day –
So awesome and fearful –
Let us relay.
On it Your kingship
Is universally hailed,
As is Your throne,
With our prayers
Assailed.
You judge,
You know,
You testify;
You record,
You let
Nothing slip by.
The good deeds
We ourselves forgot,
Loom large,
To create a happy lot.
Your chronicle is read,
In detail fine;
Man’s signature confirmed
On the final line.
The great shofar’s sound
Reverberates.
But it’s the thin, calm voice
That berates
Man as he stands,
Awaiting sentence
At Your hands.

An awesome moment –
Even the angels quake,
Fearful of their own mistake,
Some act of spiritual dereliction –
Some error in choral praise
Or diction.
Before You file
All men like sheep,
Following on behind;
With You, the shepherd,
Observing all -
Their deserved fate,
Assigned.

***

On Rosh Hashanah
Every deed is named.
On Yom Kippur,
Signed, sealed,
Proclaimed:
How many shall die
Or be born?
Whose premature death
Leaving many to mourn?
Who’ll die by water,
Who by war?
Who by fire,
Or the wild beast’s claw.
Who by famine,
Who by drought?
By natural disaster,
Who’ll be caught out?
Who by plague,
Who by strangulation?
Who by stoning
Or assassination?
(Who by a driver’s
Rash decision,
Causing a sudden,
Fatal collision?
Who by a drug
Overdosed,
Who by illness
Undiagnosed?
Who by the terrorist’s
Bomb or gun,
Slaying a parent,
Daughter or son?)
Who shall be calm,
And who stressed?
Who shall be harried,
And who shall have rest?
Who shall be poor –
In their own eyes –
Or brimming with confidence,
Up to the skies?
Whose wealth shall grow
Overnight?
Who shall suffer
Penury’s plight?
Which public figure
Shall fall from grace,
And which unknown shall become
A national face?

But penitence, prayer,
And being charitably aware,
Prompt God to withdraw,
The sentence raw.

***

Man’s origin
Is of the dust;
Full of envy
And of lust.
His destiny
Is to return,
To the abyss,
And the worm.
With stress
He earns
His livelihood –
The legacy
Of flesh and blood.
Man is like
A broken shard,
A withered grass –
From joy debarred -
A faded flower,
A passing shade;
A cloud disgorging –
Age-decayed.

Man blows
Hot and cold;
Through life
Staggering,
As if blindfold;
His dreams elusive,
When he’s old.

How the Torah Changed the World

Thu, 09 Feb 2012 17:24:16 +0000

THE RIGHTS OF STRANGERS

The influence of the ideal of the equality of all humans can be felt in the laws of the Torah found in the last four books, Exodus through Deuteronomy, even though the laws therein are intended for the people of Israel alone. They envision Israel living in its own land-the Land of Israel, formerly Canaan, that had been promised to Abraham, Isaac, and Jacob-and form the constitution of the new state of the Israelites.

Nevertheless, the Torah makes provision for non-Israelites who will be dwelling there, grants them many rights, and cautions the Israelites concerning their treatment. These people are known as gerim, "strangers," or literally "dwellers." It is a term that Abraham had used to describe himself in relation to those who lived in the land to which he had come. "I am a ger and a resident among you," he said and then asked for permission to buy land (Gen. 23:4). Although there is no explicit ruling in the Torah prohibiting the resident stranger from owning land, most scholars assume that this was the case.

The exilic prophet Ezekiel states that when the people of Israel return to the land and divide it among the tribes, "You shall allot it as a heritage for yourselves and for the strangers who reside among you, who have begotten children among you. You shall treat them as Israelite citizens; they shall receive allotments along with you among the tribes of Israel" (Ezek. 47:22). Certainly, this was an innovation; in the original division of the land among the tribes, there is no such provision for a "stranger," but this innovation is very much in the spirit of the Torah's revolutionary concept of human equality.

Similarly, there is no specific prohibition in the Torah against selling land to a non-Israelite; such prohibitions were enacted in Jewish law against idolaters at a later period, when Jewish independence was no more and Jews did not control the land. Within Jewish law, there were different opinions as to who was prohibited from owning land and, in general, who was referred to whenever the laws spoke of "idolaters." Although some sages took it as referring to all non-Jews, others restricted it literally to those who worshipped idols.

The most liberal position on this question was taken by a thirteenth-century rabbi from Provence, Menachem Hameiri, who held that any such prohibitions applied only to the seven Canaanite nations who no longer existed and certainly not to people who were "guided by religious norms," which included both Christians and Muslims. (footnote 1) Although there may be harsh statements against non-Jews found in the vast works of Jewish tradition, these reflect the agony and suffering of Jews under their oppressors at various times in Jewish history and as such are understandable. Such harsh words, however, "did not thereby become Jewish religious teachings and are not to be considered as an authoritative statement of Judaism." (2)

Rabbi Haim Hirschensohn, an early twentieth-century Orthodox Zionist thinker, taught that the Torah is democratic in viewing all citizens as equal before the law, including the Jew and the stranger-the non-Jew-in their midst. As paraphrased by the philosopher Eliezer Shweid, "In principle, Hirschensohn insists, the Torah advocates complete social, political and moral equality between Jews and Gentiles, in the sense that any demand based on human morality applies equally to all.… The differences in religious and ritual considerations do not in the slightest impinge on the full equality between Jew and Gentile in the eyes of the Torah." (3)

