Dynamics of Continuity and Change in Jewish Religious Life 9781618117144

Citation preview

with Alan Kadish, Benjamin Brown, Calvin Goldscheider, Nissan Rubin, Judith Bleich, Zvi Jonathan Kaplan, Pnina Mor, and Chaya Greenberger

New York 2018

Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data Names: Fishbane, Simcha, editor. | Levine, Eric, editor. Title: Dynamics of continuity and change in Jewish religious life / edited by Simcha Fishbane and Eric Levine. Description: New York : Touro College Press, [2017] | This volume is divided into three segments. Section I presents sociologically and anthropologically oriented analyses of contemporary and historical themes. Section II presents historical case studies of Jewish communities and their leaders debating religious change and the accommodation with outside society. Section III looks at halakhic and ethical issues emerging as a consequence of modern scientific advances, medical technology, and treatment. Includes bibliographical references and index. Identifiers: LCCN 2017043709 (print) | LCCN 2017044328 (ebook) | ISBN 9781618117144 (e-book) | ISBN 9781618117137 (hardback) Subjects: LCSH: Judaism—21st century. | Jews—Associations, institutions, etc.— History—21st century. Classification: LCC BM565 (ebook) | LCC BM565 .D96 2017 (print) | DDC 296.09/05— dc23 LC record available at https://lccn.loc.gov/2017043709 ISBN 978-1-61811-713-7 (hardback) ISBN 978-1-61811-714-4 (electronic) ©Touro College Press, 2018 Published by Touro College Press and Academic Studies Press. Typeset, printed and distributed by Academic Studies Press. Cover design by Ivan Grave Book design by Kryon Publishing Services (P) Ltd. www.kryonpublishing.com Touro College Press Michael A. Shmidman and Simcha Fishbane, Editors 27 West 23rd Street New York, NY 10010, USA [email protected] Academic Studies Press 28 Montfern Avenue Brighton, MA 02135, USA [email protected] www.academicstudiespress.com

Dedicated by Simcha Fishbane to: Eric Levine Dedicated by Eric Levine to: Tamar Levine

Table of Contents

Contributors viii Preface and Acknowledgments

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Introduction: Movements, Institutions and Organizations: Mobilizing for Religious Change Eric Levine 1 1  Continuity and Change: Explorations in Contemporary Religious and Communal Life No “Right” of Passage? The Rabbinic Dispute Regarding the Propriety of Bat Mitzvah Celebrations Simcha Fishbane

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Globalization and Judaism Calvin Goldscheider 113 2  Tradition and Transition: Historical Case Studies

The Comeback of “Simple Faith”: The Ultra-Orthodox Concept of Faith and Its Development in the Nineteenth Century Benjamin Brown 130

Clerical Robes: Distinction or Dishonor? Judith Bleich 198

The Plight of the Agunah: The Proposal of the Union des Rabbins Français Zvi Jonathan Kaplan

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Changes in the Circle of Relatives for Whom One Was Required to Mourn: A Sociological Analysis of Talmudic Sources Nissan Rubin 241

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3  The Challenges of Modern Medicine: Halachic and Ethical Responses The Rabbinic Response to Modern Medicine: Two Types of Piety Alan Kadish

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Family Member’s Presence at a Seriously Ill Patient’s Bedside: May Sabbath Prohibitions be Overridden? Pnina Mor and Chaya Greenberger

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Index 315

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Contributors

Judith Bleich, PhD:  is a professor of Judaic studies at the Touro College Graduate School of Jewish Studies and the Touro College Lander College for Women. She received her PhD from New York University in 1974. In 2004, she won the Founding Faculty Award from the Touro College Lander College for Women. She specializes in the nineteenth-century development of Reform and Orthodoxy in the wake of the Enlightenment and emancipation, and has written extensively on modern Jewish history. She is on the editorial committee of Tradition, is a contributing editor of Jewish Action and is a member of the Orthodox Forum Steering Committee. Benjamin Brown, PhD:  is associate professor in the Department of Jewish Thought at the Hebrew University of Jerusalem. He also works as a researcher at the Israel Democracy Institute Religion and State project and is the coeditor of The Gdolim—Leaders Who Shaped Haredi Jewry (with Dr. Nissim Leon). Recent works include books on the Musar Movement and Karlin Hasidism (Shazar Center, forthcoming). Dr. Brown is also a member of the research group that wrote Hasidism: A New History, a comprehensive book on the history of Hasidism from its inception to date (forthcoming from Princeton University Press). His book on Rabbi Abraham Yeshaayahu Karelitz, the Hazon Ish, was widely praised. Dr. Brown’s areas of expertise include ultraOrthodox Jewish thought, Jewish law, the history of Orthodoxy, Hasidism, the Musar movement, and the contemporary Haredi community. Simcha Fishbane, PhD:  is a professor of Jewish studies at the Touro College Graduate School of Jewish Studies. He has been a rabbi, scholar, and educator serving the Jewish community for many years. He is the founder of a Jewish university in Moscow, Russia, a branch of Touro College, and served as its dean for three years. He has also been instrumental in establishing similar programs in

Contributors

Canada, Israel, Germany, and Italy. Professor Fishbane is the author of numerous books and articles on such diverse topics as Mishnah Berurah, Aruch Hashulchan, Mishnah, Talmud, and Jewish custom and ritual, as well as contemporary Jewish life in North America. He is coeditor of the Touro College Press, editor-inchief of the journal, Studies in Judaism, Humanities and the Social Sciences, and also serves as the executive assistant to the president of Touro College. Calvin Goldscheider, PhD:  is an emeritus professor of sociology and Ungerleider Professor Emeritus of Judaic Studies at Brown University. He was Professor of Sociology and Demography at the Hebrew University of Jerusalem, Israel, and Chairman of their Department of Demography. He has also held sociology faculty appointments at the University of Southern California, the University of California, Berkeley, and Brandeis University. He was a Senior Fulbright Research Scholar and Visiting Professor at the Center for Women’s Studies at Stockholm University. His major research publications have focused on the sociology and demography of ethnic populations, historically and comparatively, with a particular emphasis on family and immigration. He has published extensively in these fields in the leading sociology and demography journals and has edited eight collections of original scholarly research in demography. His two most recent books include a biography entitled A Typical Extraordinary Jew: From Tarnow to Jerusalem and Israeli Society in the 21st Century. His major authored and coauthored books include: Population, Modernization and Social Structure; The Population of Israel; The Ethnic Factor in Family Structure and Mobility; The Transformation of the Jews; Jewish Continuity and Change; Leaving Home Before Marriage: Ethnicity, Family and Generational Relations; Israel’s Changing Society: Population Ethnicity and Development; The Transition to Adulthood; Cultures in Conflict: The Arab-Israeli Conflict; and Studying the Jewish Future in Israel, the United States and Europe. Chaya Greenberger, PhD: is a professor of nursing, Jerusalem College of Technology. She is also Dean of the Faculty of Life and Health Sciences, and founder and former head of the Department of Nursing at the College. Professor Greenberger is former director of the Shaare Zedek School of Nursing, head of the department of licensure and accreditation and of testing in the nursing division of the Israeli Ministry of Health. She is an active member of committees at the Ministry in health promotion for the geriatric population. She also served on the Helsinki Committee at the Hadassah Medical Center. Her current research focuses on the field of halakha and medical ethics and

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chronic nursing care. She is coauthor of a chapter in the book Religion, Religious Ethics, and Nursing, published by Springer in 2012. Dr. Greenberger received her PhD from the Hebrew University School of Social Work in 2000 and trained as a Yoetzet Halakha at Nishmat in 2002. Alan Kadish, MD:  is President of the Touro College and University System, the largest Jewish-sponsored educational institution in the United States. Dr. Kadish distinguished himself as a prominent cardiologist, dedicated teacher and researcher, and experienced administrator. Under his leadership, Touro opened the Touro College of Dental Medicine, the first dental school operating under Jewish auspices outside of Israel, and also acquired and assumed operations of New York Medical College. As well, Dr. Kadish oversaw the founding of Touro College Press, which has released over a dozen volumes since its establishment. A graduate of the Albert Einstein College of Medicine at Yeshiva University, Dr. Kadish received postdoctoral training at the Brigham and Women’s Hospital, an affiliate of Harvard Medical School, and at the Hospital of the University of Pennsylvania, where he was a fellow in cardiology. He is board certified in internal medicine, cardiovascular disease, and cardiac electrophysiology. Prior to joining Touro in 2009 as Senior Provost and Chief Operating Officer, Dr. Kadish taught at the University of Michigan and held a 19-year tenure at Northwestern University. He served Northwestern as the Chester and Deborah Cooley Professor of Medicine, Senior Associate Chief of the Cardiology Division, Director of the Cardiovascular Clinical Trials unit, and sat on the finance and investment committees of the Northwestern clinical practice plan. An accomplished and prolific research scientist as well, he has published over 250 peer-reviewed papers, contributed to several textbooks, and received numerous grants, including from the National Institutes of Health and the National Science Foundation. Dr. Kadish sits on the executive board of the Jewish Book Council, is a past chair of the Clinical Cardiology Program Committee of the American Heart Association, and has been elected to prestigious scientific research and education societies, including the American Association of Professors, the American Society for Clinical Investigation, and the American Society of Physicians. Zvi Jonathan Kaplan, JD, PhD: is Professor of History and Chair of the Department of History at Touro College. He has published on Moses Mendelssohn, Hungarian Ultra-Orthodoxy, and modern French Jewish history. He is the author of Between the Devil and the Deep Blue Sea? French Jewry and

