Posts by Miriam Shaviv

End this personality cult

Miriam Shaviv — Thu, 02 May 2013 12:46:31 +0100

It has been a bad year so far for Orthodox rabbis. Across the channel, French chief rabbi Gilles Bernheim quit after admitting plagiarising texts and faking his academic credentials while, last weekend, similar charges were levelled by Maariv against the Israeli chief rabbi, Yonah Metzger.

Across the pond, a modern Orthodox religious judge, Michael Broyde, has just admitted using an alias, "Rabbi Hershel Goldwasser", to promote himself in print and online and access the email list of a rival rabbinic organisation. This fictional character was even thanked in Lord Sacks's Koren siddur - together with Rabbi Broyde - for his "invaluable suggestions and corrections" while "David Weissman", another alias that has been linked to him, sent out emails to the Times of Israel last year touting Broyde's candidacy for the British chief rabbinate.

What could explain such a string of rabbinic scandals? Defenders of some of these gentlemen, in particular of Rabbi Broyde, have rushed to assert that to err is only human. The implication is not only that we should forgive misdeeds (if they are proven) but that rabbis cannot be expected to behave any better than anyone else.

This is wrong and dangerous. Religious leaders must be people of unimpeachable personal and moral integrity who elevate Torah, not debase it. If they cannot practise what they preach, their scholarship and speaking skills are irrelevant.

Yet we also should not be surprised when some rabbis steeped in learning behave abominably. It is in inevitable in the peculiar rabbinic culture we have created.

Before the modern era, the authority of most rabbis was confined to their own little shtetl. Nowadays, a successful rabbi can command a significant following nationally and even internationally, by publishing, lecturing, blogging and making media appearances. Rabbis within the top tier has a voice both in Jewish and wider cultural debates.

They also exert considerable influence on the private lives of individuals. In the past few decades, Orthodox society has come to treat its "star" rabbis like Chasidic rebbes, creating a cult of personality around them.

It is no longer enough to go to rabbis for halachic advice. Now many people ask whom they should marry, where they should live and what mortgage they should take. in effect, rabbis are treated as holy life coaches.

It is inevitable, then, that among the great majority of sincere and honest rabbis, there are a few who see the opportunity for irresistible self-aggrandisement, or to take advantage of others, sexually and otherwise.

Not only may they be difficult to spot, they may be the exact type bound to succeed. Very often, the charisma that marks an individual out for leadership can mask more problematic personality traits, such as egocentricity and a desire to manipulate.

But success comes with its own risks. For the true rabbinic superstars, there must be enormous pressure to maintain a high profile, and some - such as, it seems, rabbis Bernheim and Broyde - may feel the need to cheat. Others are finally in a position to exploit their followers, and get caught.

Perhaps the main problem is the temptation for these rabbis to believe their own press. If you treat rabbis like megastars, some of them are going to believe that they are infallible and behave in inappropriate and unethical ways, convinced they are not subject to the same rules as the rest of us.

Misguided supporters who plead for their rabbis to be given a second chance only reinforce this delusion.

So while every individual is responsible for their own behaviour, blaming the recent spate of scandals on human nature is too easy. The global Orthodox community has put its rabbis on pedestals, and must share the blame when they topple.

Israel’s blaming of the ‘shrew’

Miriam Shaviv — Sun, 24 Mar 2013 10:05:22 +0000

Where does the buck stop in the new Israeli government? You might think it was with the prime minister. Not so. Judging by the hysterical media reports over the past six weeks, it stops with Benjamin Netanyahu's wife, Sara, who is apparently responsible for most of his bad decisions in the coalition negotiations.

Sara, we are told, vetoed negotiations with Jewish Home, one of the election's big winners, because of a personal vendetta with its leader Naftali Bennett, dating back to when he was Bibi's chief of staff.

When Bennett was finally granted a meeting with Bibi, weeks after the election, Sara demanded changes to the coalition agreement, and finally forced Bennett and Yair Lapid, leader of the Yesh Atid party, to give up the title of deputy premier in order to clinch the deal. What's more, she allegedly got the speaker of the Knesset fired after he fell out of favour. It's quite a charge sheet.

Now, don't get me wrong. I am not arguing that Sara did not do any of these things; she probably did, although we cannot know for sure (her side claims it's all political spin). And, yes, she should be responsible for her own actions. Her interference, if it is as alleged, is inappropriate and narcissistic.

But Bibi is ultimately responsible for his government. If his wife, who has not been elected or appointed to any official position, derailed coalition negotiations, it is the prime minister's fault for allowing it to happen. Yet the media - and his fellow politicians - seem to have given him a free pass, entirely concentrating their venom on Sara, who has been called everything from Lady Macbeth to "the most powerful person in Israel" (not in a good way). She's been demonised, but there has been no similar emotional reaction to him.

Israelis have always loved to hate Sara. She met Bibi when she was an El Al stewardess, and they married in 1991 after she fell pregnant. Two years later, he confessed to an affair on national television, but Sara got none of the credit or sympathy Hillary Clinton did when she stood by her man. On the contrary: rumours abound that she made Bibi sign an agreement sharing authority with her.

When he became prime minister in 1996, the couple encouraged the media to photograph them with their children, styling themselves like an American presidential family. It struck Israelis as self-aggrandising. Soon, she was under fire for sacking successive nannies - including one who burned the soup – and faced multiple lawsuits for mistreating her staff.

It hasn't helped that she reportedly insists on being called "Mrs Netanyahu". Israelis expect their leaders to be easygoing and informal; she comes across as a spoilt and arrogant social climber. But however unpleasant Sara may be in person, in recent years hatred of her has become irrational. In the swearing-in ceremony of the Knesset, she wore an unflattering dress which appeared revealing (it was actually flesh-coloured). The media and bloggers showed no mercy, comparing her to the Michelin man.

Actually, some journos seemed to be rather enjoying themselves. Hating Sara Netanyahu has become a competitive sport, and her alleged antics during the coalition negotiations have unleashed a bloodletting.

For many politicians, blaming her may be more politically expedient than directly attacking an essentially popular prime minister with jobs to assign. For the media and for the general public, there should have been further questions for the person actually accountable for the running of his office, Benjamin Netanyahu. Sadly, it has proved more fun to hunt down an alleged shrew than to tackle a henpecked husband.

Crisis ‘worse than JFS’ looms

Miriam Shaviv — Thu, 07 Feb 2013 10:05:08 +0000

How fair are entrance criteria to Jewish schools? It's a question that has continually challenged Anglo-Jewry, culminating in the traumatic JFS case.

Unfortunately, there may be further trouble ahead. A horror story has developed at Clore Shalom, a pluralistic primary in Shenley, which may have radical implications for others. Ironically, the attempt to carve out a fairer entrance procedure looks likely to worsen the situation.

A couple whose child had not been accepted into the nursery challenged the school's admissions criteria for the reception class, arguing that it was unfair to give priority to children who belonged to a synagogue or who had attended its nursery. After the adjudicator upheld the appeal, the school announced that five children in the nursery would not receive priority and their chances of getting into reception were negligible.

The families involved argued that the change need not take place until next year, when a new cohort would enter the school, fully aware their places were not guaranteed. To no avail. Their four-year-olds are effectively going to be expelled.

This week, Clore revealed that the Education Secretary, Michael Gove, is considering whether the school's actions were sufficient to comply with the adjudicator's decision, potentially affecting more children.