As Jacob Lauterbach puts it, "For we are mindful of the fundamental principles of our religion, that we all have one Father in heaven and that every human being is made in the image of the Father and that we sin against God if we harm any man." (4)

Common Ancestry in Rabbinic Judaism and Beyond

Rabbinic Judaism went far in developing and emphasizing this concept. A late midrash expresses the idea that all are equal in the sight of God: "I call heaven and earth to witness, that whether one be Gentile or Jew, man or woman, slave or handmaid, the Holy Spirit will rest upon them according to their deeds!" (5) As we have already pointed out, the Sages used the Torah's creation story to indicate that we all have one common ancestry. The early sage Hillel taught that we should be like Aaron, "loving all those created [by God] and bringing them closer to the Torah" (Pirkei Avot 1:12).

Hillel does not say "loving Israelites" but "loving all those created," which specifically includes non-Jews. Rabbi Akiba well understood the meaning of this and taught, "Beloved is the human being, for he was created in the image of God. The human being is exceedingly beloved in that it was made known to him that he was created in the image of God" (Pirkei Avot 3:18). Hillel's contemporary, Shammai, taught that one was to greet "every human being with a cheerful face" (Pirkei Avot 1:15).

In an interesting discussion between Akiba and Ben Azzai on the question of which verse of the Torah is the basic verse on which everything else depends, Akiba suggests, "Love your neighbour as yourself" (Lev. 19:18). Ben Azzai objects, contending that "this is the record of the begettings of humankind. At the time of God's creating humankind, in the likeness of God did He make it" (Gen. 5:1) was an even greater verse. (6) Although Ben Azzai does not explain himself, we may assume that he felt that "your neighbour" could be understood to mean your fellow Israelite alone, whereas Genesis 5:1 speaks of all humanity as being in God's likeness and would therefore apply the Torah's ethical principles and concern to them all.

The eighteenth-century mystic Pinhas Eliah Hurwitz reinterprets the verse from Leviticus that Akiba chose to apply to all human beings:

The essence of neighborly love consists in loving all mankind, all who walk on two legs, of whatever people and whatever tongue, by virtue of their identical humanity…. The meaning of the verse "You shall love your neighbor as yourself " is not confined to Jews only, but the sense is "your neighbor who is a human being as yourself"-people of all nations are included, any fellow humans. (7)

Perhaps that was the way that Akiba had understood it. Walt Whitman, the nineteenth-century poet of America and American ideals, expresses much the same idea in the opening verses of his Leaves of Grass:

I celebrate myself,
And what I assume you shall assume;
For every atom belonging to me, as good belongs to
you.…
In all people I see myself-none more, and not one a
barleycorn less,
And the good or bad I say of myself, I say of them.

At the conclusion of the Second World War, Henry Alonzo Myers of Cornell University wrote a book titled Are Men Equal? He viewed that war as the ultimate struggle between Jefferson's ideal of the equality of men and Hitler's ideal of the inequality of men. Myers acknowledges that this doctrine was much older than Jefferson, having been stated in theTorah thousands of years earlier: "From beginning to end the Bible teaches the fatherhood of God and the brotherhood of man. The story of the creation of Adam and Eve, the parents of all men, is the first lesson." (8)

Because of the importance of that struggle, Myers attempts to strengthen the grounds for the belief in human equality:

The lessons of history are clear enough. The doctrine of superiority has always been, even in its noblest forms, a means of dividing men, of setting one class or one people over others and against others. The proposition of equality, on the other hand, by its very nature implies the unity of men. Already a giant force in world politics, it will in time prevail over armed force-if men believe it to be true. (9)

It is ironic that the Torah's concept of human equality was so well expressed in German in the words of Friedrich von Schiller, which were later immortalized and sung so gloriously in the finale of Beethoven's Ninth Symphony: "Alle menchen weirden bruder"-"All humans shall be brothers." Had these words been taken to heart in twentieth-century Germany, the great tragedy of that time would have been averted.

1. Beit HaBechirah, Avodah Zarah 20.
2. Jacob Lauterbach, "The Attitude of the Jew toward the Non-Jew", Central Conference of American Rabbis Yearbook 31, 1921: p 185
3. Eliezer Schweid, Democracy and Halakhah (Lanham, MD: University Press of America, 2002), 66.
4. Lauterbach, "Attitude," 222.
5. Tanna d'vei Eliyahu 9.
6. Sifra, Kedoshim 4.
7. Sefer HaBerit, cited by Greenberg, Studies, 387. Notes 197
8. Henry Alonzo Myers, Are Men Equal? An Inquiry into the Meaning of American Democracy (Ithaca, NY: Cornell University Press, 1945), 35.
9. Ibid., 16.

Permission granted by Jewish Lights Publishing, Woodstock, VT .

Letters to the Next Generation 2

Wed, 28 Sep 2011 10:35:27 +0100

You can download the whole work here.

Introduction

Yom Kippur, the Jewish day of days, is a time when we do more than confess and seek atonement for our sins. It's the supreme day of Teshuvah, which means "returning, coming home." To come home we have to ask who we are and where we truly belong. It is a day when we reaffirm our identity.