Contributors

the Problem of Church and State (Providence, RI: Brown Judaic Studies, 2009) and coeditor of The Jews of Modern France: Images and Identities (Leiden, The Netherlands: Brill Press, 2016). Eric Levine, DSW, LMSW:  is Director, Social Work Alumni Engagement, Continuing Education and Financial Resource Development, as well as a faculty member at the Touro College Graduate School of Social Work. He has held leadership roles for major not-for-profit organizations with recognized expertise in communal planning and policy, organizational and communal change, and fundraising. He also taught as an adjunct professor for over 20 years at Yeshiva University’s Wurzweiler School of Social Work, teaching courses in ethics, social policy, organizational theory, ethnicity, administrative practice, and community relations. Eric has authored numerous articles, book chapters, and papers and is the managing editor of the journal, Studies in Judaism, Humanities and the Social Sciences. His current research interests focus on contentious politics, organizations, and social movements. He coedited with Simcha Fishbane the two-volume work, Contention, Controversy and Change: Evolutions and Revolutions in the Jewish Experience, published by Touro College Press in 2016. Pnina Mor, CNM, PhD:  is a nurse/midwife focusing on women’s health. She is assistant director of the labor and delivery department at the Shaare Zedek Medical Center. Mor founded and directs a clinic for women who have a predisposition for hereditary breast and ovarian cancers (BRCA gene mutation carriers) at Shaare Zedek. She also heads an RN-to-BSN program at the Faculty of Nursing at the Jerusalem College of Technology. Her major research focuses on BRCA gene mutation carriers. Dr. Mor serves on the advisory board for the B’Shvilyach women’s health center. She received her PhD in nursing genetics from the University of Calgary Faculty of Nursing in 2008. Nissan Rubin, PhD: is a professor emeritus in the Department of Sociology and Anthropology at Bar Ilan University. His main areas of interest include ritual in modern society, sociology and anthropology of Talmudic texts, and rites of passage in ancient Judaism. His published books include Research Methods in Social Science—Strategy, Design and Measurement (Tel Aviv: Dekel, 1978, with Ernest Krausz and Steven H. Miller), The Beginning of Life: Rites of Birth, Circumcision and Redemption of the First-Born in the Talmud and Midrash (Tel Aviv: Ha-Kibbutz Ha-Meuchad, 1995), The End

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of Life: Rites of Burial and Mourning in the Talmud and Midrash (Tel Aviv: Ha-Kibbutz Ha-Meuchad, 1988), The Joy of Life: Rites of Betrothal and Marriage in the Talmud and Midrash (Tel Aviv: Ha-Kibbutz Ha-Meuchad, 2004), Time and Life Cycle in Talmud and Midrash (Boston: Academic Studies Press, 2008), and New Rituals, Old Societies (Boston: Academic Studies Press, 2009). He has published numerous papers on rites and rites of passage in contemporary Israeli society and studies applying social scientific methods to the understanding of Late Antiquity Judaism.

Preface and Acknowledgments

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 hile the oft-quoted saying plus ça change, plus c'est la même chose or “the more it changes, the more it’s the same thing” seems to aptly describe the nature of social life, the reverse may also be equally accurate: the more things stay the same, the more they change. Indeed, the recognized institutions of human society, of which religion is a primary example, are both sources of stability and continuity as well as innovation, controversy, and conflict. This book presents a group of distinguished scholars from the fields of sociology, history, medicine, religion, and Jewish studies. The authors examine key cases and themes in religious life, emphasizing the continuities and discontinuities of tradition and its confrontation with trends pressing for transformation. Their essays revolve around the intersections and dynamics of Jewish religious continuity and change, forces that operate simultaneously, at times mutually reinforcing and at times in opposition to one another. The research in this volume demonstrates the importance of rich, detailed case studies and historical, ideological, and philosophical surveys in order to understand the practical actions of individual and organizational or communal actors attempting to create, maintain, evolve, or disrupt religious life and institutions. The themes and cases explored in this volume cut across geographical boundaries and time frames. Furthermore, these studies have the potential to promote and positively affect thoughtful discussions in many quarters. They seek to generate greater understanding and dialogue among those who study Jewish life or who work in Jewish organizations, as well as those who live and function in religious communities. Indeed, the book brings forth sophisticated presentations and interpretations of Jewish law, religious texts, communities, and institutions. The contributors insightfully investigate the interplay of internal and external social and ideological forces, of the impact of organizations, and of the potential for individuals and groups to shape their religious environments.

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Preface and Acknowledgments

Briefly, the opening chapter of the book by Eric Levine also serves as the overall introduction; the volume is then divided into three segments. Part I presents sociologically and anthropologically oriented analyses of contemporary and historical themes. In the opening chapter, Eric Levine employs organizational and social movement theories to discuss the role of religious organizations as platforms for either promoting or fending off innovation and change. He studies two recent examples of religious change movements, one of which is currently quite active. Simcha Fishbane analyzes the halakhic treatment of the concept of the bat mitzvah ceremony. He compares and contrasts the leading piskei halakha in his timely examination of an evolving but potentially controversial “ritual” innovation. The essay offered by Calvin Goldscheider provides a very important macro-level view of Jewish life in light of massive technological, social, political, and demographic forces at play. He traces these global trends and their significant effects on the Jewish community, its vitality, and future prospects. Part II presents historical case studies of Jewish communities and their leaders debating religious change and the accommodation with outside society. Benjamin Brown examines the challenges to faith and theological and ideological responses in nineteenth-century ultra-Orthodox communities. He traces the continuities and discontinuities operative in different kinds of faith commitments. Judith Bleich studies fascinating debates around Christian and governmental influences on Jewish clerical customs and styles of dress in nineteenth- and twentieth-century Europe. Zvi Jonathan Kaplan reviews a failed attempt in France to change halakhic treatment of “chained” wives. It is an insightful and sobering look back at an endeavor in halakhic innovation. To close the section, Nissan Rubin provides an excursus into evolving religious mourning practices, drawing from extensive rabbinic sources. But even more—by associating such practices as marriage, halitzah, yibum, and inheritance—he also sheds light on the changing rabbinic view of family, community, relationships, and interpersonal obligations. Finally, Part III looks at halakhic and ethical issues emerging as a consequence of modern scientific advances, medical technology, and treatment. Alan Kadish provides a sweeping overview of evolving halakhic approaches to medicine and scientific discovery as well as a penetrating analysis of the consistencies and inconsistencies in how various communities address these challenges. The research of Mor and Greenberger explores the potential ethical and halakhic implications of caring for those afflicted with extreme illness. They make an important contribution by offering conceptual and practical expansions of the framework for resolving cases of pikuach nefesh.

Preface and Acknowledgments

In sum, these essays examine critically important issues for all those c­ oncerned with understanding and leading Jewish communities and organizations today. The contributors demonstrate the complexities, contradictions, and nuances around the dynamics of Jewish religious continuity and change. Indeed, their chapters show how the Jewish tradition navigates between ­promoting continuity and stability and responding to or even embracing transformations in philosophy, ideology, ritual, law, and institutions. This volume offers rich research with both historical and contemporary relevance and interest. The collection has meaning and value as an academic contribution for teaching and research purposes, and potentially as a guide for organizational leaders and communal members. Typically, these discussions have remained limited to the halls of academia. Our hope is that this work will help lead to a more compelling application of research and ideas into non-academic circles and Jewish religious and communal life. The editors, Simcha Fishbane and Eric Levine, would like to thank Dr. Alan Kadish, President and CEO of the Touro College and University System, for his support of this project; Dr. Michael Shmidman, coeditor of the Touro College Press, for his wisdom and guidance; and the gifted authors who contributed their scholarship in order to make this volume a reality. Many thanks as well are extended to the talented and devoted team at Academic Studies Press, including Alessandra Anzani, Acquisitions Editor, Eileen Wolfberg, Editorial Coordinator, and Sara Libby Robinson, copy editor. Of course, we extend our gratitude to Kira Nemirovsky, Production Editor, and Dr. Igor Nemirovsky, Director and Publisher. Furthermore, a number of colleagues provided most helpful input and comments on the content of the book, including David Raab, Dr. Herb Basser, Dr. Ira Bedzow, Malka Fleishman, and Sheldon Weiner. The editors would like to express gratitude to the Touro College Library staff for their devoted assistance in conducting research and obtaining materials essential to making much of this book a reality. Bashe Simon, Director of Libraries Michoel Rotenfeld, Associate Director of Libraries Dr. David R. Levy, Chief Librarian Marina Zilberman, Chief Midtown Librarian Tova Friedman, Library Assistant Carol Schapiro, JD, Librarian Toby Krausz, Judaica Librarian Edward Schabes, Library Assistant

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Simcha Fishbane I would like to thank my wife, Joanne Fishbane, for her support and assistance in all of my scholarly projects. I also wish to dedicate this book to my friend, co-editor, and colleague Eric Levine. In addition, I want to thank Dr. Lynn Visson for her ceaseless support, advice, input, and editorial assistance. Dr. Visson, without hesitation or consideration of time, is always available to discuss my theories and review my work. Her contribution has been and is a basic essential factor in my scholarly work.

Eric Levine I would like to express thanks to Dr. Steven Huberman, Dean of the Touro College Graduate School of Social Work for his support and leadership and to the entire Graduate School of Social Work family for providing a nurturing, inspiring, and exciting academic home. I also want to express a special note of recognition to two instrumental figures who deeply influenced my professional and intellectual development. The first is Dr. Louis Levitt, my former graduate school professor and Director of the Doctoral Program at the Wurzweiler School of Social Work of Yeshiva University. Rabbi Irving “Yitz” Greenberg was my undergraduate professor and advisor and later professional colleague. In large measure, any professional or academic achievement of mine ultimately derives from their inspiration. The well-known compendium of Jewish ethical teachings, Pirkei Avot, or Chapters of the Fathers, posits important principles of learning: that a person should sit in the dust at the feet of sages, drink thirstily of their words, and acquire for oneself a teacher and mentor. Lou and Yitz have my eternal respect, gratitude, and affection for being my teachers, role models, colleagues, allies, advocates, and comrades in arms. Finally, and most important, I am dedicating this book to Tamar Levine, my daughter. My earlier publications have been dedicated to my life’s partner, Roxanne Huberman Levine. Every day, our daughter uplifts our family and brings us tremendous pride, joy, and love. She is a blessing and a treasure and we are eternally grateful and fortunate.

Movements, Institutions and Organizations: Mobilizing for Religious Change ERIC LEVINE

INTRODUCTION

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umor often serves to caricature human experience and plays off of some of the more laughable aspects of behavior. Cultural and ethnic humor, in particular, frequently functions that way as well. For example, Jews smile at the oft-repeated line that where there are two Jews, there are at least three opinions. Or the well-known joke about the Jew marooned on a desolate, uninhabited Pacific island. When finally rescued, the castaway escorts his rescuers around the island and excitedly shows off how he survived alone for many years. He proudly exhibits two structures he has built—two synagogues—the one he will and the one he won’t attend. However silly, the joke points to something very real in Jewish life: Jews debate, Jews disagree, Jews create institutions, and then often break away from them to form new ones. The North American Jewish community has had a penchant for creating organizations. Many have been created anew and numerous synagogues and other organizations are the result of breakaways or mergers. And for good reason—organizations are critical vehicles for pursuing collective and shared meaning, needs and purposes. They are carriers of tradition, platforms for maintaining social stability and continuity, while at the same time providing the frameworks for change. Organizations are powerful forms of collective enterprise, serving as essential vehicles for social life at all levels of human endeavor.