Who is to blame? The adjudication process is completely inconsistent. While Clore's admissions have been ruled unfair, two other Jewish schools have been told that nursery places are valid criteria for reception. But rulings for one school do not apply to another.

The parents who originally made the complaint are entitled to seek a Jewish education for their child, but they must have known that success could only come at the expense of current pupils. As for Clore itself, it ignored the implications of the JFS case, which made shul membership a legally risky criterion. Its governors failed to inform parents (and the new head) until weeks after they found out about the problem, and then acted with undue haste even when doubts were raised about when the decision had to be implemented. Why they are still in place is a mystery.

But now Clore's problem is potentially everyone's problem. Since most Jewish schools give priority to nursery pupils when selecting a reception class, and many do not open up extra spaces, what is to stop parents who do not get into their chosen nursery challenging these schools on their reception criteria? Even if not all are upheld, the result will be heartbreak for dozens of families.

Schools wishing to pre-empt this could each year refuse to guarantee the places of some nursery children - as proposed by Hertsmere Jewish Primary School, which is suggesting giving priority for its 2014 reception class to only 50 of its 60 nursery children, some of whom would be selected randomly. This would destroy the cohesion of the nurseries, mean unnecessary upheaval and ultimately create a disincentive to send children to Jewish nurseries. Another suggestion at a recent Board of Deputies meeting was that schools reduce the size of nursery classes, to allow newcomers to join reception.

This, however, would be a financial hit for the schools, which may depend on income from the private nurseries. The squeeze on nursery places would worsen, and not result in any extra children being admitted to Jewish schools. A small number who, under the current system, would have got into the nursery would simply start a year later.

The long-term danger is that maintaining a place at a Jewish primary is going to become so complicated that less committed parents are not going to bother. The ruling lays a minefield for the community, which may yet make the JFS case look tame by comparison.

Job for the cops, not the rabbis

Miriam Shaviv — Fri, 11 Jan 2013 10:46:28 +0000

How should the Orthodox community handle allegations of sexual abuse? The scandal currently rocking London's Charedi world provides a classic example of how not to do it.

Last year, senior rabbi Chaim Halpern was accused of inappropriate behaviour towards around 30 women who had come to him for counselling. While the exact allegations have never been made public, it is hard to overstate the impact on the Charedim of Golders Green - where the rabbi lives - and Stamford Hill, where the alleged victims came from. Rabbi Halpern belongs to one of the most influential rabbinic families in London, and was himself a religious judge for the Union of Orthodox Hebrew Congregations.

In Golders Green, local rabbis examined the evidence together with several dayanim of the London Beth Din, and Rabbi Halpern resigned from all public positions other than his synagogue. When his shul continued to attract worshippers, the examining rabbis published an open letter claiming that he was "not fit and proper to act in any rabbinic capacity".

Under pressure, the Union announced that it would set up its own religious court to issue judgment, a move some Golders Green residents have taken as an insult to their own rabbis. Eventually, the Union expelled Halpern's shul, but bizarrely retracted the edict within 24 hours following a confrontation with Halpern's brother.

The whole episode has turned from tragedy into farce. And yet no one seems to have reached the obvious conclusion: that this case proves the Orthodox community is unable to deal with allegations of this nature internally, and that such cases must be turned over, immediately, to the police.

Unlike in America (and Stamford Hill), the Golders Green rabbis cannot be accused of trying to sweep problems under the carpet. Charedi rabbis Shimon Weingarten and Berel Knopfler, and London Beth Din dayanim Chanoch Ehrentreu, Menachem Gelley and Yonason Abraham deserve utmost respect for their refusal to shield their colleague.

But even they must recognise that their efforts have failed. There has been no justice for the women, whose plight has been forgotten as the drama unfolds. The rabbis' good intentions have been stymied at every turn by the personal and political considerations of those with the interests of the Union and the Halpern family at heart - not those of the alleged victims.

While a beth din can handle issues of divorce, conversion and certain arbitrations, rabbis should not be handling potentially criminal cases. They do not have the jurisdiction, the capabilities or the process. They are not experts on the subject of abuse and cannot gather or evaluate evidence like a secular court, nor protect witnesses or enforce judgment. For that matter, should the rabbi be found guilty of taking sexual advantage of women, what punishment could they possibly impose that would be appropriate?

Perhaps "community policing" was suitable in 17th-century Poland. But this country has a respectable legal system. To pretend that allegations of sexual misconduct should be judged by rabbis rather than by the secular authorities is to advance the folly that frum Jews are somehow above the law.

Waiting for the rabbis' resolution, the women involved have not co-operated with the Metropolitan Police, which is still assessing whether Rabbi Halpern has a criminal case to answer. The rabbis must actively encourage them to come forward; disclose any evidence they may hold, and, with a long-term view, start fostering an atmosphere where going to the authorities is not a betrayal, but the only option.

The choice is not between handling abuse accusations discreetly within the community, or embarrassingly in public. The choice is between dealing with them through the state - or not having them dealt with
properly at all.

Plan for Mirvis’s successor now

Miriam Shaviv — Mon, 31 Dec 2012 09:05:48 +0000

Rabbi Mirvis's appointment as the next chief rabbi has been greeted warmly by the community. He clearly has the respect of his rabbinic colleagues, the affection of his own congregation and he is popular in other synagogues, too.

At times, it seemed as though we would never get here. Just over a month ago, the selection committee was still meeting a potential new candidate. After the United Synagogue president indicated that the deadline of the end of this year might not be met, successive rabbis - and the JC - publicly pushed the committee to hurry up. There were even suggestions of the entire committee being disbanded, or of Rabbi Mirvis withdrawing from the race.

Happily, though, the deadline was met, the right man got the job and disaster averted. So, all's well that ends well? Not quite. The US is not off the hook just yet.

When he takes up his position in September, Rabbi Mirvis will be 57 years old. Presuming he retires at 65, we have just six or seven years before the process begins again.

As a transitional chief rabbi, the challenge for Rabbi Mirvis will be to make his mark quickly. He will have little time to develop his skills, style or vision, but must hit the ground running. On the bright side, he will be able to make tough decisions without having to worry about long-term relationships or politics.

The US, meanwhile, has to be ruthless about learning lessons. Although we are all basking in the glow of the appointment, the process itself became a shambles, and should never be repeated.

There were three main problems. The first was the shallow pool of candidates. Strikingly, only two British Orthodox rabbis, Mirvis and Belovski, were considered to be of potentially chief rabbinical calibre. And there was no stand-out foreign candidate.

To appoint the rabbi of its dreams in 2022, the US needs to start identifying and nurturing good candidates now. Talented young rabbis need to be given the tools to make their mark beyond their own communities. They need media training and help to develop a national profile; programmes and time to develop their own scholarship; and more independence to develop their own styles of leadership and halachic authority.

Perhaps the US could even create a middle rank, between community rabbi and chief rabbi, that would allow outstanding leaders additional visibility and responsibility. Similarly, the US must identify promising rabbis from other countries and ensure that they get to know Anglo-Jewry.

The second problem was the too-broad job description, which ranged from speaking for the community nationally to mentoring rabbis and promoting women's roles. It seems unlikely that the same rabbi would excel at dealing with the BBC and the Beth Din, yet that is what was sought. If, next time, the US wants to find it easier to identify rabbis with the right skill-set, it is crucial that it narrows down, and properly defines, the job - however politically charged the task.