There were times when this was high drama. Periodically, from Visigoth Spain in the seventh century to Spain and Portugal in the fifteenth, Jews were confronted with the choice: Convert or be expelled. Sometimes it was: Convert or die. Most did not convert but some did. They were known in Hebrew as anusim (people who acted under pressure), and in Spanish as converses or (as a term of abuse) marranos. Outwardly they behaved as if they were Christians or Muslims but secretly they kept their faith as Jews.

Once a year, at great risk, they would make their way to the synagogue as their way of saying, "A Jew I am and a Jew I will remain." This may explain the prayer before Kol Nidrei, giving permission to pray with "transgressors" (abaryanim). It may also be why Kol Nidrei became so deeply engraved in the Jewish heart, because of the tears of those who asked God to forgive them for vows they had taken through fear of death. On Yom Kippur even the most estranged Jew came home.

Today, thankfully, Jews are under no such threat. But being Jewish hasn't always been easy in the contemporary world, not just because of antisemitism and attacks on Israel but also because the whole thrust of our culture has little time for religious faith. So I have written this little book hoping it will help you answer some of the questions you may be asking as you reflect on how you will live in the year to come. I've written it in the form of letters to two Jewish students. They aren't actual people, but their questions are those I'm most often asked.

Writing it, I've held in mind the memory of four very special people: the late Susi and Fred Bradfield, whose lives were a sustained tutorial in Jewish commitment and generosity; the late Marc Weinberg, one of the leaders of his generation, who died in Israel last year at the age of 35; and my late mother Libby who died on the first night of Sukkot 5771, to whom I and my brothers owe so much. May their memories be a blessing.

May God be with you and the Jewish people in the coming year. May He forgive us our failings, heed our prayers and write us in the Book of Life.

Letter 1: A belated reply

DEAR RUTH, DEAR MICHAEL, you've been writing to me from time to time over the past year and somehow I was always too busy to reply. But now, as the holy days are approaching I feel guilty at not having taken the time. So, belatedly, I'm writing back.

I don't know if you know one another, but I know that you are both at university, both thinking about what lies ahead: for you, for Jews, for humanity. From your letters and many others

I receive, I know that you are both concerned about the hostility to Israel on campus. You fear a return of antisemitism. You wonder what the future holds for Israel and for Jews.

You have deep questions about religion in general and Judaism in particular. Does faith make sense? Aren't the new atheists right? Isn't religion based on ideas that have been disproved or at least overtaken by science? Can we really believe in a God who cares for us when He doesn't prevent a 9/11 or the Japanese earthquake? Can we believe in the Jewish God after the Holocaust?

As for Judaism: Yes, it may have given humanity world-changing ideas. But the world now has those ideas. Do we really need to stay different, distinctive, set apart? Isn't Judaism simply irrelevant to the twenty-first century?

Besides which, you tell me you are underwhelmed by what you experience of Jewish life. You find synagogue services boring. The rituals of Judaism leave you unmoved and perplexed. If Pesach is about freedom, Shabbat about rest, Yom Kippur about feeling sorry for the wrong we do, why so many laws? Why not just focus on the essentials?

You put it very well, Ruth. You said that Judaism sometimes seems to you like one of those large packages that arrives in the post. You open it and find that most of it is foam wrapping and the object inside is actually very small. Why does Judaism need to surround itself with so much protective packaging?

I will try to answer these questions as best I can, though time is short, yours and mine. But first I want to try to answer the question you haven't asked but which I feel is there, just below the surface. For what you are really asking is why be Jewish? Why stay Jewish? Why live a Jewish life? How does it help you be the person you want to be?

Why when the pressures are so great, of finding a job, keeping a job, handling all the demands on your time, spend that time on a faith you find difficult and a way of life you find uninspiring? Why bother? That is the first question. From it all else follows. Tomorrow I will try to write you an answer.

Letter 2: A historian's honour

DEAR RUTH, DEAR MICHAEL, I said yesterday that I would try to give you an answer to the question why stay Jewish. There are many answers, and to understand them is the work of a lifetime. But we have to start somewhere and probably the more unexpected the starting point, the better.

Like you I studied at university, so I knew vaguely about an eccentric Oxford don, a historian and a writer about English literature. He was a Fellow of All Souls, which meant that he was one of the brightest minds of his generation.

His name was A. L. Rowse and he was best known for his theory about the identity of the "dark lady" of Shakespeare's sonnets. He died in 1997, and shortly before that, in 1995, he published a book called Historians I Have Known. I was reading it one day and I came to the last page.

There – it was the penultimate sentence of the book – I came across a remark that left me open mouthed with amazement. Nothing had prepared me for it. A. L. Rowse was not Jewish and as far as I know he had no connection with Jews other than those he knew at university.

This is what he wrote. "If there is any honour in all the world that I should like, it would be to be an honorary Jewish citizen." What an extraordinary remark from a wise man nearing the end of his life, reflecting on all that life, especially history, had taught him.

The British know about honours. So I could understand an Oxford don who had written over a hundred books admitting that a medal, an award, a knighthood would not go amiss. But "to be an honorary Jewish citizen" and to count that not just as an honour, but the one above all he would like to have – that was an extraordinary thing to say.

Why did he say it? I never met him. I did not know anyone who had. And by the time I read the book he was no longer alive. So I can only speculate.