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Dynamics of Continuity and Change in Jewish Religious Life

Ironically, despite the impact that organizations have had and continue to make on Jewish life, there has been infrequent analysis of the formal Jewish organizational structure. There have been important scholars in the field of Jewish organizational analysis, notably Elazar, Windmueller, and Burstein, but this is largely an untapped or inconsistently researched field. This chapter benefits from their work in understanding the role and importance of organizations in the Jewish community, with particular interest in Jewish religious organizations. Therefore, this chapter has a series of objectives. The first is to explore the centrality and nature of organizations in American Jewish life. The discussion, of necessity, will examine the shifting landscape of the Jewish organizational scene. The second objective is to explore how organizations serve as platforms for promoting or resisting change, particularly regarding religious innovation. To approach this goal, we will review two contemporary examples of Jewish religious movements responding to the demands for religious change: the Union for Traditional Judaism (originally the Union for Traditional Conservative Judaism) and the emerging organizational network of “Open Orthodoxy.” We often think of religious change in terms of legal discourse, rabbinic pronouncements, policy positions, or ritual evolution. These cases help to demonstrate that movements seeking religious change, in opposition to their parent systems or organizations, often split off and create new organizations and networks of organizations to pursue their agendas and to build constituencies. Moreover, the contention here is that the Jewish religious organizations in question tended to mimic the form, function, and structure of other religious organizations and systems in the community, especially the groups they broke from, thus lending credence to the notion of isomorphism in organizational behavior. Finally, this essay will examine the organizational forms and repertoires adopted by contemporary change efforts and how isomorphic pressures limited the range of options in structure and activity that these organizations employed. The discussion will also lend support to what various observers have termed the realignment of the American Orthodox Jewish community. In the view of this writer and others, religious schism in Orthodoxy is in the offing. The chapter draws upon two important theoretical frameworks: social movement theory and organization theory. The complementary nature of the two fields has been observed by a number of scholars, as has been the mutual borrowing and sharing of concepts, tools, and methods.1 This essay continues   1 Sarah A. Soule, “Bringing Organizational Studies Back into Social Movement Scholarship,”

Movements, Institutions and Organizations

this writer’s ongoing research interests in studying organizations, community, and collective action, as well as religious and social movements, especially in the Jewish experience. In particular, it draws upon the theoretical approach of institutionalism in organizational theory. The present study is important in at least two ways. As a member, professional, and student of the Jewish community, these issues are of intense personal and academic concern. As will shortly be discussed at greater length, from a communal standpoint, the theory and cases discussed are instructive in ways that can help us understand and respond to the continuing shifts occurring in the Jewish community overall and in the religious sector.

Organizations and Collective Action In American society today, social and communal life has been, for the most part, synonymous with organizational life. Organizations come into being as people identify and seek solutions to their common interests or problems. Organizations provide the framework for regular, sustained contact among people. To have sustaining power beyond the mere coincidental, people need vehicles that can provide structure, regularity, stability, security, continuity, and shape to social life. The benefits of organizing formal groups are evident; groups that desire impact and longevity need to create structure and establish leadership, policy, and protocols.2 Furthermore, people generally gravitate toward others who are like-minded, who share similar values, attitudes, and lifestyles. Even in the digital age dominated by social media, organizations remain as powerful vehicles for organizing social life, whether virtual or in person, ongoing or short term, conventional or unconventional. A great deal of what people wish to accomplish cannot be achieved alone, either by private, individual action or through markets and the modern instrument for aggregating private interest, the corporation. Only through some form of collective action can people realize important individual and group goals and produce the myriad shared benefits associated with social life . . . Collective action can involve advocating for causes or goals, recruiting others, and banding together to gain in The Future of Social Movement Research: Dynamics, Mechanisms and Processes, eds. Jacquelien van Stekelenburg, Conny Roggeband and Bert Klandermans (Minneapolis, MN: University of Minnesota Press, 2011), 107 and 116.   2 Jo Freeman, “The Tyranny of Structurelessness,” accessed May 8, 2017, www.jofreeman. com/joreen/tyranny.htm.

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Dynamics of Continuity and Change in Jewish Religious Life voice and representation before public institutions, corporations, and other bodies, or it can entail producing something of value that is shared beyond those who created it. Whether the goal is the creation of public parks or pathways, health care or human rights, environmental sustainability or electoral accountability, or information databases and communications systems, the need for at least two people to act together toward the establishment of some shared “public good” is an enduring fact of human life.3

The banding together of people to accomplish shared goals denotes collective action and encompasses a wide array of human endeavor, “from raising an army to raising a barn; from building a bridge across a gulf separating states to building a faith community that spans the gulf between races; from organizing a business cartel to organizing a small partnership to compete in a crowded market; from the food riots of revolutionary France to the progressive dinners of charitable New York.”4 In other words, collective action is any and all activity aimed at producing a collective good: that is, “actions taken by two or more people in pursuit of the same collective good.”5 Examples abound of collective action and organizational activity. Football teams engage in collective action, but so do churches, voluntary associations, and neighbors who clear weeds from a vacant lot. When you go to school or to work for a big company, you enter an organization that is carrying on collective action. But most of the collective action involved occurs with no significant contention and no government involvement. The bulk of collective action takes place outside contentious politics.6

Even in the realm of unconventional politics, social movements rely on and are composed of, in part, formal organizations.7 They are springboards for   3 Bruce Bimber, Andrew J. Flanagin, and Cynthia Stohl, Collective Action in Organizations (New York: Cambridge University Press, 2012), 1.   4 Gerald Marwell and Pamela Oliver, The Critical Mass in Collective Action (New York: Cambridge University Press, 1993), 1–2.   5 Ibid., 4.   6 Charles Tilly and Sidney Tarrow, Contentious Politics (Boulder, CO: Paradigm, 2007), 5.   7 Beth Schaefer Caniglia and JoAnn Carmin, “Scholarship on Social Movement Organizations: Classic Views and Emerging Trends,” Mobilization, 10, no. 2 (2005): 202.

Movements, Institutions and Organizations

mobilization, incubators of talent, and collectors and disseminators of critical ­information.8 In other words, “the more organization, the better the prospects for mobilization and success.”9 The scholarly literature attests to the central, dominant, and powerful influence of organizations in contemporary society. Presthus asserts that “Contemporary organizations have a pervasive influence upon individual and group behavior, expressed through a web of rewards, sanctions, and other inducements that range from patent coercion to the most subtle of group appeals to conformity.”10 He goes as far as to work from the assumption that values and institutions mold personality and behavior. Organizational influences significantly change the conditions under which people make choices and behave. They impose socialization and act as miniature social systems in which the mechanics and consequences of socialization are defined, inculcating ideals, attitudes, and behavior, often merely to enhance the organization’s competitive chances.11 Crozier adds that We are all aware of the importance which large organizations have assumed, and will increasingly assume, in modern society. Most of us are employed, more or less directly, by large organizations; most of the goods we consume are mass produced by these same organizations. Our leisure and even our cultural life are dominated by other large organizations: the cities in which we reside are themselves large organizations whose complexity is beyond our understanding. In order to exercise effectively our rights of dissent and representation we must employ, at least in part, the large organization—a mode of action essential to modern man.12

Corwin also captures the essence of the organizational phenomenon. Organizations have furthermore assumed a predominant role in contemporary life. Society takes concrete form through organizations that carry out its major functions. As a society evolves, organizations increase   8 Ibid., 204.   9 Elisabeth S. Clemens and Debra C. Minkoff, “Beyond the Iron Law: Rethinking the Place of Organizations in Social Movement Research,” in The Blackwell Companion to Social Movements, eds. David A. Snow, Sarah A. Soule, and Hanspeter Kriesi (Malden, MA: Blackwell Publishing, Ltd., 2007), 155. 10 Robert Presthus, The Organizational Society (New York: Vintage Books, 1962), 3. 11 Ibid., 7. 12 Michel Crozier, The Bureaucratic Phenomenon (Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 1964), 1.

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Dynamics of Continuity and Change in Jewish Religious Life in number, scale, and formality, and become important sources of power penetrating all sectors of life. Modern society has come to rely heavily on collective action. It follows in a very real sense that the main constituent members of society are not individuals, but organizations.13

So it is quite clear that we live today in an organizational world. It is only in modern life that the organization has become the dominant characteristic of society, appearing in large numbers and performing nearly every task a society needs in order to function.14 And while they display common or generic features they also exhibit staggering variety in size, structure, and operating processes.15 Scott and Davis offer a three-part definition. Organizations are:

• Collectivities oriented to the pursuit of relatively specific goals and exhibiting relatively highly formalized social structures.16 • Collectivities whose participants are pursuing multiple interests, both disparate and common, but who recognize the value of perpetuating the organization as an important resource.17 • Congeries of interdependent flows and activities linking shifting coalitions of participants embedded in wider material-resource and institutional environments.18

Bottom line, over and above any definitions, descriptions, lofty goals, or mission statements, organizations have the primary goal of survival and self-­ perpetuation.19 While nonprofit groups represent only one part of the American organizational scene, a brief examination of this ever-important and growing sector helps to amplify the point about the dominance of organizations in contemporary life. From 2003 to 2013, the number of nonprofit organizations registered with the U.S. Internal Revenue Service (IRS) rose from 1.38 million 13 Ronald G. Corwin, The Organization-Society Nexus (Westport, CT: Greenwood Press, 1987), 3–4. 14 W. Richard Scott and Gerald F. Davis, Organizations and Organizing: Rational, Natural, and Open System Perspectives (Upper Saddle River, NJ: Pearson Education, Inc., 2007), 2. 15 Ibid., 1. 16 Ibid., 29. 17 Ibid., 30. 18 Ibid., 32. 19 Jeffrey Pfeffer, New Directions for Organization Theory (New York: Oxford University Press, 1997), 8–9.