Then there is the selection mechanism. The 2012 process was meant to be open and accessible, as befits a modern organisation, but the decision was still made by a small, secretive, unelected committee behind closed doors while the rabbis and public grew frustrated. Even now that Rabbi Mirvis has been appointed, few know what his full platform is. If the US does not want to hold an open election for the position among its members, it still needs to find a way to properly engage the community in the process. Its credibility depends on it.

How urgent is all of this? In business, good succession planning can take a decade. The US has just over half that. They really need to get cracking.

Arrest threatens Orthodox too

Miriam Shaviv — Fri, 16 Nov 2012 10:15:25 +0000

Last month, Anat Hoffman donned her talit and began leading a prayer service for women at the Western Wall. As she hummed her first tune, she was interrupted by a policewoman demanding that she wear her talit like a scarf. She complied and continued. During the Shema, she was interrupted again, this time by a policeman telling her to lower her voice. When - according to her account - she continued singing at a lower volume, she was arrested.

Her crimes? "Disobeying a lawful instruction", "behaving in a manner liable to disturb the peace" and "offending religious sentiments" by wearing a prayer shawl and leading women in song at the Kotel.

There have been countless similar episodes since Hoffman - head of the Reform movement's Israel Religious Action Centre - and others started conducting prayers at the Kotel in 1988. How you feel about the Women of the Wall probably depends on your denomination. For most Progressives, they are heroines being denied their religious freedom. For most Orthodox Jews, they are provocateurs making a political point.

Neither side is likely to change its mind so I won't debate their merits. But even those who disagree with the Women of the Wall for religious reasons should stand behind them - if only for selfish reasons.

Forget about whether you support their activities. The important question is: are you comfortable with the state dictating which religious practices are allowable in modern Israel?

When it comes to the Women, most Orthodox would probably say "yes". Of course we approve of state interference when we agree with the state's actions. But it is easy to foresee circumstances in which the state might ban religious rites that some Orthodox groups actually support. What then?

This is already happening, at the Kotel. The Women of the Wall might feel viscerally wrong to most Orthodox people. But plenty of frum congregations, including a couple in the UK, have women's prayer groups. Israel is saying "no" to them, too.

A woman wearing a talit might be socially taboo in Orthodoxy. But it is not a halachic problem. If it is cause for arrest at the Kotel, which other halachic practises are going to be outlawed? If your Orthodox shul allows women's megillah readings, will you be arrested if you hold next year's by the Wall? Hoffman has been detained for carrying a Sefer Torah. What if you want to dance with a scroll on Simchat Torah, as thousands of Orthodox women do? At what point does a woman giving a shiur in the Kotel plaza become objectionable?

The problem is that we have already ceded the principle: the state gets to decide. Effectively, this means that the strictly Orthodox rabbis who hold the balance of power in the coalition, and who dominate Israel's ministry of religious services and the religious courts, get to decide. Recently, they have been pushing very stringent standards of halachah in the public arena - standards which may be normal to Charedim, but which are extreme in modern Orthodox circles. Remember the rows over conversion a few years ago, when the Israeli Charedi establishment refused to accept Orthodox conversions from almost every rabbi in America; cancelled thousands of giyurim (conversions); and made it so difficult to convert that numbers dropped by nearly 50 per cent between 2007 and 2011? The moderate Orthodox voices were silenced.

You may think that Israel's religious establishment can be counted on to crack down on the Progressives and tolerate your own Orthodox practices. But that's quite a gamble. Meanwhile, if you do not speak out for the Women of the Wall, who will speak out when they come for you?

Help! I’m an internet addict

Miriam Shaviv — Sun, 07 Oct 2012 10:49:28 +0100

I realised that I had a problem straight after Yom Kippur went out. I had spent the last two hours of the fast with a splitting headache and was desperate for something to eat. So, as soon as the clock struck 19.37, I ran to the kitchen - to find my mobile phone and check my email. After 25 hours, supper could wait.

It's the same story after Shabbat, when my Facebook status is updated even before my husband walks home from shul, just five minutes away. If I wake up during the night, I quickly read my latest messages. I can't even watch television without a computer on my lap. It's an addiction.

My Rosh Hashanah resolution for this year, then, is to spend less time on my computer and mobile - and in fact to banish them altogether while my young children are awake. I fear that my constant need to nip online is becoming unhealthy. All too often, when my children come home from school, they do not have my full attention because I have my mobile phone in one hand. I am also quite sure that the concentration issues experts identify in modern children, and which are often blamed on television, are true for me as well. I don't seem to be able to write more than a few lines on Microsoft Word without flipping back to the internet. It's almost involuntary.

A quick Google search (don't worry, the children are asleep while I write this) shows that I am far from the only person worried about internet compulsion.

So why is this a Jewish issue?

First, because understanding the magnitude of my reliance on the internet has made me genuinely grateful for Shabbat, an entire day on which electronic communication is forbidden and family time enforced.

For 25 hours, without the constant "buzz" of social networking, I am able to concentrate on the people around me, on books, on spirituality - and to think more clearly.

Far from modernity making Shabbat archaic, the notion of a day of rest, including from all technology, becomes ever more relevant as the gadgets get more sophisticated. Without the force of divine law, I am quite certain that nothing - certainly not my own willpower - would tear me away from my computer for that long. (For some Orthodox teens, even halachah and the strongest social taboos are not enough; as I wrote in my column last year, there is an American trend of "frum" kids texting on Shabbat, while claiming to be otherwise fully Shabbat-observant. They call it "half Shabbos".)

Second, it is all too easy to laugh at the Charedi rabbis for being scared of the internet, as shown in their repeated calls to ban internet-enabled phones, and in the recent mass rallies, in London and New York, against the evils of the world wide web. But they do have a point: the internet can be dangerous.

For the Charedim, the danger lies in the content. The rabbis are afraid that their followers - who have been getting internet for years - will have access to knowledge, both Jewish and secular, and to other people, that could subvert their own authority. Ultimately, they are scared the net will undermine their social structure. (A good thing, I say.)

The danger for me, and I believe for many others, is in the internet's compulsive nature. It doesn't even matter what I'm looking at, it's the fact that I'm looking the entire time. I'm scared that it can undermine my family life - and me.

Most of us accept that we must be selective about what we read online. But it's time to be far more conscious of how much we read and when. And if by next year I can't pass the post-Yom Kippur litmus test, I will be swapping my precious iPhone for a non-internet-enabled, rabbinically approved, entirely kosher handset.

Are all eyes on Meir Soloveichik for Chief?

Miriam Shaviv — Thu, 30 Aug 2012 09:54:29 +0100

When Rabbi Meir Soloveichik delivered the blessing at the opening of the Republican National Convention on Tuesday, all eyes in America were on him - as were, probably, quite a few eyes in United Synagogue HQ in London. Although the US will not confirm its list of candidates, there are clear indications that young Rabbi Soloveichik - he is only 35 - has been in serious discussions regarding the soon-to-be-vacant post of British chief rabbi.

Soloveichik is commonly regarded as the brightest Orthodox rabbi of his generation, drawing comparisons with Lord Sacks. He is assistant rabbi at Congregation Kehilath Jeshurun in Manhattan, and director of the Straus Centre for Torah and Western Thought at Yeshiva University, which combines Jewish studies with secular philosophy.

For the Republicans, the fit is natural. Soloveichik writes regularly for conservative publications and has testified in Congress against a bill that would force Catholic organisations to pay for contraception for their employees through their medical insurance.