Was it that Jews more than any other people in history cared about learning, education and the life of the mind? That they had contributed, vastly out of proportion to their numbers, many of the greatest intellects of the modern world?

Was it that they were the first monotheists, the first to believe in a God who transcended the universe, creating it in forgiveness and love, making humanity in His image and endowing us with a dignity no other faith has ever equalled?

Was it that they had survived for so long – twice as long as Christianity, three times as long as Islam – and under some of the most adverse conditions ever experienced by a people? Was it, given that Rowse was a historian, the fact that Jews were the first historians, the first to see God in history, the first even to think in terms of history?

Was it, given that he was a writer on literature, the fact that the Hebrew Bible is the greatest work of literature ever written?Was it the vision of Moses, the poetry of psalms, the social conscience of Amos, the hope of Isaiah, the wisdom of Ecclesiastes, the passion of the Song of Songs? Or that Jews had given humanity its most basic moral concepts: freewill, responsibility, justice and the rule of law, chessed and the rule of compassion, tzedakah and the principle of equity?

Who knows? But I know this – that if they offered to make you a dame, Ruth, or a knight, Michael, you wouldn't refuse. You wouldn't consider it trivial or irrelevant. But if Rowse was right, it turns out that you have already been given an honour greater than these. Don't forget it or give it away.

Sarah Laughed – Modern Lessons from the Wisdom & Stories of Biblical Women

Fri, 24 Jun 2011 15:28:07 +0100

Vanessa Ochs
JPS (distributed in UK by Eurospan) £14.50

In an extract from her new book, "Sarah Laughed", Vanessa Ochs explores what women can learn today from the episode of the daughters of Zelophehad, who petitioned Moses to inherit their father's estate.

I once heard of someone proposing to write a "Happy Bible," a rosy book of happy endings. In the version I imagined, God would tell Adam and Eve not to eat from a particular tree in the Garden of Eden and they would say, "No problem, we're allergic." The generation of Noah wouldn't really be evil, just a little rambunctious, and all the people and all the animals would get on the ark, two by two, and go for a lovely boat ride on a gentle lake. While aboard, they would all resolve to be better behaved. When the rainbow appeared in the sky, they would disembark in an orderly fashion, go home, get into pajamas, and fall fast asleep.

One story in the Bible needs no transformation for anyone's "Happy Bible," and that is the story of the daughters of Zelophehad. We needn't squint, stand on our heads, or read between the lines to see it in a positive light. It is quite simply a happy story of women who succeed when they join together to protest an unjust social order and bring about dramatic change without much ado. The story would have been happy enough had God come onto the human landscape and proclaimed, "Listen up: There is a law on the books that's not fair to women. I'll fix that."

What makes the story even happier is that it's about women who have the analytical eye and sense of entitlement to say, "Something is wrong here, and we are entitled and empowered to fix it." It's about women who have the voice to speak their minds, women who strategise to create a more just society, for themselves and for their descendants.

And it is a story about women being heard, not only by the highest male authorities of their time, but also by God, who advocates on their behalf. Judith Baskin, in her book Midrashic Women, describes the daughters of Zelophehad well. According to Baskin, they are "canny and competent women who trusted that divine mercy would transcend the mutable norms of a human society in which women were subordinate human beings." They were "sisters, whose control of male knowledge allowed them to shape their own destinies. . . . [Their story] epitomize[s] an untainted instance of female empowerment . . ."

The daughters of Zelophehad are elegant role models for any group of women who join together in the name of justice and equality to take on rules that were established by men and that happen to favor men. The
daughters show us how women can work together to effectively be heard in settings that have traditionally privileged male styles of leadership and expression. The daughters show us that we can teach men to recognise and respect the different but highly effective ways that women working together can lead and make important changes. (They also remind us to pick our battles well.)

After their father died, no social mechanism existed for the five daughters of the Zelophehad family to receive his inheritance or to perpetuate his name. Until the daughters challenged the status quo, all inheritance passed only from father to son. At this point in Israelite history, many of the laws had yet to be fleshed out by practice: this was the wilderness generation, a people who had been enslaved in Egypt and who, until now, had no property of their own to pass on. It was only when they were on the verge of coming into the land of Canaan that issues concerning the laws of inheritance were put into practice and were-at least by women-found to be wanting.

Erudite in matters of the law, the sisters refused to accept a practice that was inherently unfair. A law that made women vulnerable was a law that ought to be changed. They had faith in their community's justice
system and their right to challenge and change it.

Moses, seeing that this issue was larger than anything he and his colleagues could handle, brought the case to the highest authority, God. God heard the women's argument and acknowledged that the law needed to be amended so that women without brothers could indeed count as legitimate heirs. Not surprisingly, men challenged God's radically new law that made women completely equal as inheritors. To quiet the men's complaints, the law was modified: daughters could inherit, but they were obliged to marry men within their tribe (their cousins, that is) lest their marrying out reduce the tribal holdings in the next generation. The daughters of Zelophehad accepted this constraint-at least they could freely choose the cousins they wished to marry-acknowledging that in a given generation, one can push the social order to stretch only so far.