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to 1.41 million, an increase of 2.8 percent. These 1.41 million organizations comprise a diverse range of nonprofits, including art, health, education and advocacy nonprofits, labor unions, and business and professional associations. This broad spectrum, however, only includes registered nonprofit organizations; the total number of nonprofit organizations operating in the United States is unknown. Religious congregations and organizations with less than $50,000 in annual revenue are not required to register with the IRS, though many do.20 These unregistered organizations expand the scope of the nonprofit sector beyond the 1.41 million organizations. The nonprofit sector contributed an estimated $905.9 billion to the US economy in 2013, comprising 5.4 percent of the country’s gross domestic product (GDP).21 The National Center for Charitable Statistics—Nonprofit Almanac 2012 comes to a different estimation, calculating that there were 2.3 million nonprofits, of which nearly 1.6 million (rounded up) registered with the IRS as of 2012. That amounted to one nonprofit organization for every 175 Americans.22 The 1,571,056 tax-exempt organizations include 1,097,689 public charities, 105,030 private foundations, and 368,337 other types of nonprofit organizations, including chambers of commerce, fraternal organizations, and civic leagues. The case, then, of the dominance of organizations is supported even by the limited survey of the not-for-profit world. Once we consider the addition of other sectors, such as business, the picture is substantiated even further. Of course, the numbers by themselves do not fully make the argument, for an understanding of the ramifications of all of the organizations and organizing activity is essential to the story. Toward that end, we turn to the work of a few well-known scholars. I have always been fascinated by the work of Robert Dahl, a major figure in political science, democratic theory, and organizational 20 The standard source for estimates of religious congregations is American Church Lists, a company that provides marketing data using phone listings and other sources. The most recent estimates from American Church Lists suggest there are about 345,000 houses of worship in the United States. Of these, approximately 235,000 are registered with the IRS, according to the analysis by the National Center for Charitable Statistics’ of the July 2015 IRS Business Master File. See “Church Specialty List,” InfoUSA. Accessed May 9, 2017, http://www.infousa.com/church-list. 21 See the online report, The Nonprofit Sector in Brief 2015: Public Charities, Giving , and Volunteering, authored by Brice McKeever, accessed May 9, 2017, http://www.urban. org/research/publication/nonprofit-sector-brief-2015-public-charities-giving-andvolunteering. 22 See the online page Quick Facts about Nonprofits, National Center for Charitable Statistics, accessed May 9, 2017, http://www.nccs.urban.org/statistics/quickfacts.cfm.

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a­ nalysis. In his view, the phenomenon of organizational proliferation is uniquely a feature of modern democracy. Modern democratic nations extend to their citizens a general freedom to form and join independent organizations, whether they be religious, cultural, intellectual, labor, agricultural, commercial, or ­professional.23 The motivation to organize intensifies as people become aware of the advantages to be gained from cooperation and the pooling of resources. Because it appears that an intrinsic feature of modern life in democracies is a highly developed sense of the advantages of organizing, organizations are thus bound to proliferate. Where citizens can more or less freely express and advocate their interests, and can afford to do so, and where organizations can be more or less freely formed, activists form and join organizations in order to advance their interests.24 Such freedom permits—even strongly encourages— the formation of organizations. In a democratic setting, he asserts, the growth of independent organizations is both inevitable and desirable, a consequence of democracy, and necessary to its future.25 As a result, North American society in general is marked by the existence of a plurality of relatively autonomous, independent organizations.26 Dahl devoted much of his research to examining the contradictions of democratic pluralism, universal problems for any modern democracy. His analysis seems especially pertinent to this study. The powerful urge to organize in democratic countries is not without its drawbacks. The complexity of organizational life increases with an increase in the variety and number of relatively independent organizations. The complexity of this matrix of large and increasing numbers of groups has outstripped theory, existing information, and the capacity of the total system to be comprehended and meaningfully managed.27 As more and more groups develop, of necessity competition for all manner of resources increases, including influence over decisions. The nature of democratic pluralism tends toward a decentralization of decision-making and policy setting, or at least a major role for independent groups in these processes. But, with a broadening and diversifying of organizational expression, the process of decision-making and consensus building becomes extremely complicated, even breaking down, with obvious repercussions for the perpetuation of the 23 Robert A. Dahl, Dilemmas of Pluralist Democracy (New Haven, CT: Yale University Press, 1982), 38. 24 Ibid., 43. 25 Ibid., 1. 26 Ibid., 5. 27 Ibid., 52.

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system. In response, efforts are typically made to centralize power again, which contradicts the notion of the participation of the many in decisions and ­policies. Ironically, the expansion in the numbers of groups and interests, while a positive manifestation of freedom, nonetheless tends to create disharmony among interests, undermining the fragile bonds of commitment to the larger social system beyond the interest group. In sum, Dahl describes mutually contradictory and conflictual processes in American life: organizational proliferation; a clogging of the system due to increased numbers; competition for resources and struggles for power, ­influence, and dominance; a decline in the ability of the system to create consensus; a decline in civic loyalty; and pressures toward “recentralization” to simplify decision-­making processes. Moreover, this picture depicting the inherent contradictions of organizational life in modern democratic settings is further complicated by the observations of two leading social scientists, Ralf Dahrendorf and S. N. Eisenstadt. Dahrendorf wrote that every society is a relatively persisting and well-­ integrated configuration of elements. Every element contributes to the society’s functioning, and every society rests on the consensus of its members.28 Yet, conversely, every society is simultaneously subjected at every moment to stress and ubiquitous social change. Every society also experiences at every moment social conflict, conflict also being pervasive. Every element in a society contributes to its change and every society rests on the constraint of some of its members by other members.29 Therefore, each society is simultaneously characterized by forces toward stability and change, integration and conflict, function and dysfunction, consensus and constraint, and all are valid aspects of each society.30 Eisenstadt is largely in agreement. He asserts that conflict is both inherent and persistent in any setting of social interaction due to the plurality of players and with the institutionalization of rules and principles. And, he argues, there is always an element of latent dissension about the distribution of power and values in any social order. Thus, “anti-systems” can erupt that contain the potential for social change in any society.31 28 Ralf Dahrendorf, “Toward a Theory of Social Conflict,” Journal of Conflict Resolution 2 ( June 1958), 174. 29 Ibid., 174. 30 Ibid., 176. 31 S. N. Eisenstadt, “A Reappraisal of Theories of Social Change,” in Social Change and Modernity, eds. Hans Haferkamp and Neil J. Smelser (Berkeley: University of California Press, 1992), 216–17.

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These renowned social scientists did not direct their analyses specifically to any one subnetwork or subset of institutions in American life. Likewise, their work was not devoted to the American Jewish communal structure as a unit of American society or as an entity unto itself. Still, these views are presented here for perspective in examining the American Jewish scene and lay the groundwork for the ensuing sections of this chapter.

The Jewish Community and Its Organizations The Jewish community is characterized by a wide array of organizations, both in number and scope, established and nascent. These include groups involved with international, continental, national, regional, and local concerns, across a full range of interest areas: religion, education, social welfare, health, community relations, social, fraternal, philanthropic, communal, political action, and more. Organizations play a predominant and all-encompassing role in the governance of Jewish affairs at all levels. They set policy, fund programs, arrange priorities, provide avenues for communal activity, and shape social life. Burstein conducted one of the most recent analyses of the American Jewish communal structure. Yet, he argues that despite the central importance of organizations, it is remarkable how little we know about Jewish organizations collectively—how many there are, what types, which types are losing vitality and disappearing, which are growing, how changes in American Jewish life are reflected in organizations, and how those organizations, in turn, affect Jewish life. Scholars have studied many individual Jewish organizations and, sometimes, sets of organizations. But there has been only one systematic attempt to provide a broad overview of American Jewish organizational life: Community & Polity: The Organizational Dynamics of American Jewry by the late Daniel Elazar (first published in 1976 and revised in 1995).32 “It is impossible to understand the American Jewish community without understanding how it is organized. Scholars have long appreciated the importance of studying particular Jewish organizations but seemingly no one but Elazar has made a serious attempt to describe the overall organizational structure of the Jewish community.”33 Thus, we have little idea what Jewish organizational life looks like today, but those who study Jewish organizations are hardly alone in this regard. There are few 32 Paul Burstein, “Jewish Nonprofit Organizations in the U.S.: A Preliminary Survey,” Contemporary Jewry 31 (2011), 130. 33 Ibid., 144.

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studies to describe comprehensively the organizations of any ethnic, racial, or religious communities in the United States.34 In a 1990 address to the Central Conference of American Rabbis, Jacob Rader Marcus, a well-known historian of the American Jewish experience, estimated that there were over 10,000 Jewish organizations at that time in America.35 Then, by 2010, Burstein estimated the total number of Jewish 501(c)3 organizations to be 9,482.36 Religious organizations made up nearly 3,500 of the total (likely an undercount because of many not reporting or appearing in other organizational categories).37 Synagogues experienced a small decline since a high of 4,000 in 1990. Nathan-Kazis, writing in the Forward, also sought to understand the scope, size, and function of the American Jewish community’s network of charity organizations. He described it as “a font of Jewish power, a source of communal pride and a huge mystery.”38 The network’s organizations influence America’s domestic and foreign policy, care for the old, educate the young, and send more than a billion dollars a year to Israel. The Forward’s investigation has uncovered a tax-exempt Jewish communal apparatus that operates on the scale of a Fortune 500 company and focuses the largest share of its donor dollars on Israel. This analysis doesn’t include synagogues and other groups that avoid revealing their financial information by claiming a religious exemption. But even without this substantial sector, the Jewish community’s federations, schools, health care and social service organizations, Israel aid groups, cultural and communal organizations, and advocacy groups report net assets of $26 billion, and generates some $12 billion and $14 billion in annual revenue.39

Elazar is widely recognized as the preeminent scholar of Jewish organizations and organizational structure. His writings have informed generations of academics, educators, communal leaders, and students. In Elazar’s view, the 34 Ibid., 137. 35 Jacob Rader Marcus, “Shabbat Sermon,” in Central Conference of American Rabbis Yearbook Volume XCIX, ed. Elliot L. Stevens (New York: Central Conference of American Rabbis, 1990), 111–12. 36 Burstein, “Jewish Nonprofit Organizations in the U.S.,” 139. 37 Ibid., 142. 38 Josh Nathan-Kazis, “26 Billion Bucks: The Jewish Charity Industry Uncovered,” The Forward (March 24, 2014), retrieved from (http://forward.com/news/israel/194978/26billion-bucks-the-jewish-charity-industry-unco). 39 Ibid.