For Britain, Soloveichik may be more complicated. He was first approached as a potential chief rabbi earlier this summer, when the search committee decided that local candidates lacked "star power". Whether he is still in the race is unclear, but just three weeks ago a source close to the search process said he dazzled in interview.

Counting against him are his age and nationality. How his political activism affects his chances is unclear. Many American Jews, who lean to the heavily Democratic, regard his Republican affiliation with disaste. But Rabbi Soloveichik's appearance at the Republican convention proves that here is a rare candidate who can be taken seriously on the national, if not international, stage.

Next month, British rabbis can judge for themselves, as Soloveichik is due to appear at the Chief Rabbi's annual High Holy Day conference – an invitation that was extended months ago, rumour has it, on the understanding he was not a candidate for Chief. If he plays his cards right, next year he can host it.

Shuls that are too big to manage

Miriam Shaviv — Fri, 17 Aug 2012 12:20:33 +0100

This is a painful and unusually personal column, because it concerns the complete breakdown of management at my shul and the partial breakdown of community relations.

The tension at Borehamwood United Synagogue - one of the US's flagship communities, with 1,300 families - is considerable. The political developments are happening so fast they give The West Wing a run for its money. Sadly, it may be a sign of things to come elsewhere.

After Rabbi Naftali Brawer left, Shimshon Silkin, rabbi of the local Seed outreach programme, was named interim minister. He initially said he had no long-term interest in the job but, as the search got under way, he changed his mind. As the incumbent, it was widely assumed that he was a shoo-in.

Earlier this summer, the shul announced that not only had he not got the job, nobody else had either. The committee apparently could not recommend any candidate wholeheartedly, and the search was to continue.

Facing an outcry from Rabbi Silkin's supporters, the shul chairman rushed to extend his contract for up to 12 months, while a successor is found. Said chairman then promptly resigned with two other honorary officers, leaving behind a complete mess.

At root, this is the story of a community that has grown too big and diverse to agree on what it wants from its rabbi. This was apparent already with Rabbi Brawer. One part of the community relished his outstanding speaking and teaching skills; the other bemoaned a perceived lack of pastoral care. With Rabbi Silkin the reverse is the case: his supporters cite his charisma and personal warmth, while others seek a more experienced, more modern Orthodox leader.

For the US, all this should raise profound questions. Borehamwood is not the only large community to recently lose one rabbi, then spend well over a year looking for a replacement without success. It was a similar story at Norrice Lea.

Have some of these suburban shuls simply become too big to manage? What happens when members have little more in common than their postcode? The US is meant to be a broad church but at what point does keeping diverse groups under one roof become counter-productive?

All shuls have to accommodate different people, but smaller ones can to some extent "specialise". In larger shuls, there may be more significant generational, economic or cultural divisions. This is likely to become more pronounced, with the intensification of religious commitment from many young families. On the one hand, this has given many shuls an unexpected boost, but it can also create conflict with less observant members and even with more established religious members, who may have very different expectations from their rabbi.

Either way, it seems unlikely that one person, even with an assistant, can satisfy the needs of all. Has the job of community rabbi, in our biggest suburban shuls, become "mission impossible"? Internationally, some large shuls have two or three relatively senior rabbis who appeal to different groups. Perhaps the US should consider this. For Borehamwood, meanwhile, the unrest is set to continue. As long as Rabbi Silkin is interim rabbi, some of his supporters continue to press for his permanent appointment.

The only amicable outcome might be for Rabbi Silkin and his most devoted followers to establish their own shul locally. For the US, a split may sound like a disaster. In truth, it was inevitable as the community grew larger - it is only a shame it will happen under such circumstances. But it will be healthy for Borehamwood to have more options, and for the main shul to be a little more homogeneous. To remain united, sometimes it is necessary to divide.

Stop this teachers’ brain drain

Miriam Shaviv — Sun, 15 Jul 2012 11:09:04 +0100

Has Britain got Jewish educational talent? Yes - but it is slipping away and no one seems to care.

I reached this conclusion after interviewing Jeremy Stowe-Lindner, JCoSS headteacher, who is departing for a community school in Australia next month.

Stowe-Lindner is joining family. But, as he noted, many of the diaspora's most important Jewish schools are headed by British expatriates - a veritable brain-drain, which should worry anyone who cares about our Jewish education system.

In Australia, James Kennard heads Mount Scopus, one of the world's largest Jewish schools. In the US, Jonathan Cannon is head of Charles E Smith Jewish Day School in Maryland, with 1,200 students, while Paul Shaviv (full disclosure: my father) has just moved from the Community Hebrew Academy of Toronto, north America's largest community high school, to Ramaz, the flagship modern Orthodox school in New York.

When I lived in Toronto in the early noughties, almost every senior Jewish educational position there was filled by an ex-Brit, from the local university chair in Jewish teacher education to the director of student group Hillel and the head of one of the largest primary schools.

The traffic is one-way. So why are we losing so many of our best people?

Stowe-Lindner cited the "lack of training, development, and support for current and future senior leaders of Jewish schools."

He was too polite. What it comes down to is that, compared to the rest of the diaspora, our community does not value its professionals, including its educators, enough.

Over the past 30 years, there has been an explosion in Jewish schooling here, with enrolment doubling to 26,000. A similar trend has occurred elsewhere, particularly in America. Here, the government by-and-large funds the bulk of the capital costs and secular studies, while Jewish studies are supported by modest, voluntary fees. In America, where Jewish schools are private, the community has funded the buildings and tuition costs.

Thankfully, we are spared this financial burden - but it has a downside. The other communities are far more invested in their schools, literally and emotionally. If the community, either through organisations or individual donors, has funded capital costs and if parents are paying $20,000 a year (and even if they pay far less, as most schools offer tuition assistance), the school and its personnel are taken far more seriously.

Those heading the larger institutions are expected to be superstars and are invested in accordingly, both in terms of professional development and pay.

The salaries of Jewish school principals in the UK are not bad, but the relative salaries in US schools are far higher - as are the salaries of many Jewish community professionals.

They also have more room to manoeuvre when developing the Jewish dimensions of their schools, as there are high expectations even from non-Orthodox parents, and less demands from state examinations. This must be more professionally satisfying.

Crucially, the heads of the big schools are given the respect their British peers lack. They are treated as leaders and highly regarded in their communities. By contrast, unless you have children of that age, do you know the name of the principal of JFS? (Jonathan Miller. I Iooked it up.)

We have a terrific school system that has become wildly popular. We need the best people to take it forward. We may never be able to match the US salaries, but we can still improve the lot of our senior educators. A good first step would be to recognise that we have a problem retaining them.

Don’t push our dutiful daughters

Miriam Shaviv — Wed, 06 Jun 2012 17:04:59 +0100

It feels silly, on the Jubilee weekend, to be discussing women's roles in Orthodox Judaism. This country and its church have been headed by a woman for 60 years, and the public seems perfectly pleased. Yet here we are, still debating whether a woman can be president of her shul. It's ridiculous.

But debate it we do. I have had numerous discussions of late about the place of women in the religious sphere. Rabbis have told me that the "woman question" will be one of the big challenges faced by the next chief rabbi. (Just as was said in 1991…)

Members of my own congregation, which is searching for a new rabbi, are concerned about the role his wife will take on, as well as the candidates' attitudes to women's megillah reading and Simchat Torah dancing - two recent innovations.

Meanwhile, I listened to a group of high-powered women worry about the lack of opportunities for their daughters in youth minyanim. At what stage, they wondered, would their girls start to resent their exclusion, and walk away? In most cases, the answer is probably: "Not any time soon".