The daughters offer seven strategies for women who organise together to speak out against injustices and make change. We need to remember their strategies and continue to use them, for despite the enormous changes in status women have achieved in the past decades, it remains a man's world. Men still tend to set policies, and men in power are still more apt to heed male voices. These strategies have worked for women who have joined together for such causes as women's voting rights, coeducation, women's health care, equity in employment policies, and maternity and family-care policies. Not surprisingly, we can rarely name individual women who achieved these major changes, for they were the result of women-often nameless-working together. They put the cause over personal gain.

The first strategy: present a unified public voice expressing solidarity and resolve. We don't hear the daughters of Zelophehad quibbling in public about who deserves a bigger portion of her father's inheritance.

Did these squabbles take place behind the scenes? Probably. One daughter loved her father more, one took care of him more, one was loved better than the others, one had a sick husband . . . But the daughters aired their personal differences in private. And then they shelved their disagreements, formulating a strategy and a goal they could all endorse.

The second strategy: divide the work equally but according to the particular gifts and passions of each person. Each of the daughters presented a different aspect of their case that she was best suited to articulate; each spoke confidently out of the reality of her own lived experience.

The third strategy: aim for good timing. The daughters acted expeditiously,forcefully, and at the opportune moment. They were alert to winds of change. As soon as they heard that the land was to be divided among the tribes, according to male members alone, the sisters knew they had a brief window of opportunity to address female inheritance.

They seized the moment. Had they waited, the land would have been divided and they would have had no recourse. In one ancient legend, we learn that the daughters were alert to the benefits of good timing by bringing their argument before Moses and the tribunal precisely at the time that the issue of inheritance was already being discussed. When an issue is on people's minds and is the subject of fresh public debate, there is greater openness to hearing related, urgent concerns. When the topic loses its novelty, when people have decided it has ceased to matter, it becomes harder to get it back on the agenda. (Advertisers of items that help people control their anxieties know this well. When kidnappings are in the news, people selling security systems and guard dogs have a rapt audience. When the news shifts to epidemics, sellers of surgical masks and home entertainment claim our attention.)

The fourth strategy: be fully aware of existing policies and the mechanisms by which change happens. Being on the side of the right and good is insufficient assurance you will succeed in making social change. Most institutions fear and resist change, if only because it's unfamiliar.The daughters, exceptionally wise, knew their Scripture. More than that, they knew how to interpret it so that it could be realistically applied
to daily life. They knew how to speak within the system to support their claim for female inheritance. There was no pulling wool over their eyes.

This has been the case of the Women of the Wall, a group I have belonged to, fighting in the Israeli Supreme Court against the state of Israel for 14 years now for the right to pray as men do at the Western Wall, a remnant of the ancient Temple in Jerusalem, which many consider Judaism's holiest site. It remains illegal for women to pray aloud, wear prayer shawls, and read from a Torah scroll. The Women of the Wall have not relied on male scholars of Scripture or male agents of change in order to formulate their case. It is their own learning and legal know-how that they rely on. Despite multiple setbacks, the case continues to be fought.

The fifth strategy: choose lines of argument calculated to appeal to those in power. Know your audience. The daughters didn't claim the right to inheritance in the name of justice. Had they done so, they would have been written off. Instead they said, "Why should the name of our father be done away from his family because he has no sons?" They gave those sitting in judgment a scenario they could relate to. They appealed to any man with only daughters, concerned to have his name perpetuated. They put their argument in language that the men found familiar. I know of a group of women who did this well when they organised to find a way to expel the young assistant principal of a church school-quite the misogynist-who was alienating more and more girls and their mothers each day. The women wanted him out.

They went before the priest who was the headmaster to present their complaint. He attempted to silence them, saying, "We should see this young man as a gift from God, sent to us to teach us a lesson." The women had a great response. They said they were prepared to act selflessly in "regifting" this young man to another school better able to appreciate him.

The sixth strategy: value the autonomy that having property bestows upon a woman. The women did not ask for honor or titles. They wanted financial stability, knowing that with such a base, they could be independent adults, freer of control than they would otherwise have been.

The final, seventh strategy: expect that you deserve the support and even sacrifices of your family when your belief in a cause is great. To achieve their rights (and the rights of all their children), the daughters had to spend time away from home in order to plan and present their case at the Tent of Meeting. Justifying time spent away from home and family remains hard for many women. Gloria Steinem offers a compelling explanation: "Unlike men, who are actually praised for leaving their families to fight for what they believe in-no matter how distant or arcane their cause-women are called selfish if we fail to sacrifice everything for our families or if we even speak up for ourselves." This doesn't mean that our families won't grumble about the loss of our attention, but it does mean that we can learn not to let their grumbling restrict our activism.

A Father Mourns His Murdered Son

Fri, 04 Mar 2011 13:58:17 +0000

Avraham David Moses was one of eight people gunned down in a terrorist attack on the Mercaz Harav Yeshivah in Jerusalem on March 6 2008. In an extract from his forthcoming book Mourning under Glass, his father Naftali Moses turns to the Zohar to try to come to terms with the loss of his 16-year-old son.

For book details, see www.tragic-death.com

-----------------------

"In the name of the Lord, the God of Israel:
On my right Michael, on my left Gabriel, before me Uriel, behind me Raphael. Above my head the Presence of God" - from the traditional prayer before retiring in the evening.