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North American Jewish community has succeeded in creating an impressive organizational structure. “Almost without knowing it, and certainly without planning it, the American Jewish community has organized itself politically to handle the tasks of survival and participation in the life of the world Jewish community. It has done so in ways that are unprecedented in Jewish history . . . In the process American Jews have created an unanticipated polity fully within the framework of American society.”40 It has achieved this by “transforming the passive bonds of kinship into active associational ties based on the bonds of consent,” harnessing the voluntary affiliations and commitments of Jews who have come together out of a sense of collective purpose to respond to the needs of the Jewish people through organizational and communal mechanisms.41 In Elazar’s analysis, with all its seeming disorganization, in fact, American Jewry organizes itself to be active in five spheres: the religious-congregational sphere, the education-cultural sphere, the community relations–defense sphere, the communal-welfare sphere, and the Israel-overseas sphere.42 Elazar provided another essential contribution to the structural analysis of the American Jewish community. He wrote that American Jews, if they have any Jewish commitment, feel that they are Jews by choice rather than simply by birth. Birth alone is no longer sufficient to keep people in the fold. Historically, to participate in organized Jewish life in America, one must make a voluntary association with an organization. . . . the Jewish people have always relied upon associational activities to a greater or lesser degree, but at no point in Jewish history have they become as important as they are today. In the past such activities have always been fitted into the framework of an organic community, one linked to the tradition of the fathers as understood by their descendants, who felt bound—by that tradition and by their kinship to one another— to stand together apart from and even against the rest of the world. In the process of modernization these organic ties disappeared for Jews, as they have for other peoples who have gone through the same process, to be replaced by associational ties, at least for people who wished to maintain the ties at all . . . In other words not only is there no external 40 Daniel J. Elazar, Community and Polity (Philadelphia: Jewish Publication Society, 1976), 31. 41 Ibid., 10. 42 Daniel J. Elazar, “Organizational and Philanthropic Behavior of the North American Jewish Community,” Jerusalem Center for Public Affairs, accessed May 9, 2017, http://www.jcpa. org/dje/articles2/orgphil-najew.htm.

Movements, Institutions and Organizations or internal compulsion to affiliate with organized Jewry, but there is no automatic way to become a member of the Jewish community. To participate in any organized Jewish life in America one must make a voluntary association with some particular organization or institution . . . It is no accident that organized activity—often philanthropic in character— has come to be the most common manifestation of Judaism, replacing prayer, study, and the normal private intercourse of kin as a means of being Jewish.43

As a result, the community is no longer a community of fixed boundaries within which all (or virtually all) those born Jews find and organize themselves to meet their communal needs, but rather a series of concentric circles radiating outward from the hard core of committed Jews toward gray areas of semiJewishness on the outer fringes.44 The community is built on a fluid, if not eroding, base with a high degree of self-selection involved in determining who is even a potential decision-maker. There is some evidence that great gaps are developing between concentric circles. If this is so, the bases of Jewish communal life in the United States are not only shifting but eroding, with the result that the maintenance of representative decision-making becomes an even more difficult problem for American Jewry.45 According to Elazar, a vital factor shaping decision-making is the extraordinary variety of possible forms of Jewish association. Any organized interconnections within the maze of institutions and organizations of American Jewry have had to be forged in the face of many obstacles. These include the lack of inherent legitimacy attaching to any coordinating institutions, the penchant for individualism inherent in the American Jewish community, and the difficulties of enforcing any kind of coordinating effort within the context of American society, which treats all Jewish activities as private and voluntary. The pattern of relationships within the matrix of American Jewish life is dynamic. There is rarely a fixed division of authority and influence within American Jewry but rather one that varies from time to time and usually from issue to issue, with different elements of the matrix taking on different “loads” depending on the time and the issue. Moreover, since the community is voluntary, persuasion rather than compulsion, influence rather than power, are 43 Elazar, Community and Polity, 12. 44 Ibid., 276. 45 Ibid., 278.

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the tools available for making decisions and implementing policies. All of this works to strengthen the character of the community as a communications network, since the character, quality, and relevance of what is communicated and the way in which it is communicated frequently determine the extent of the authority and influence of the parties to the communication.46 Of the many factors contributing to the transformation of the contemporary Jewish community, perhaps the most significant, certainly in North America, has been liberal democracy. Americans and Canadians live in societies characterized by unparalleled personal and group liberty, choice, and freedom. As never before, Jews can voluntarily elect whether and how to affiliate with the Jewish community or—if they are so moved—to create new Jewish lifestyles, expressions, and organizations to suit their idiosyncratic needs and interests. This has helped to produce a growing array of organizations in the overall Jewish community today, including the vast organizational and institutional development of the religious systems/networks of Conservative, Orthodox, Reconstructionist, and Reform Judaism. Each represents different and often widely disparate interests. This vast communal system may seem at times to be a massive, unwieldy “alphabet soup,” but it does ultimately carry out the business of the Jewish people. This vast organizational network fosters communal stability and continuity, creates roles for those choosing to become involved, and fosters interpersonal relations among Jews. In fact, even as organizational proliferation takes place, many activists and members owe allegiance to more than one group. This produces cross-cutting alliances and more interaction among Jews. Yet, this same organizational structure simultaneously operates to create disharmony and fragmentation by providing the locus and opportunity for frequent and extensive interorganizational and interpersonal competition and conflict. The same structure that possesses powerful tendencies toward cohesion, functioning to pull the diverse parts of the Jewish community together in common cause, also contains strong forces that pull these elements apart. Even acknowledging these seeming contradictions within its organizational structure writ large, the Jewish community can boast of an impressive organizational configuration. Yet, despite that accomplishment, we may be witnessing the unfolding of a new era in Jewish life with the emergence of a new civic culture. To Steven Windmueller, a keen observer of the Jewish 46 Ibid., 278–79.

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community, Jewish institutional life is undergoing a profound transformation to a different communal paradigm, “moving from the parochial to the global, from fixed ideological, religious movements to trans-denominational­ institutional models, from ponderous multi-dimensional structures to efficient single-issue activities. New generations of Jews are moving past their parents’ traditional affiliations, creating their own expressions of Jewish belonging and engagement.”47 Among the radical shifts taking place, he foresees the decline of the “legacy” organizational system and the rise of “boutique Judaism,” a shift from centralized governance to localized management, the end of ideology, closures, mergers, and consolidation of organizations, a culture of ­experimentation, and a culture of “free,” implying new models of affiliation and engagement.48 As we brace for the full impact of this transformational moment, the long term implications would suggest a far weaker, less-cohesive and well organized American Jewish community. The results of these structural and social changes will be profoundly significant as the 3rd American Jewish Revolution unfolds. In turn, a communal system experiencing economic dislocation and a demographic reconfiguration will inevitably operate differently and must in turn manage its resources more prudently. Finally, the impact of these new realities will recast the role and place of Jews within the larger society as well.49

An example of the new era has been the emergence of a Jewish innovation ecosystem. American Jewish life has evolved dramatically over the past decade as an entire landscape of new Jewish organizations and initiatives have emerged and taken root. Changes in Jewish identity and demography, coupled with new technologies and modes of communication, have opened countless new possibilities for imagining Jewish life in the twenty-first century. While many Jewish organizations have grappled with the shifting terrain, a new breed of Jewish social entrepreneurs has embraced the chance to 47 Steven Windmueller, “The Unfolding of the Third American Jewish Revolution,” in In This Time and In This Place: American Jewry 3.0, Steven Windmueller (USA: CreateSpace, 2014), 236. 48 Steven Windmueller, “The Emerging Jewish Civic Culture,” in In This Time and In This Place: American Jewry 3.0, Steven Windmueller (USA: CreateSpace, 2014), 219. 49 Ibid., 219.

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Dynamics of Continuity and Change in Jewish Religious Life remake Jewish life for themselves and their peers. What began as only a handful of innovative ventures, serving a distinct population of Jews seeking options outside the Jewish mainstream, has grown into an entire ­innovation ecosystem bursting with new vitality and new ideas . . . Jews today can pray and celebrate lifecycle events at independent minyanim, perform community service and engage politically through new Jewish social justice groups, and load their iPods with Jewish-themed music spanning every genre. They can hike, bike, and kayak on Jewish ecoadventures and engage with the full spectrum of Jewish civilization through a plethora of websites, blogs, and social networking applications.50

Proponents of the innovation sector argue that the Jewish communal infrastructure of the last century was built to unify, centralize, and coordinate the fragmented landscape of late nineteenth- and early twentieth-century Jewish organizational life in America. Federations, defense organizations, and the denominational movements all were highly effective responses to this need for unity. These hierarchical and bureaucratic organizations drove the Jewish communal agenda and served as the primary addresses for involvement in American Jewish life throughout the last century . . . Where the unity-focused system of the twentieth century sought to bring together a diversity of individuals in a single organization, the innovation ecosystem fosters a diversity of organizations that serve specific interests, or niches. These broad social, cultural, and economic changes have laid the groundwork for new approaches to building and sustaining communal life.51

In a late-breaking development, the Jewish Telegraphic Agency ( JTA) reported on November 10, 2016 that four organizations have merged to form a single organization to be a central resource for Jewish innovation. UpStart, Bikkurim, Joshua Venture Group and U.S. based-programs of PresenTense announced Thursday that they will consolidate to form one entity. The new entity, to be called UpStart, will provide services and resources to entrepreneurs, intrapreneurs and communities. 50 Jumpstart, The Natan Fund and The Samuel Bronfman Foundation. The Innovation Ecosystem: Emergence of a New Jewish Landscape (Los Angeles: Jumpstart, The Natan Fund and The Samuel Bronfman Foundation, 2009): 3. 51 Ibid., 4.