Although there is considerable angst about women's roles, it seems to me to be mostly in my generation (those in their mid-30s) and upwards. I know very few Orthodox teenagers who are exercised about Jewish feminist issues the way that my friends and I were 20 years ago.

Women's prayer groups have gone out of fashion, and those that survive often have difficulty in recruiting young members. The shul presidency issue, which has become a symbol of the barriers in the United Synagogue, is of no interest to women in their 20s who are years away from holding such a position, should they ever actually be allowed to.

In America, where a similar process has been observed, commentators have suggested that young Jewish women no longer feel oppressed, thanks to their mothers' efforts, and do not want to fight further. In addition, the Orthodox shift to the right has brought a greater emphasis on conformity.

I would add that this generational gap reflects what is going on in general society, where "feminist" has become a dirty word. In Orthodox circles, of course, it always has been.

In the UK, meanwhile, the United Synagogue has a Charedi beth din and many Charedi rabbis. Perhaps as a result, in shuls in which most members do not even keep Shabbat, women are confined to far more restricting roles than in serious modern Orthodox shuls in America, where even female members of the clergy team are not unknown, although without the title "rabbi'.

So, can men now safely ignore "women's issues"? Hardly. Women over the age of 30 still have valid religious needs that must be addressed. The minority of younger women in the community who do want more are often engaged and learned. Not only can we not afford to lose them, we have no right to stunt their spiritual development, within the bounds of halachah.

Orthodox feminism is itself very young, and how it applies to our lives is the work of several generations. There will be twists along the way, but the general direction - towards greater women's participation in ritual and synagogue - is clear.

Young women today may, on the whole, be satisfied with their roles, but neglect them too much, or push too hard in the conservative direction, and a backlash is certain. They are too accomplished in their professional lives, and too equal in the home, for it to be otherwise.

Meanwhile, the challenge for feminists is to accept that our daughters may not follow us in this particular path. Their Jewish needs may be very different and, to us, unsatisfying. But that is our problem, not theirs.

Chasidic woman's flight from New York Orthodox life

Miriam Shaviv — Fri, 25 May 2012 10:39:55 +0100

Unorthodox is an account of Deborah Feldman’s Chasidic upbringing in New York, her unhappiness at what she sees as her oppression, and ultimately her escape into secular society. Inevitably, the Satmar community in which Feldman grew up has responded aggressively, accusing her of mistakes, omissions and outright lies.

Most of these seem to be either very minor, or covered by Feldman’s disclaimer at the beginning of the book, in which she explains that she has changed certain details in order to protect the identity of others and maintain narrative flow. Judged on its own merits, the book is a mixed bag.

Feldman, now 25, was always going to stand out in a conservative, conformist society. Her English-born mother ran off to live as a lesbian; her father was a person of limited capability. She was brought up by her paternal grandparents, elderly Holocaust survivors. Her other relatives, Feldman suggests, were embarrassed by the stain she imposed upon the family honour.

Feldman resents her grandparents’ spartan lifestyle and the strictness of her religious girls’ school, but her main source of unhappiness is the limited education it gave her. She is a voracious — secret — reader of secular novels. At 17, she is married off to a man she has met only once. The marriage is hobbled from the beginning by Feldman’s vaginismus — a condition, most common in women who grow up in repressive religious environments, which makes sex painful or impossible. It takes a year for her to overcome this, and they have a son together, but she still cannot forgive her husband for briefly leaving her. Eventually, she puts on a pair of jeans, enrols in a secular college and leaves her old life behind.

Feldman writes well, especially given her early education. The book’s strength is its raw emotion: her anger — and relief — are palpable.
In a way, though, this is also the book’s weakness. Feldman lacks empathy for others who might be equally trapped, such as her husband, or for her loving grandparents. Everything to do with Satmar is bad. No doubt the society in which she grew up was spectacularly intolerant of difference and independent thinking. But her story is as much that of a child of a troubled, broken home as it is of a Chasidic rebel.

She does occasionally acknowledge that other women throughout history have been trapped by circumstance and marriage. At her college, she understands that some of her all-American classmates are as frustrated with their lives as she was with hers. Escaping into general society is the beginning of the journey, not the end. And, cathartic as her flight may have been, more of that perspective would have been welcome.

Pollard the spy is no Zionist hero

Miriam Shaviv — Thu, 19 Apr 2012 16:42:32 +0100

Early this month, Israeli President Shimon Peres sent a personal missive to Barack Obama, asking for clemency for convicted spy Jonathan Pollard. The very next day, Obama rejected the plea, practically by return mail.

Perhaps this was meant to make up for his reaction in January 2011, when Benjamin Netanyahu issued Israel's first formal appeal, and Obama never bothered issuing a response. Either way, his attitude, just like that of his predecessors, is perfectly clear.

So why have the Israelis wasted precious diplomatic capital on a sure loser? They are playing to the domestic audience. Support for Pollard is a vote-winner, particularly on the right, where he is perceived to be a Zionist martyr and victim of antisemitism.

This is a result of years of vigorous campaigning by Pollard's supporters. True Zionists, however, should recoil at the Pollard publicity machine, which makes a mockery of those who really were willing to sacrifice their lives and freedom for Israel, such as the Soviet prisoners or Israel's missing soldiers.

Pollard was hardly an ideologue - at least not until he was caught and needed the support of America's Jews. He acted for money. His spying activities for Israel earned him tens of thousands of dollars and he expected to earn up to half-a-million.

Nor did he care to which country he sold America's secrets. The Americans allege that he attempted to pass documents to Pakistan, South Africa and Australia. Israel only became Pollard's main client because it alone would pay for his information.

So how was Pollard transformed into a Jewish hero? We are suckers for any narrative involving a Jewish convict for historical reasons. Historically, prisoners were often subject to mistreatment and injustice - according to Maimonides, they may be "hungry, thirsty, unclothed… in danger of their lives" - so Jewish law made it a special mitzvah to redeem them.

Somehow, this imperative, meant for kidnapped Jews in medieval times, has been transferred to a man convicted of actual crimes in a country ruled by law and order, the goldeneh medina no less.

It was easy once the convict professed to have acted altruistically for the greater good of the Jewish people, styling himself a victim rather than a greedy criminal. The fact is, none of us knows the full extent of the material Pollard betrayed, where it ended up or whether it cost any American lives. As such, we are all inherently unqualified to state - as so many do - that Pollard has served "too much time" or "does not deserve" the life sentence he was given.

For every expert arguing that Pollard has paid his dues, there is another arguing the opposite. In any case, this is a red herring, as the Pollard campaign was going strong before he had been in jail for a decade. For some people, apparently, any jail time was too much.

Ultimately, if the Americans decide to pardon Pollard, or release him on humanitarian grounds, that is their affair. It is the turning of him into a Zionist hero to which I object - as well as the price that Israel will be asked to pay for his freedom.

Make no mistake. If and when an American president does free Pollard, Israel will be asked to offer up some substantial sacrifice in return - perhaps another freeze of settlement-building or territorial compromise with the Palestinians.

These gestures have serious implications for Israel's future, and the country should only offer them in return for arrangements that increase its strategic advantage in the region or make a genuine difference to the peace process. They should not be bargained away in return for a James Bond wannabe who was willing to sell out to Pakistan.

Time to rethink the Tanach?

Miriam Shaviv — Thu, 08 Mar 2012 11:36:29 +0000

How much of the Tanach is literally true?