One of the many rabbis who visited me while I was sitting shivah asked me if I had a copy of the Zohar, the basic text of Jewish mysticism, in my library. I retrieved it for him. He opened the volume and marked a place. "Look here when you have a chance, yes, here," was all he said. Weeks later I remembered his visit and began to read the Aramaic text.

"R. Aba began his homily: It is written 'The Heavens are the Heavens of God, but the Earth He gave to Man' (Psalms 115). This is a verse worth inspecting. It should have read, 'The Heavens are God's, but the Earth He gave to Man.' Why repeat 'heavens?' Rather, we need to see that there is a heaven and there is a heaven. A lower heaven, beneath which lies an earth. An upper heaven, beneath which lies an earth. And all of the contents, upper and lower, all are similar, these just like these." "

The text goes on to explain in great detail how the Ten Divine Spheres are aligned-upper mirrored by lower, the lower receiving their powers from the emanations of the upper. It tells of letters that travel up and down along rivers of light that ascend and descend between the two heavens, the two Gardens of Eden. They shine and flicker in the light, moving back and forth, entering and exiting the two parallel worlds, one above and one below.

I slowly made my way through the Aramaic, wondering why this rabbi had sent me here. Then the text began to describe something else.

"When the soul of a righteous man rises up to the Garden of Eden, these two letters leave the light and descend upon that soul."

But these are not letters-rather they are chariots-one the glowing chariot of the angel Michael, the other that of Raphael.

"They approach the soul and say, 'Come in peace, come in peace, come in peace'"

Next, two more glowing chariots approach. They belong to the angels Gabriel and Denoriel.

"They take the soul and enter the secret hall of the Garden-called Divinity. There, twelve species of spices are hidden…and there are all the souls' garments, an appropriate one for every individual soul to wear, each tailor-made. And woven into these garments are the good deeds that each soul did in this world. Every one is part of the garment. They proclaim, "this is the garment of so-and-so" and they take that garment and dress that righteous soul in the Garden with his proper clothing, just as one would in this world. … Once dressed, the soul is directed to its proper place. Then the chariots depart.

"In this heaven are twenty-two letters-each dripping dew. With this dew the souls are bathed and are healed…. And they in turn pour this dew upon those who learn Torah in our world with no expectation of reward. …and the souls in turn are nourished with this dew."

Then the text describes how the souls ascend from this heaven to the next where they glow and bask in the divine light of the upper heaven.

"How wonderful the portion of those souls who are dressed in their garments, the garments worn by the righteous in the Garden of Eden. These garments made of the good deeds done by men in this world in accord with the commandments of the Torah. This is how the souls exist in the lower Garden, in these fine clothes.

"But when a soul ascends to the upper heavens, it is granted garments even finer than these. These are woven out of the individual's will and his heart's intent during study and prayer. For this will rises up, crowning He who it crowns, but some remains for that individual, out of which will be made the garment of light to dress his soul when it ascends above.

"Yes, even though these lower garments depend upon actions, these upper garments depend upon nothing but the soul's desire, all so that it [the soul] may stand among the angels, the holy spirits. This is the truth of the matter. So R. Shimon bar Yochai, the Holy Light, learned from Elijah: the lower garments of the earthly garden are made from deeds; the upper garments from will and the heart's intention."

It is still hard to picture my son-his blond hair shining in the light, his pale face alive with his smile-without feeling heart-rendering loss. But I know that his soul resides above - cloaked in the warm light of the garments which he made for himself beforehand. Too young to have "accomplished" much in our world, I know that he strove to worship God with pure intention. Now he basks in the glow of the Divine.

I imagine my son, a too-serious young man searching for religious perfection, who spent hour after hour pouring over holy texts, I imagine his last moments. He crouches between the stacks of holy books to which he had committed his every waking moment, hearing the shots ringing out, hearing the screams of those already dying, waiting for the murderer to make his way to his row, with no escape. I imagine my sixteen-year-old, who had still not shaven, who had never kissed a girl, who awoke before dawn each morning to pray, I imagine him preparing for his own death.

His heart's intentions-pure love for the Holy One, pure longing for the world-to-come. And as the bullets tear through his thin frame, as the blood leaves his body, above they are weaving his garments of light. As the sirens wail and we search in shock, the angels are busy gathering up the last threads of holy intent. Those still immersed in Torah study, who have not yet heard the news and shut their books in horror, are anointed with heavenly dew. And as they dance in Gaza with murderous delight, throwing candies to children at the news of eight more dead Jews, above the glowing garments are waiting. Waiting for my son, Avraham David Moses.

When Rabbis Wore Dog Collars

Mon, 10 Jan 2011 09:55:43 +0000

To Be Continued
Rabbi Dr Raymond Apple
MandelbaumPublishing, Australia, £16 (plus postage)

They sent me to a clerical outfitter in London's West End to get a ministerial cap and gown. Now I could look the part when I stood in front of a congregation, though some of my fellow students suspected that there was sha'atnez in the robes supplied by this particular shop.

There was a Sha'atnez Research Laboratory to which suspect garments cojld be sent (charge: ten and sixpence for making the checks), but in those circles caps and gowns were already highly suspect from an ideological point of view.