Movements, Institutions and Organizations UpStart will work to create a more robust platform to empower ­innovators and institutions to take risks, to develop creative engagement strategies, and to maximize the potential of their community-changing ideas, the statement said.52

Thus, synthesizing the insights of the scholars we have reviewed, we have traced some of the inherent inconsistencies and contradictions in organizational life in America and in the Jewish community, respectively. A composite of their views yields a picture marked by proliferation, duplication, competition, the lack of clear lines of authority and consensus building processes/structures, as well as simultaneous pressures toward centralized-elitist and decentralized decision-making, and parochial outlooks. In the Jewish community we can also perceive the shifting of Jewish affiliation and commitment and a lack of central authority. Historian Jonathan Sarna further sharpens the picture of the contemporary Jewish scene. He explains that communal fragmentation and divisiveness is a complex matter. Notwithstanding the mantra ‘we are one,’ we know that on any given issue we are not one but many: many competing ideologies, many diverse interest groups, many different social, political, economic, cultural, and religious backgrounds. Jewish unity, it has been said, is an oxymoron. On most issues, and especially those bearing on survival and continuity, Jews remain fiercely divided, with a range of different constituencies that have to be satisfied. Consensus proves extremely difficult to achieve. 53

But, in an ironic twist, “it is a curious fact that historically American Jewish continuity owes an enormous debt to the forces of discontinuity and dissent. . . .”54 Citing three cases of movements that challenged communal consensus— Reform Judaism, Zionism, and Jewish feminism—Sarna uncovers a paradox. Jewish continuity in America has been secured to a considerable degree by movements that have promoted discontinuity and discord. 52 Jewish Telegraphic Agency, 4 Jewish Innovation Organizations Consolidating (November 10, 2016), accessed May 9, 2017, http://www.jta.org/2016/11/10/news-opinion/united-­ states/4-jewish-innovation-organizations-consolidating. 53 Jonathan D. Sarna, “Postscript—Structural Challenges to Jewish Continuity in American Jewry,” Portrait and Prognosis, eds. David M. Gordis and Dorit P. Gary, Susan and David Wilstein Institute of Jewish Policy Studies (Springfield, NJ: Behrman House, 1997), 405. 54 Ibid., 406–7.

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Dynamics of Continuity and Change in Jewish Religious Life This is not a brief for communal dissent, since by no means have all revolutionary movements in Jewish life been salutary; some, indeed, have proved c­ atastrophic. But at least let us remember that the potential for contributing to Jewish continuity is there. Dissent can prove to be a blessing in disguise.55

Another way to analyze the Jewish community’s organizational structure is to apply lessons from the expansive writings in social movement and organization studies. The following discussion does not presume to offer a comprehensive overview of these fields but does offer an application of theories selectively that will add perspective and texture to our understanding of organizations in the Jewish community, especially the religious sector, and how organizations play a central role in structuring the community and serving as platforms for change. This discussion will shed light on key themes of this study: organizational isomorphism, repertoire, and form. These insights help to explicate the shifting landscape of Jewish organizational life, religious schism, and the emergence of new denominational formations.

Organization Theory, Institutionalism, and Isomorphism Despite a natural resistance of individuals, groups, institutions, organizations, and communities to social change, it does, of course, occur at multiple levels of social life. “Change is always happening, but not always in the same way. Sometimes it is slow; sometimes, rapid. Sometimes it is superficial; sometimes, profound. Sometimes it is expected and routine; sometimes it takes us by surprise and finds us unprepared.”56 At the organizational level, the dialectic of forces pressing for stasis and transformation are in continuous tension. Accounting for social change and social order is one of the enduring problems of social science.57 According to Fligstein and McAdam: On the one hand, many aspects of social life appear extremely stable across the life course and even across generations. On the other hand, it often feels as if change is ubiquitous in social life. We do not necessarily see a contradiction between these perspectives. We argue that stability is 55 Ibid., 406–7. 56 Mervin F. Verbit, “Structural Conditions of Jewish Continuity in America,” Journal of Jewish Communal Service 48, no. 1 (1971), 10. 57 Neil Fligstein and Doug McAdam, A Theory of Fields (New York: Oxford University Press, 2012).

Movements, Institutions and Organizations relative and even when achieved is the result of actors working very hard to reproduce their local social order. That is, even under generally stable conditions, actors are engaged in a constant set of adjustments that introduce incremental change into constructed social worlds. Skilled social actors work to improve their position in an existing strategic action field or defend their privilege. To a degree, change is always going on.58

Even defining social change itself is a challenge, for its dimensions are many and variegated. There is no clear-cut definition of social change. Generally speaking, it is: Relatively wide and non-temporary, though not irreversible, variation or difference or alteration in the properties, in the state, in the structure of the social organization of a given society, that is, in the relations between the major social systems that form it—be they related to the economic, political, state, religious, or family spheres or within one of such systems or in one or more institutions among those linked to it, observable at a certain moment with respect to a previous one, considering the identity of the unity to which one refers and the variables taken into account to single out the variation.59

There is a rich and wide literature in social movement theory and organizational theory. Both bodies of literature aspire to address the subject of collective behavior/action in its various expressions, whether for the purpose of sustaining some aspect of social life or seeking to change it. Klaus Weber and King argue that both literatures are rooted in the attempt to understand the origins and consequences of collective action.60 Organizational theory stressed formal organizations, relying on Max Weber, whereas social movement theory focused on more informal and unconventional expressions. Increasingly, social movement theory and organizational theory are being cross-fertilized by scholars. It is abundantly clear that collective action and social movements of all sorts t­ypically establish organizations to pursue their objectives and ensure 58 Ibid., 7. 59 Marco G. Giugni, “Introduction: Social Movements and Change: Incorporation, Transformation, and Democratization,” in From Contention to Democracy, eds. Marco G. Giugni, Doug McAdam, and Charles Tilly (Lanham, MD: Rowman & Littlefield Publishers, 1998), xi–xxvi. 60 Klaus Weber and Brayden King, “Social Movement Theory and Organization Studies,” in The Oxford Handbook of Sociology, Social Theory, and Organization Studies, eds. Paul S. Adler, Paul Du Gay, Glenn Morgan, and Michael Reed (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2014), 487–88.

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s­ustainability; conversely, organizations often utilize social movement strategies and tactics.61 “The formation of social movements in organizations is closely related to the microecology of aggrieved groups in the organization, their chances of remedies within the organization, their options for exit, and the costs and benefits of switching versus fighting.”62 The academic field of organizational studies itself only coalesced in the 1950s. A number of prominent models of analysis are in currency, especially on the macro level, including contingency theory, organizational ecology theory, resource dependency theory, conflict theory, and neoinstitutionalism, to be discussed later.63 To this writer, institutional theory offers a most compelling and instructive analytic approach to understanding organizations and how they function as vehicles for promoting or resisting change. This choice is intentional and on strong grounds. Institutional theory has emerged as the leading perspective among organizational sociologists in the United States and its prominence has been well documented.64 Sociologist W. Richard Scott asserts that “institutional theory provides the most promising and productive lens for viewing organizations in contemporary society” and that institutional work on organizations is currently the most vigorous scholarly arena within organizational studies.65 Institutions are the basic concept underlying the approach. For Scott, institutions consist of cognitive, normative, and regulative structures and activities that provide stability and meaning to social behavior.66 Institutions are transported by various carriers—culture, structures, and routines.67 Furthermore, 61 W. Richard Scott, Institutions and Organizations, 3rd ed. (Thousand Oaks, CA: Sage Publications, Inc., 2008), 194. 62 Mayer N. Zald and Michael A. Berger, “Social Movements in Organizations: Coup d’État, Insurgency, and Mass Movements,” American Journal of Sociology 83 ( January 1978), 193. 63 Doug McAdam and W. Richard Scott, “Organizations and Movements,” in Social Movements and Organization Theory, eds. Gerald F. Davis, Doug McAdam, W. Richard Scott, and Mayer N. Zald (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2005), 7–8. 64 Michael Lounsbury and Christine M. Beckman, “Celebrating Organization Theory,” Journal of Management Studies 52 (2), 293; Mark S. Mizruchi and Lisa C. Fein, “The Social Construction of Organizational Knowledge: A Study of the Uses of Coercive, Mimetic, and Normative Isomorphism,” Administrative Science Quarterly 44 (4), 678. 65 Scott, Institutions and Organizations, viii. 66 Ibid., 48–49; Patricia H. Thornton, William Ocasio, and Michael Lounsbury, The Institutional Logics Perspective (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2013), 35–40. 67 Gerald F. Davis and Christopher Marquis, “Prospects for Organization Theory in the Early Twenty-First Century: Institutional Fields and Mechanisms,” Organization Science 16, no. 4 (2005): 332–43, 337).

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they connote both stability and change and can both constrain and liberate.68 Institutions are enacted through individuals, groups, and organizations, and organizational theorists study the effects of institutions and institutional forces and pressures on organizations.69 Institutions, whether broad societal ones—such as economic markets, the state, democracy, family, and religion—or common organizations, seek stability and resist change. “‘Institutional resistance to change’ is one of the structural means through which organizational continuity is assured.”70 Indeed, well-known anthropologist Mary Douglas observed that “It is amazing how institutions fall into stable types that we can recognize in different times and circumstances. . . .” She maintains that particular institutional forms will make more sense to rational individuals in one economic environment rather than another.71 And Clemens notes that “The concept of institutional change is almost an oxymoron. Institutions, after all, are defined by their endurance and resistance to change. Consequently, institutions are invoked to explain absences of variation, the perseverance of distinctive systems of political and economic organization, or the stability and coherence of political regimes and social systems. But institutional change clearly happens. . . .”72 Early institutional theory was developed in the works of Selznick, Gouldner, and Zald in the decades of the 1940s through the 1960s and incorporated elements of the social constructionist literature in sociology. Its successor approach, neo or new institutionalism, was built on these formative writings and rooted in the later foundational articles by Meyer and Rowan as well as DiMaggio and Powell.73 Also operating from the perspective of institutional theory, Scott ­contends that there are two notable features of contemporary organizations. 68 Scott, Institutions and Organizations, 220. 69 Ibid., 216–17. 70 Verbit, “Structural Conditions of Jewish Continuity in America,” 19. 71 Mary Douglas, How Institutions Think (Syracuse, NY: Syracuse University Press, 1986), 111–12. 72 Elisabeth S. Clemens, The People’s Lobby (Chicago: Chicago University Press, 1997), 45–46. 73 John W. Meyer and Brian Rowan, “Institutionalized Organizations: Formal Structure as Myth and Ceremony,” American Journal of Sociology 83, no. 2 (1977), 340–63; Paul J. DiMaggio and Walter W. Powell, “The Iron Cage Revisited: Institutional Isomorphism and Rationality in Organizational Fields,” American Sociological Review 48, no. 2 (1983), 147–60. A later theoretical development is the institutional logics perspective, which claimants argue both expands on and departs from many of the early ideas underpinning new institutional theory and the emphasis on isomorphism, providing a much richer and fluid theoretical apparatus that focalizes cultural heterogeneity and practice variation. See Thornton, Ocasio, and Lounsbury, The Institutional Logics Perspective.