This was the focus of a talk at the London School of Jewish Studies last week. The panel - Menachem Leibtag, Shmuel Klitsner and Jonathan Bailey, all leading American-Israeli modern Orthodox scholars - was in agreement. The Torah is God-given, but not all the stories necessarily happened exactly as written. Rather, they are often pedagogical tools, styled to convey the lessons God wants humanity to learn. Some, said Rabbi Leibtag, are to be taken "seriously, not literally".

Among Orthodox Anglo-Jewry, this is highly controversial stuff, which is perhaps why there were no Brits on the panel. The evening was billed as a "cutting-edge, non-apologetic debate". Leaving the packed hall, one person commented that such a debate would never be allowed in their United Synagogue shul. Not only would the answer be judged heretical, so would the question.

This is not the case elsewhere. The evening's most instructive moment came when Rabbi Klitsner admitted that he struggled to understand why LSJS was so keen on the topic. No one he knew, he said, really worried about the historicity of the Tanach. In Israeli and American modern Orthodox circles, the implication was that the Bible stories' occasional slip into allegory, metaphor or literary device was either taken for granted or debated openly - as it was among classical commentators.

So why is it such a dangerous spot for us? Rabbi Klitsner suggested that it is human nature to find fluidity difficult, which I understood to mean that the inability to pinpoint exactly which Tanach elements are literally true can be threatening.

But there are other, more local reasons. The shadow of the Louis Jacobs Affair looms large. His banishment from Orthodoxy, following the publication of We Have Reason to Believe, effectively shut down the possibility of open discussion about anything to do with biblical theology. Since then, literal belief in all Tanach stories has become a litmus test for Charedi Judaism.

Meanwhile, our US rabbis must self-censor to keep their jobs. Unlike their American and Israeli counterparts, who answer only to their members or boards, they answer to a conservative body, the US, and its Charedi beth din. The perception, if not reality, is that they act as thought police. As the relationship between Orthodox and Progressives in this country is so fraught, a particular obsession is avoiding anything that sounds even vaguely "Reform", even if it is a perfectly legitimate Orthodox point of view.

Anglo-Jewry has also never nurtured its intellectuals or theologians. America has Yeshiva University, Israel has Bar-Ilan and many good yeshivot. Both countries have produced scores of serious Jewish scholars and thinkers. We have Lord Sacks.

Yet questions around the authenticity of our texts will not disappear. The only way to avoid them is to isolate ourselves from the modern world, which is not a realistic or desirable option for most Jews.

As the standing-room-only LSJS event showed, there is a thirst amongst some Orthodox Jews for sophisticated discussion of theological issues. It is only natural: educated to a high standard in other areas, why should they make do with simplistic answers - or no answers - in the Jewish realm? When we are taught critical thinking at good universities, why should any Jewish theological question be considered taboo?

Some may find this approach frightening. But, equally, our inability to discuss these issues maturely has turned many good people off religion altogether. We are no less intelligent than our American and Israeli peers. Why, then, can we not have the same standards of theological discussion?

Israel's real Charedi revolution

Miriam Shaviv — Thu, 26 Jan 2012 11:37:37 +0000

Is Israel really in danger of being overrun by Charedi religious extremists?

It certainly feels like it. In recent weeks, Charedi activists have repeatedly excluded women from the public sphere, consigning them to the back of buses, forbidding them from walking on certain pavements, and even verbally harassing and spitting at young girls on their way to school for their allegedly immodest clothing.

Such is the climate of intimidation that, in the capital, secular ad agencies have stopped putting women on posters in order to avoid strictly Orthodox wrath.

But the hysteria - for such it is - must stop. Israel is not moving from democracy to theocracy and, despite the best attempts of their extremists, the Charedim are not going to force the rest of the population to submit to a misogynist future. In reality, the Charedi population is assimilating to the secular state, not the other way around.

Most of the incidents that have shaken Israel involve a very limited number of people. The gender-segregated pavements are confined to a few streets in Bet Shemesh, Bnei Brak and Jerusalem - which, despite its national significance, is increasingly regarded as Charedi or "foreign" territory by other Israelis. The schoolgirls are being harassed by a handful of men. This is not in any way to minimise the severity of these phenomena; they are despicable and must be stamped out. However, they pose no immediate threat to the country as a whole.

Meanwhile, mainstream Charedim are heading in a different direction. Even within the past five years, they have opened up significantly to the rest of Israeli society, with taboos such as IDF service and higher education softening considerably. Last year, out of 7,500 eligible Charedi youth, 2,360 enlisted or performed national service (up 284 per cent since 2008), while more than 2,000 men and women study in Charedi colleges, and thousands more complete other diplomas.

There are also more Charedim in the workplace than ever before, and wide exposure to the internet, with Charedi news sites thriving despite repeated rabbinic attempts to shut them down.

The irony is that it is this very positive process of integration that seems to be sparking the exclusion of women, as it terrifies the more conservative elements of the community. Faced with modernisation, they push towards isolation. They succeed partially because of the compliance of general society, which assumes that the most extreme views are the most authentic and representative; and also because the current Charedi leaders choose, actively or by staying silent, to reinforce this impression.

But, ultimately, the extremists cannot hope to reverse the slow but steady revolution. The most senior Charedi leaders are very old men (the top Ashkenazi rabbi, Yosef Shalom Elyashiv, who this month condemned serving in the IDF and studying secular topics, is 101). Soon, a generation that was born in the state of Israel and is more modern in its outlook will take their place.

Most importantly, integration is inevitable for economic reasons. Too many Charedim no longer want to live a life of poverty.

After the anger they have sparked, the extremists also face a secular backlash. It seems likely that journalist Yair Lapid, who has just announced his entry into politics, will campaign on a secularist manifesto, following the lead of his father Tommy, who won 15 seats for Shinui in 2003 on the same populist platform.

Should the secularists become pivotal to a coalition, they will hopefully resist the impulse to punish the Charedim and instead find constructive ways to encourage the masses who wish to study and work. That is what will really change Israel for the better, and is the real Charedi story today.

What are the Orthodox afraid of?

Miriam Shaviv — Mon, 14 Nov 2011 10:25:02 +0000

It would be easy for those of us who belong to the Orthodox community to be angry at the furore surrounding the Big Tent. The organiser, Rabbi Jonathan Guttentag, has been forced by the Board of Deputies and the JLC into an embarrassing climb-down over his refusal to invite Progressive rabbis to speak, and has now created an independent committee, including two Progressive representatives, to approve the choice of speakers. The row has probably put paid to his chief rabbinical chances, although he has good credentials and backers.

What, after all, was his sin? He behaved no differently towards Progressives than the Orthodox establishment in the UK ever has, refusing to share a platform with their rabbinical representatives. As Rabbi Guttentag told the JC: "It is a well-known mode of conduct and policy of Orthodox rabbis to seek not to grant rabbinic legitimacy to those who are styled as 'rabbi' but who are leaders of non-Orthodox congregations."

But that was exactly his sin. It may be a "well-known mode of conduct" - in fact it goes much further, extending to the ostracisation of non-Orthodox events and organisations - but it shouldn't be. If we stopped for a moment to reconsider the accepted dogma in the British Orthodox community, we would recognise that this policy of exclusion has been a total and disastrous failure. It is outdated, non-viable, and destructive - not only for the Progressives, but for the Orthodox community as well.