Being young and clean-shaven, I also ordered a clerical collar (we called them dog collars) in order to visit hospitals without having to prove my credentials every time. Many senior rabbis including the Chief used such collars; it was said that one or two wore them to bed, maybe because these collars were so hard to do up and undo.

A chazzan I knew burst his collar stud every Friday night when he reached a high note at the end of L'chah Dodi. One day when I was in a hurry to meet my fiancée at Piccadilly Circus I had no time to replace my dog collar with an ordinary one leaving a hospital I had been visiting, and Marian was not impressed.

To officiate outside the synagogue I took my cap and gown (aka canonicals) with me. Any other way I would be regimentally undressed. The kit came with me to Sydney, though there the weather required lightweight garb. I had the uncharitable view that some of the rabbis were lightweights, but they didn't wear caps and gowns anyway.

I never agreed with the view that canonicals were Chukkat Hagoy, aping the gentiles, After all, the Temple in Jerusalem had priestly canonicals, and histories of Jewish costume depict rabbinical garb of many centuries. If academics, professionals and the military can wear distinctive garb, then why not rabbis? Note the Sephardi Chief Rabbis of Israel have gorgeous robes, and Charedi rabbis have distinctive kapotes.

In Hampstead, the chazzan and I wore dog collars with our caps and gowns on Shabbat and festivals. We abandoned the dog collar on Friday nights but attendance was so poor that no one noticed. We gave up the collar for good from first day Pesach and found the shul full of mutterings, not of prayer, but amazement at ministerial effrontery. That summer was hot and the man who was painting our house complained that his neck was getting burnt. I said, "I have just the thing for you", and I never saw my dog collar again.

I wore canonicals in Sydney throughout my years there, though for state occasions outside the synagogue, I put on the ultimate Jewish uniform – a big tallit. I left my black canonicals in Australia. I still have my High Holyday white cap and gown but as a back-bencher I now use a kittel. When I glance at the portrait of myself in white canonicals that hangs at the Great Synagogue with a copy in our home in Jerusalem, I not only see the canonicals but the look on my face that says, "What do you want of my life?" For that portrait I did not wear black robes because the artist, Robert Hannaford, said they made me look like a magpie.

On Chanucah and Jewish Nationalism

Tue, 26 Oct 2010 10:10:13 +0100

Silver From the Land of Israel - A New Light on the Sabbath and Holydays from the writings of Rabbi Abraham Isaac HaKohen Kook

By Rabbi Chanan Morrison,
Urim Publications, $27.95

THE HIGHEST LOVE

Is there something idealistic and holy in loving the Jewish people? Or is this just another form of nationalism, an emotion far less noble than a universal love for all peoples?

***

The minimal obligation during Chanucah is to light one candle each night of the holiday. The academies of Hillel and Shammai, however, disagreed as to the optimal way to light:

The school of Shamai ruled that the most punctilious individuals (Mehadrin min Hamehadrin) light eight lights on the first day, and the number of lights decreases each day. But the school of Hillel ruled that they should light one light on the first day, and the number of lights increases with each passing da (Shabbat 21b).

What is the reasoning behind each opinion? The Talmud explains that Beit Shammai compared the Chanucah lights to the bull offerings on Succot, which decrease in number on each successive day of the holiday. Beit Hillel, on the hand, followed the dictum that "In holy matters, one should increase and not detract."

Is there a deeper philosophical basis for this disagreement? And what is the connection between Chanucah and the Succot offerings?

***

The conflict between the Maccabees and the Hellenists was not just a military struggle for political independence. The essence of the conflict was ideological, a clash between widely divergent cultures. Greek culture emphasised the joys of life, physical pleasures, and the uninhibited expression of human imagination in art and literature. As a result, the Hellenists fought against the Torah of Israel, with its focus on purity and sanctity.

One aspect of the mitzvah of lighting Chanucah lights is quite unusual. Unlike most mitzvot, the obligation to light is not on the individual but on the home ("ish uveito"). Only if one wishes to fulfill the mitzvah more fully does every member of the household light. Why is this?

The average Jew may not exemplify the ideals and beliefs of the Torah in his everyday life. But in his family life, one may sense the special light of Israel. Purity, modesty, and other holy traits are manifest in every Jewish home faithful to a Torah lifestyle. Therefore, the basic obligation of Chanucah lights – which represent Judaism's victory over the corrupting influences of Greek culture – is not on the individual, but the home: "ish uveito."

***

There are, however, righteous individuals whose personal life does in fact exemplify the sanctity of Torah. They are suitable to be Mehadrin, each one lighting his own Chanucah light, since the light of Torah accompanies them in all of their actions. It is about these holy individuals and the spiritual light they project that the Torah writes, "And all the peoples of the world will realise that God's Name is called upon you and they will be in awe of you" (Deuteronomy 28:10).

Finally, there is a third level, even higher – the Mehadrin min Hamehadrin. These are selfless individuals whose efforts are not for their own personal welfare, not even for their own spiritual elevation. Rather, they aspire to fulfill God's Will in the world. The miracle of Chanucah inspires these elevated individuals to pursue their lofty goal, and they light accordingly, increasing (or decreasing, according to Beit Shammai) the number of lights each day.

***

Yet we may ask: what is God's will? What is the ultimate goal of creation? This question is at the heart of the disagreement between the schools of Hillel and Shammai.