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Dynamics of Continuity and Change in Jewish Religious Life First, there exists remarkable similarity in the structural features of ­organizational forms operating within the same organizational field. One university tends to resemble closely another university and one hospital is much like other hospitals. The recognition that organizations must not only be viable in terms of whatever competitive processes are at work, but must also exhibit structural features that make them both recognizable and in conformity with normative and regulative requirements, goes a long way to explaining observed similarities among organizations in the same arena.74

His second observation is that organizations consist of both formal and informal structures. Formal structures reflect the officially sanctioned offices and ways of doing business, while the informal refers to the actual patterns of behavior and work routines.75 Institutional theory is based on the notion that to survive, organizations must show the world that they are legitimate entities worthy of support.76 To do so, organizations create narratives and myths about themselves, using symbolic and ceremonial activities and stories about their activities.77 In their pivotal article, DiMaggio and Powell developed the idea of institutional isomorphism. Isomorphism is a useful tool to understand the politics and ceremony of modern organizational life.78 DiMaggio and Powell argued that over time, in response to environmental pressures, organizations increasingly resemble one another. To explain this process of homogenization, DiMaggio and Powell adopted the concept of isomorphism to describe a constraining process that forces one unit in a population to resemble other units that face the same set of environmental conditions.79 They identified two types of isomorphism, competitive and institutional. Competitive isomorphism involves pressures toward similarity resulting from market competition.80 Organizations compete for resources, customers, power, legitimacy, and social and economic fitness.81 Institutional isomorphism is composed of three main elements: coercive, ­normative, and 74 Scott, Institutions and Organizations, 152–53. 75 Ibid., 153. 76 See Meyer and Rowan, “Institutionalized Organizations.” 77 Mizruchi and Fein, “The Social Construction of Organizational Knowledge,” 678–79. 78 DiMaggio and Powell, “The Iron Cage Revisited,” 150. 79 Ibid., 149. 80 Mizruchi and Fein, “The Social Construction of Organizational Knowledge,” 656. 81 DiMaggio and Powell, “The Iron Cage Revisited,” 150.

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mimetic mechanisms that make organizations more similar without making them any more efficient.82 Coercive isomorphism is driven by two forces: pressures from other organizations on which a focal organization is dependent and an organization’s pressure to conform to the cultural expectations of the larger society.83 Mimetic forces are at play when organizational goals may be ambiguous, where there is an uncertain environment, and when organizational technologies may be poorly understood. In such situations, organizations model themselves after others that are perceived as being more legitimate or successful.84 Among the three mechanisms of institutional isomorphism, mimetic isomorphism has drawn the most attention in the scholarly literature.85 Finally, ­normative pressures surface in response to pressures toward professionalization, including the demands for degrees, licenses, professional associations, professional and occupational legitimacy, and a body of professional knowledge. DiMaggio and Powell viewed normative isomorphism as a result of professionalization, involving two processes. First, members of professions receive similar training (such as that received by physicians, attorneys, and university professors), which socializes them into similar worldviews. Second, members of professions interact through professional and trade associations, which further diffuses similar ideas and knowledge among them.86 In addition to examining the tendency toward organizational isomorphism, the concepts of organizational form and organizational repertoire are key to understanding the behavior of organizations and social movements.87 Clemens argues that not only the fact but the form of organization is critical.88 Attention to form can provide explanations of organizational and social movement success or collapse.89 That is, as a group organizes in a particular way, it adopts a specific model of organization.90 Choices of organizational form are 82 Scott, Institutions and Organizations, 152; Pfeffer, New Directions for Organization Theory, 63. 83 Scott, Institutions and Organizations, 151. 84 Ibid., 152; Mizruchi and Fein, “The Social Construction of Organizational Knowledge,” 657. 85 Ibid., 665. 86 Ibid., 657. 87 Clemens, The People’s Lobby, 44. 88 Ibid., 43. 89 Clemens and Minkoff, “Beyond the Iron Law,” 159; Elisabeth S. Clemens, “Two Kinds of Stuff: The Current Encounter of Social Movements and Organizations” in Social Movements and Organization Theory, eds. Gerald F. Davis, Doug McAdam, W. Richard Scott, and Mayer N. Zald (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2005), 354. 90 Elisabeth S. Clemens, “Organizational Repertoires and Institutional Change: Women’s Groups and the Transformation of U.S. Politics, 1890–1920,” American Journal of Sociology 98, no. 4 (1993): 770–71.

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vehicles of mobilization and signals of identity to both opponents and potential partners and supporters.91 Indeed, movements typically mentioned as historically significant are often so noted because of highly elaborated organizational structures, systems, and operations.92 “To recapitulate, organizational forms are templates, scripts, recipes, or models for social interaction. Once routine ­patterns of organization are articulated in these ways, they become “modular,” or transposable from one setting to another. Any individual will be familiar with some set of forms; this set constitutes his or her organizational repertoire.”93 The set of organizational models that are culturally or experientially available may be thought of as an “organizational repertoire.” Scholars point out that “The central institutions of the contemporary capitalist West—capitalist market, bureaucratic state, democracy, nuclear family, and Christian religion—shape individual preferences and organizational interests as well as the repertoire of behaviors by which they may attain them.”94 Models of organization are part of the cultural tool kit of any society and serve expressive or communicative as well as instrumental functions. In addition, the adoption of a particular organizational form influences the ties that an organized group forms with other organizations. The chosen model of collective action shapes alliances with other groups and relations with political institutions.95 As a result, in any given era, activists make only limited use of the range of strategies available to them.96 The probabilities of different types of collective action are shaped by the distribution of models of organization within a particular society at a particular point in time. Both individual and collective action are shaped by what people believe about how they should act, by those forms of action that they have mastered, and those forms of action that are embedded in the ­arrangements of power and resources in society.97 91 Clemens and Minkoff, “Beyond the Iron Law,” 158–59. 92 Clemens, “Two Kinds of Stuff,” 354–59. 93 Clemens, The People’s Lobby, 49 (italics in the original). 94 Roger Friedland and Robert R. Alford, “Bringing Society Back In: Symbols, Practices, and Institutional Contradictions,” in The New Institutionalism in Organizational Analysis, eds. Walter W. Powell and Paul J. DiMaggio (Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 1991), 232. 95 Clemens, “Organizational Repertoires and Institutional Change,” 770–71. 96 Francesca Polletta, “How Participatory Democracy Became White: Culture and Organizational Choice,” Mobilization 10, no. 2 (2005), 273. 97 Elisabeth S. Clemens, “Organizational Form as Frame: Collective Identity and Political Strategy in the American Labor Movement, 1880–1920,” in Comparative Perspectives on Social Movements, eds. Doug McAdam, John D. McCarthy, and Mayer N. Zald (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1996), 226.

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When activists seek to transform the overarching institutions of social life, they face particularly high demands to frame their calls for change within accepted models of organizational form and repertoire. Consequently “no institution is created de novo” and the most ambitious change agents may attempt to cloak their efforts in appeals to restore tradition or by using familiar models of social organization in unfamiliar ways. Challengers faced with the cultural expectations and pressures to conform may simply invent new ones.98 But clearly some degree of isomorphism is typically necessary if challengers and movements are to gain access to, and leverage over, established political elites and processes.99 The selection of organizational form must be familiar but not too much so.100

Denominationalism and Religious Schism Building on the observations about organizational isomorphism, organizational repertoire, and form, the analysis of the American Jewish community, its organizational structure, and religious organizational systems is enhanced by the addition of two pertinent themes: schism and denominationalism. The themes are directly applicable to the two cases to be examined shortly. Schism is among the most common events in the history of religion, representing a situation whereby a group of disgruntled members breaks away from an existing religious organization in order to found a new organization. Religious movements are social movements that wish to cause or prevent change in a system of beliefs, values, symbols, and practices.101 Schism means the splitting of an organization into two or more groups, or in the case of religious denominations, it is the successful formation of a new denomination as a result of a break from a preexisting denomination.102 Religious group schism   98 Elisabeth S. Clemens and James M. Cook, “Politics and Institutionalism: Explaining Durability and Change,” Annual Review of Sociology 25 (1999), 459.   99 Clemens, “Organizational Form as Frame,” 213. 100 Ibid., 226. 101 Stark and Bainbridge regard religion as concerned with providing supernaturally based general compensators. A compensator is the belief that a reward will be obtained in the distant future or in some other context that cannot be immediately verified. Rodney Stark and William Sims Bainbridge, The Future of Religion (Berkeley: University of California Press), 6, 23. 102 Robert C. Liebman, John R. Sutton, and Robert Wuthnow, “Exploring the Social Sources of Denominationalism: Schisms in American Protestant Denominations,” American Sociological Review 53 (1988), 344.