We have only been able to behave this way in the first place because of a historical anomaly. Because of the historic dominance of Orthodoxy here, it controls much of Jewish public life, such as the school system. In North America, where the Orthodox were the last to arrive, they form a minority and control little community infrastructure. The ability to shut out Progressives is not the diaspora norm and, as North America shows, nor is it imperative for an Orthodox community to thrive.

It doesn't even work. Between 1990 and 2010, according to an Institute for Jewish Policy Research study, membership of the UK's central Orthodox synagogues dropped by a third. It dropped by just four per cent for Reform. Can anyone seriously claim that Progressive members doubt their own validity thanks to the Orthodox boycott? That the rest of the British population regards Progressive clergy as inauthentic? Or that there are not Orthodox rabbis, including senior ones, who conduct private friendships and constructive dialogue with their Progressive peers? Who exactly are we trying to convince – other than ourselves?

In every other arena, from politics to the press and academia, we accept that there is a marketplace of ideas. Only when it comes to religion do we try to silence the "opposition" and use force to win the argument. This makes us look immature, intolerant, petty and insecure.

Appearing in the same forum as a Progressive rabbi does not mean that an Orthodox rabbi accepts that the other is "right". We can, indeed we should, agree to disagree in a civilised manner. But it takes a certain amount of confidence in your own arguments to trust an audience to see this - confidence our Orthodox leaders apparently lack.

Orthodox rabbis could even learn a thing or two from the Progressives, perhaps regarding social justice or the environment, without condoning their theology. Why are we so afraid?

Most importantly, the campaign, over decades, to delegitimise Progressive Judaism has made the entire community weaker. We face many challenges together, from antisemitism and attacks on Israel to a rapidly shrinking Jewish population. The other denominations, both to our right and to our left, should be treated as partners, not enemies, if we are to thrive. Instead, our denominational bickering, which has become an unfortunate byword for Anglo-Jewry, has resulted in needless hatred and division, hampering us as a collective.

Exhibit A in this sad indictment is the so-called Big Tent event, which almost became the Half Tent. It stands, dishonourably, in a long list of previous fiascos, including the Jacobs and Hugo Gryn affairs, the Limmud boycott and the JFS court case. Next chief rabbi, please take note.

Meet my daughter, Jonathan

Miriam Shaviv — Wed, 28 Sep 2011 09:55:31 +0100

With 10 weeks - perhaps less – to go before I have a new baby, it's hard to say I've done much to prepare.
The clothes are still all up in the attic. I'm yet to retrieve the baby bath and car seat from the friends who borrowed them. Perhaps you become complacent with your third. I know it will all get done. There is only one thing I am really worried about: what am I going to call this kid (gender, as yet, unknown) when it arrives?

Now, I know what you parents out there are thinking. We have nearly an entire trimester left to decide and something will present itself, perhaps when we actually meet the baby.

But that didn't happen with our first two. It took us so long to name my daughter Eliana that my grandfather took me aside to confide that it "wasn't right". This time I mean to be prepared.

The problem is that naming a Jewish child in this day and age is not just a question of finding a name you like. To pick a name is to enter a familial, cultural and religious minefield.

To start with, since the birth of my number two, I have lost a mother, grandfather and grandmother. We have also yet to name a baby after my husband's late father.

We would dearly love to name a child after all of them, but four names would be quite a mouthful.

So who do we offend by leaving out? Do we just give up on the men if we have a girl, and vice-versa? Skip the grandparents altogether?

My grandparents found one way around the problem. When my mother was born, they took her to the shul frequented by my grandfather's side of the family, and named her after his great aunt. Then they promptly marched her to my grandmother's shul, and named her after a
relative of hers.

When my parents got married, they actually had to ask a rabbi what name to put on her ketubah.

Perhaps it's the
pregnancy hormones, but I'm already ready to have another baby just for the additional naming opportunities.

Not, I should add, that I actually like most of their names, which sound old-fashioned to me (sorry, relatives). Mordechai? It might be kinder just to call a child "Zaida".

Picking an original name brings its own problems. For instance, we would really like a name that is considered modern in Israel, where we spend a considerable amount of time.

We already messed up once. Dalia, the name of our second daughter, is fairly common in the diaspora, but in Israel is inevitably greeted by "beautiful name", followed, after a short pause, by some variation of the phrase, "…which I haven't heard for 30 years".

I spent my summer holiday in Israel quizzing everyone I met about their children's names – and those of their young relatives, friends and classmates. I discovered two things. First, most Israelis under the age of five have names that were virtually unknown just a decade ago: Hallel, Shacharit, Lihi, and Yahel for girls, for example. Nowadays I'm too British and conservative for such radicalism.

Second, unisex names like Yuval, Amit, Noam, Daniel, Ariel and Adi are still very much "on trend". My niece's school in Haifa even has a female Yonatan and a male Yael.

With the best will in the world, I don't think Borehamwood is ready for my youngest daughter, Jonathan.

Rebecca or Rifka, Rocco or Ra'anan; a Jewish child's name can instantly betray where their parents sit on the religious/cultural spectrum. This is not a problem if your identity is clear-cut.

But we are archetypal boundary-dwelling modern Orthodox. We are looking for a name that is stylish but not secular, religious but not "frummie", Jewish but pronounceable by the rest of the world. Huh? Before we pick a name, perhaps we need therapy to figure out who we actually are.

Or maybe this is our chance to reinvent ourselves. In 2010, the 360th most popular first name in the United States was "Cohen" – according to nameberry.com, a favourite with non-Jewish parents unaware of the Jewish meaning. My husband has always wanted to be a cohen. Perhaps it's not too late for his son…

This was a morally repulsive argument

Miriam Shaviv — Thu, 08 Sep 2011 12:20:17 +0100

Let us give Larry Derfner the benefit of the doubt that he does not wish to see terror attacks inflicted upon his fellow Israelis. That much is clear both from the original blog post and from his subsequent apology. He has also, belatedly, learned the value of editors, particularly for controversial material.

But the fact remains that even following his clarification, he does "justify" Palestinian terror attacks, in the sense that he seems to believe that Palestinians have little choice but to commit them. Worse: he argues that Israelis have brought Palestinian terror attacks on themselves, and actually deserve them.

"What's needed very badly, however, is for Israelis to realise that the occupation… [is] driving them to try to kill us, that we are compelling them to engage in terrorism, that the blood of Israeli victims is ultimately on our hands," he wrote. "…Just like every harsh, unjust government in history bears the blame for the deaths of its own people at the hands of rebels, so Israel… is to blame for those eight Israeli deaths [near Eilat last month]."

Israel, he is saying, bears sole responsibility for the lack of establishment of a Palestinian state, and so its citizens are fair game. Of course, Israel has made many mistakes along the way, but the idea that Israel alone is to blame is ludicrous. Several prime ministers made the Palestinians serious offers, only to be rebuffed, sometimes without even a counter-offer. Even Prime Minister Benjamin Netanyahu froze settlement building for 10 months, giving the peace talks a chance, but the Palestinians would not negotiate without pre-conditions. Withdrawal from Gaza led to rockets, not to reciprocal gestures.

Had the Palestinians truly wanted a state they could have negotiated one by now. But they have preferred to engage in terror, not out of desperation - as Derfner fantasises - but as a calculated political tool in their effort to destroy the Israeli state.

Palestinians are independent agents. It is condescending for Derfner to argue that Israel is somehow "making" them resort to terror. And dangerous and morally repulsive (though perhaps not a firing offence for a columnist paid to provoke) to suggest they have no choice but to murder innocent civilians.