The Mehadrin min Hamehadrin may follow one of two paths. The first is to meditate on God's will by considering the multitudes of peoples and nations that God created. For what purpose did God create all of these souls stamped in His Divine image? Surely God intended that ultimately they will be elevated, raised from the depths of ignorance and brought to the level of the righteous who delight in God and His goodness.

According to this view, the mission of the Jewish people is to inspire all nations to strive for Divine enlightenment and a life of holiness. The ultimate purpose in keeping the Torah and its mitzvot is not to elevate the Jewish people, but for the more universal goal of benefiting all of humanity. The focus of one's life should not be love of one's people but love of God and His Torah, for the Torah encompasses the true goal of elevating all of humanity, and love of Israel is merely a means to this end.

***

The second approach agrees that any form of self-love is unsuitable to be one's highest goal, even if it is love of one's own people. Rather, we should love that which is good for its own sake. We should strive to advance that which is the highest and loftiest. Since the Jewish people are blessed with a special segulah, an intrinsic quality of holiness, they have the potential to attain the highest state, and they will remain the focus of all spiritual life even after the elevation of the other nations of the world.

Love of Israel is thus a true value of Torah, since the ultimate goal will always be the elevation of Israel. The purpose of creation is not measured in quantity but in quality, and the Jewish people will always retain a unique advantage due to their segulah quality.

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How do these two approaches relate to the disagreement between Beit Hillel and Beit Shammai?

The universalistic outlook sees Israel's mission as an agent of change, inspiring all peoples to form a harmonious society living a life of righteousness and sanctity. Over time, the plurality of diverse national characteristics will diminish as they absorb the ever-brighter light of truth. As the nations are drawn to the holiness of Torah, their unique ideologies and traits will become less distinct. This is the approach of Beit Shammai, who taught to progressively reduce the number of Chanucah lights until there remains but a single resplendent light.

This view sees the story of Chanucah as a milestone in a long historical process. The confrontation with Greek culture and the subsequent victory of Israel brought about a greater interaction and influence of Israel upon the nations. The struggle with Hellenism significantly increased the world's familiarity with the Torah's teachings. Thus it is fitting that the lights of Chanukah should reflect the historical process of the world's progressive elevation and unification.

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Beit Hillel certainly concurred with this universal mission of the Jewish people. But is Israel merely a tool to elevate the rest of the world? The true goal of the Torah is to establish the highest level of sanctified life possible – and that can only be attained through the intrinsic segulah quality of Israel.

While the Jewish people appear to suffer from spiritual decline over time, the inner holiness of Israel can only be properly measured if we take into account all the generations over time. Every generation that affirms Israel's special covenant with God, despite the pressures of persecution and exile, contributes to the overall segulah of this unique people.

The many nations of the world are certainly numerically superior. Yet Israel is not just a vehicle for their spiritual elevation. On the contrary, their elevation is a means that facilitates the emergence of a loftier sanctity of Israel. The nations will enable the unique segulah that will crown the world in the end of days – an entire people prepared to live life on the highest level of holiness. This is the ultimate goal of the world, as the Sages taught, "The idea of Israel preceded all of creation" (Bereshit Rabbah 1:4).

How does this outlook see the lights of Chanucah? Despite the importance of the Hasmonean victory and the resulting increase in Israel's influence on the world, the quantitative advance is still secondary in importance to the qualitative goal. Therefore on each night we add an additional Chanucah light, to symbolize the increased light of Israel. The focus is not on the gradual unification and elevation of the nations of the world, but on the increasing light emanating from Israel, as it intensifies in brightness and diversity, reaching out to each nation according to its special characteristics and needs.

We may now better understand the Talmud's explanation for the opinions of Beit Shammai and Beit Hillel. Beit Shammai, who stressed the universalistic aspect of Israel's influence on the world, compared the Chanucah lights to the bull offerings of Succot. What is special about these offerings? The Sages (Sukkah 55b) noted that the total number of bull offerings was seventy. These seventy offerings were brought for the spiritual benefit of the seventy nations of the world.

Beit Hillel, on the other hand, taught that "In holy matters, one should increase and not detract." The reason why love for the Jewish people is an authentic goal of the Torah is due to the special segulah of Israel. Its existence is a goal even higher than the elevation of all of humanity. Love of the Jewish people is rightfully considered a holy matter, as it fully appreciates the unique role of Israel in the universe.

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To question whether Jewish nationalism is a genuine Torah value reveals a superficial knowledge of Torah. The real question is whether the ultimate Divine goal is quantitative – the elevation of all of humanity through Israel and its Torah – or qualitative – the incomparable segulah quality of Israel. To use Rabbi Yehudah Halevi's metaphor of Israel as the "heart among the nations," the disagreement between Beit Hillel and Beit Shammai may be presented as follows: Is the heart subservient to the other organs of the body, as it provides them with life-giving blood? Or is the heart the central organ, protected and sustained by the rest of the body? Both of these positions are legitimate; "Both views are the words of the Living God" (Eruvin 13b).

This is the basis for a true understanding of nationalism in Israel. It transcends the usual form of nationalism as it is found among other nations. This unique national love is based on the ultimate Divine goal that can only be fulfilled through the Jewish people. While Jewish nationalism contains elements common to regular nationalism, it is of a completely different order.