Mr Derfner may feel comfortable advancing this argument on the web. I wonder if he would have the guts say it to the families of murdered Israelis, face-to-face.

Miriam Shaviv is a JC columnist and former journalist for the Jerusalem Post

Not rioting, just dreaming

Miriam Shaviv — Mon, 22 Aug 2011 10:25:15 +0100

After a month in Israel, I'm about ready to join a demonstration against the cost of living here myself. Even armed with pounds (admittedly not worth as much as they used to be) this is a really expensive country.

I feel constantly ripped off on small items - NIS 99 (£17) for sun-screen, NIS 75 (£13) for some water-melon and grapes (I returned the grapes). Day-care seems roughly equivalent to London, but with the average Israeli salary standing at NIS 8,700 (£1,506) a month, it must form an even bigger burden for many working parents.

Then there is the biggie - property. Jerusalem is for dollar millionaires only; the once-cheaper option for young couples, Modiin, is now equivalent to Edgware. Even smaller suburbs of the big cities, such as Tzur Hadassah, outside Jerusalem, start in the 1.5/2 million shekel range (£260,000-£350,000). Goodbye to my dream of selling up in London and buying mortgage-free in Israel.

So the hordes of Israelis protesting that they cannot make ends meet have a point. Israel's economic boom, with GDP growth of 4.7 per cent last year, a strong shekel and unemployment at just 5.7 per cent, has passed by too many middle-class people.

I have less sympathy, however, for their solutions. Here, the leaders of the revolution seem not only misguided, but dangerous- ready to risk Israel's economic miracle at a time when much of the West is facing financial ruin.

The problem is that most of those shaping the movement come from the radical left, including tiny parties such as Hadash (an Arab-Jewish faction with four Knesset seats) and Balad (three seats), and organisations such as the New Israel Fund. Their economic solutions come from the radical left as well.

The word that repeatedly comes up is "socialism". When, two weeks ago, the head of the Histadrut union mentioned "capitalism" to the Tel Aviv demonstration, the crowd booed.

What exactly do they mean by "socialism"? Do the majority of the demonstrators really hark back to Israel of the 1950s, with its food stamps and jobs for the boys - that is, Labour party members?

No, but they clearly want a much higher level of intervention and subsidies.

Many of their basic demands are utterly unrealistic: free child-care from three months upwards, for example. Nor can the government be expected to miraculously make "affordable" apartments available in central Tel Aviv.

Many of the demands seem to based on a sense of entitlement known as "magia li" - "I deserve" even if I cannot afford. No one has the right to live in the most desirable areas; few Englishmen expect to live in central London.

Most importantly, none of the demands have come with price tags or explanations of where the money - when calculated - is going to come from. The demonstrators want Israel's budget to be busted; this must not happen. And it would be equally foolish to seriously shift the orientation of Israel's economy towards middle-class benefits and intervention, when it is almost unique today in its upward trajectory.

The man who can take most credit for this is Benjamin Netanyahu, whose right-wing economic philosophy and belief in the free market has guided the economy for years.

One look around Europe, on the verge of a double-dip recession - and London's riots - shows what the future holds if they mess with the winning formula. The protestors do not realise how lucky they are collectively.

The government's Trajtenberg panel, set up to propose solutions to the demonstrators' complaints, is due to report within weeks. The demonstrators have set up an alternative commission.

It is a shame that this is shaping up to be a battle rather than a dialogue, as many problem-spots need addressing: not only the legitimate frustrations of the middle class, but also the neglect of development towns and Arab towns, income gaps between rich and poor, starving education budgets, high unemployment among Charedim and Arabs, out-of-proportion investment in settlements, et cetera.

Netanyahu must be responsive and do whatever he can. But under no circumstances should the Israeli Prime Minister risk the country's basic economic health. And if these radical parties disagree, let them win the argument through a vote - not on the streets.

Drop-outs can repair the rifts

Miriam Shaviv — Fri, 08 Jul 2011 09:49:46 +0100

Since the 1960s, the Orthodox world has been justifiably proud of the ba'al teshuvah movement - the large numbers of assimilated Jews who have become frum, bolstering the observant community.

Until relatively recently, however, the flow of people moving the other way, out of Orthodoxy, has been the movement's dirty little secret.

True, over the past decade there has been a growing number of parents expressing public despair that their children were going "off the derech" - that is, off the path of the Torah, and seeking help in returning them to the fold.

But there has been little acknowledgement of the impact this has had on Orthodoxy as a whole - even though, according to some informal estimates, there are as many Orthodox people dropping out as ba'alei teshuvah dropping in -and little interest in what happens to these youngsters once they have become secular, beyond their impact on their families' dynamics.

A new book is set to change all that, at least in the Israeli context. Hadatlashim - a slang Hebrew acronym that stands for hadati'im leshe'avar, or "the formerly religious" -- by Poriya Gal Gatz, charts the inner lives of Israelis who have abandoned tradition, and examines what they have in common.

Gal Gatz, granddaughter of a former rabbi of the Kotel who abandoned religion in her 20s, comes to the startling conclusion that, unlike in past generations, when Israelis who left Orthodoxy simply became secular, today's drop-outs form a distinct and in many ways unique sector in Israeli society.

While they are by no means practising Jews, and certainly do not identify as such, their religious education has left an indelible impression on them. They never quite shake the language and world-view of the Orthodox Jew and often say they can identify another datlash as soon as he or she opens his or her mouth. They retain some religious habits -- anything from an intensive Seder night to saying a blessing after using the toilet - and often hang-ups, particularly to do with modesty or sex (avoiding, for example, dancing in nightclubs).

They are often happiest socialising with each other; dating sites exist that cater only to datlashim. Politically, even some of those who move to the left cannot see the right as "the enemy", and events such as the 2005 exit from Gaza cause genuine emotional turmoil.

In short, they check out of institutional Orthodoxy, but can never really leave.

It is tempting to see the emergence of the formerly Orthodox as an identifiable sub-sector as an unmitigated tragedy for Orthodoxy. And certainly serious questions need to be asked about why so many youngsters seem to be rejecting it, particularly as Israel's religious youth receive the best Jewish education in the world, and undergo an intensive experience of Orthodoxy and Jewish life.

While the reasons for leaving Orthodoxy are individual and varied (and relatively rarely concern theological questions), one frequent thread is a rebellion against an increasingly dogmatic environment, in which questions are not encouraged and in which ever more rigid standards of religious observance are required.

As similar trends seem to be occurring in the diaspora, with mainstream Orthodoxy drifting ever further to the right, there are lessons for us here, too. And yet, I cannot help but see in the datlashim a sign of hope. One of the most worrying aspects of Israeli society is the outright hostility between its Orthodox and secular components. Thanks in large part to the partnership of synagogue and state, too many secular people see religion as an outdated anachronism forced on them unwillingly, and religious people as work-shy, army-shirking parasites.

Too many Orthodox people see the secular majority as value-less. The lines between the two camps are very starkly drawn; unlike in the diaspora, secular Jews are not shul-goers, the educational systems are completely separate and, increasingly, they live in separate neighbourhoods and even separate towns. (A major exception are secular Sephardim, who tend to be quite religiously traditional.) Politics, too, tends to fall along religious lines.

So while I mourn every Jew who abandons religion, it is heartening to see a group that can potentially cross bridges; that has genuine sympathies with, and ties to, both groups. Israel desperately needs to mend its religious rift. With time, this disaster for the Orthodox camp may yet turn out to be a blessing for the nation.