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is most likely to occur along lines of social cleavages. When internal conflicts break out in a religious organization, they usually occur between subnetworks that existed prior to the outbreak of a dispute. Apparently, when social ties become strained between factions, there is a tendency for social cleavages to form or harden as people strive to avoid further contact and painful disputes, thus separating the diverging subculture from the surrounding community even more.103 Cleavages result from a number of factors and they play an important role in the emergence and the shaping of conflicts that can provoke schismatic tendencies.104 Two types of schism exist. In one instance, entire units secede while in the other type, groups who find the ­program or policy of the parent body unacceptable secede with the intent of setting up a new organization.105 A well-known and powerful sociological approach to analyze ­contemporary American religion has been based on a church–sect model, entailing the notions of denomination, church, sect, and cult.106 These religious expressions represent ideal types that lie roughly along a continuum. The model highlights certain important processes in the history of American religion, ­especially American Protestantism.107 Johnson formulated the basic 103 Stark and Bainbridge, The Future of Religion, 101–2. 104 Debra C. Minkoff and John D. McCarthy, “Reinvigorating the Study of Organizational Processes in Social Movements,” Mobilization 10, no. 2 (2005): 299–300. 105 Zald and Berger, “Social Movements in Organizations,” 217. 106 This discussion draws on the work of earlier classical scholars of religion, including Troeltsch, Weber, Niebuhr, and others, as well as a number of contemporary scholars, such as Johnson, Wilson, Glock, Stark, Bainbridge, Wuthnow, Roof, and McKinney. In recent scholarship, the model as originally conceptualized is evolving in new directions, particularly away from theoretical emphasis on economic and rational choice determinants to a recognition that ethnicity, politics, region, race, education, or cultural differences increasingly play a part in religious conflict and denominationalism. American religious life continues to change and the concepts of church, sect, cult, and denomination are likewise being updated in line with contemporary trends in religion. Whereas to some scholars the church–sect model has declined in significance, since the lines of religious conflict are shifting, notably others find the model still compelling and with strong analytic power. The model’s core concepts are being reinvigorated and imbued with fresh definitions and applications. See Jon Bialecki, “After the Denominozoic,” Current Anthropology 55, Supplement 10 (2014): S193–S204; Warren S. Goldstein, “The Dialectics of Religious Conflict: Church–Sect, Denomination and the Culture Wars,” Culture and Religion 12, no. 1 (2011); Goldstein personal correspondence with the author. 107 Charles Liebman was among the first scholars to apply the church–sect model to the Jewish religion, particularly Orthodoxy. See Charles S. Liebman, “Orthodoxy in American Jewish Life,” in American Jewish Year Book 1965, eds. Morris Fine and Milton Himmelfarb

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church–sect ­typology in the following design: a church accepts the social ­environment in which it exists, and a sect rejects the social environment in which it exists. The level or extent of rejection is captured conceptually by the notion of “tension.” Johnson indicated that each religious group rests on a continuum of tension that reflects how it relates to its larger context. This continuum represents the degree to which the group is in tension with its sociocultural environment. Thus, the sect rests at the high pole of tension on the continuum, often finding its members treated as hunted fugitives by ­society. The church stands at the low pole, being nearly synonymous with its sociocultural ­surroundings in terms of outlook and patterns of behavior.108 Thus, incipient movements for religious change take a specific direction in relation to the larger society. When they move in a direction that generates less tension with their sociocultural environment, they are church movements. When groups move to the high-tension pole, they are sect or sectarian movements, producing systems of belief, outlook, norms, behavior, and lifestyle sharply divergent from those of society. Furthermore, the sect often limits the extent of its members’ participation beyond group lines. Johnson concluded that tension with the environment was a form of subcultural deviance, in which the relationship between a high-tension group and the surrounding society was marked by difference, antagonism, and separation.109 Sects, then, are both religious movements and schismatic groups that leave a lower-tension group to form one in higher tension. Whereas a sect is a religious movement at the high end of the scale, churches occupy the low end on the scale along with other religious institutions. The low-tension sector is characterized by a stable social structure, and a cluster of well-­defined roles, norms, values, and activities associated with key social functions. Institutions adapt to change, but movements seek to alter or become institutions.110 Low-tension groups tend to stress direct and tangible rewards and (New York: American Jewish Committee and Philadelphia: Jewish Publication Society of America, 1966), 21–92; Charles S. Liebman, The Ambivalent American Jew (Philadelphia: Jewish Publication Society of America, 1973). Ferziger debates the extent to which Liebman’s analysis still pertains and puts into question the church–sect dichotomy, at least as it relates to Judaism. See Adam S. Ferziger, “Church/Sect Theory and American Orthodoxy Reconsidered,” in Ambivalent Jew—Charles Liebman in Memoriam, eds. Stuart Cohen and Bernard Susser (New York: Jewish Theological Seminary of America, 2007), 107–23; Adam S. Ferziger, Beyond Sectarianism: The Realignment of American Orthodox Judaism (Detroit, MI: Wayne State University Press, 2015). 108 Stark and Bainbridge, The Future of Religion, 23. 109 Ibid., 24. 110 Ibid., 23.

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are g­ enerally unable to provide effective compensation for scarce worldly rewards, as are high-tension groups.111 Consequently, high-tension sectarian groups emphasize the ­promise of non-verifiable future benefits to their constituents. High-tension groups are generally deeply involved with offering replacements for scarce rewards. Schisms occur when people calculate that they can obtain desired rewards or fulfillment of their needs from a new source (i.e., new religious organizations) at a relatively low cost. People participating in schism seek to improve their exchange ratio in pursuit of rewards.112 Stark and Bainbridge go further in applying Johnson’s notions and distinguish between two kinds of high-tension religious movements: the sect and the cult. A cult is a deviant group representing either indigenous religious innovation or importation from a foreign land. Both cults and sects are “deviant” and in states of relatively high tension. But sects have a prior tie with another religious body. To be a sect, a religious movement must have been founded by people who left another group for the purpose of establishing the sect. The term sect can only apply to a schismatic movement and sects can break off from a church or another sect. It is probably more common, however, for sects to break away from groups who themselves were once sects.113 The discussion so far has revolved around sectarian and cult schisms. However, not all schisms within religious bodies produce sects. Under certain conditions, a group exits a religious body to form a new group in a lower state of tension with society. These church movements are relatively rare because those who most strongly desire to reduce the tension between a religious organization and its environment usually have sufficient power to control the organization and cause such a reduction. Sometimes they do not because there may be a great discrepancy between their status and power in the external world and their status and power within the group.114 Sect members do not leave the parent body to form a new faith but rather to repair the old one from which sectarians would claim the parent body had drifted. Sects claim to be the authentic version, the old religion.115 Indeed, the departing sect claims that it, not the parent body, embodies continuity with the original 111 Ibid., 15. 112 Rodney Stark and William Sims Bainbridge, A Theory of Religion (New York: Peter Lang Publishing, 1987), 127–33. 113 Stark and Bainbridge, The Future of Religion, 36. 114 Ibid., 123. 115 Ibid., 25.

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faith. The sect is not a new church, but is the restored original. The parent body is the “new” religion—a sinful perversion of the original legacy.116 But, from the vantage point of society and the established faiths, sects are considered to be deviant religious movements within non-deviant traditions. A cult, as a religious import or complete innovation, would also be seen as a deviant tradition by society, and even within cults schism can often occur.117 Stark and Bainbridge summarize the definitions well. We define sects as high tension, schismatic religious movements within a conventional religious tradition . . . That is, sects are groups that break off from other religious bodies and remain within a religious tradition that is regarded as normal (nondeviant) within the society in which the sect arises. Groups within deviant religious traditions, whether they occur by innovation or by schism, are identified as cults.118

In a theocracy, low-tension religion might actually mean intense involvement in a religion. In modern secularized nations, low tension indicates low levels of commitment to traditional religion. Religions enforcing norms that are sharply distinct from norms in secular groups are relatively sectarian. Groups allowing for free participation in all phases of life are low tension, church-like in orientation.119 There has been a tendency for splinter groups to break away from established churches, forming sects usually smaller in size, devoted more enthusiastically to distinctive theological and moral positions, more demanding of adherents’ loyalties and thus in greater tension with the secular world than their churchly progenitors. Sects tend to mature into established churches, ceasing to be so small, so orthodox, so demanding, or so uneasy with the secular world. Cults are another classification to be added to the church–sect continuum. Cults can also follow the route of sects, evolutionarily and developmentally.120 In the Jewish community, for example, the emergence of Reform Judaism and Reconstructionist Judaism are instances of church movements resulting in schisms. In the case ­studies appearing below, the Union for Traditional Judaism was an example of a 116 Ibid., 99. 117 Ibid., 26. 118 Ibid., 128. 119 Ibid., 51. 120 Robert Wuthnow, “The Growth of Religious Reform Movements,” The Annals of the ­American Academy of Political and Social Science 480 (1985): 107–8.

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sectarian movement while Open Orthodoxy is an example of a church movement. Denominationalism is distinctly a North American and British phenomenon and is made possible in societies benefiting from religious pluralism.121 It is largely modern in that denominations connote a bureaucratic organizational apparatus, a sort of corporate religious structure made possible by the modern penchant for organizational development. Liebman, Sutton, and Wuthnow “treat denominations as organizational systems, similar in many ways to firms, social movements, professional associations, and armies.”122 It has been a r­ esilient institution and has flourished in a nation where religiousness and secularity somehow coexist.123 In general, denominations have made their peace with their social environment, and are therefore very “churchly” vis-à-vis the norms of society. The denomination points to the fact that most local religious institutions (i.e., churches or synagogues) are identified with some larger umbrella federation or ecclesiastical organization at the regional or national level that is characterized by an extensive network of organizations, agencies, and services. “Denominations—and thus denominationalism—have a relatively enduring quality that makes questions about such matters as membership, size, doctrine, and organizational style of primary interest.”124 Denominationalism refers to several hundred such denominations that coexist in American society and give American religion its distinctively pluralistic character. Significant change is underway in Christian denominations, as they diversify, expand, contract, and merge, as new denominations emerge and as more evangelical and traditionalist denominations have been growing at a faster rate than the old-line mainline denominations (i.e., Episcopalians, Methodists, etc.).125 Nonetheless, denominationalism is still a major fact in American religious life.126 Denominations are not immune to schism. As well-developed organizational systems, denominations may be especially susceptible to internal debates over governance, structure, power, and ideological control. There is also a widespread view that theologically conservative denominations are more 121 Wade Clark Roof and William McKinney, American Mainline Religion (New Brunswick, NJ: Rutgers University Press, 1987), 43. 122 Liebman, Sutton, and Wuthnow, “Exploring the Social Sources of Denominationalism: Schisms in American Protestant Denominations,” 344. 123 Roof and McKinney, American Mainline Religion, 247. 124 Ibid., 108. 125 Rodney Stark and Charles Y. Glock, “The ‘New Denominationalism,’” Review of Religious Research 50 (2008): 33–42, 39. 126 Ibid., 41.

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prone to schisms than liberal ones. In this view, conservatism tends to generate greater dogmatism, decreasing the tolerance of internal diversity, and increasing the chances of dissident factions breaking away to form their own organizations.127 Zald and Ash opine that factions and schisms can also occur because of concern for doctrinal purity. Groups concerned with ultimate ideological truth and theological matters are more likely to split than groups concerned with bread and butter issues. Ideological concerns often lead to a questioning of the basis of organizational authority and behavior of the leadership. They note that the difference between Catholic sects that remained in the Church and those that left depended on the acceptance of the ultimate authority of the Word as revealed in the Bible, and interpreted by the Church Fathers, versus the word of contemporary Church authorities.128 Schisms may also originate as a reaction against a tendency of sect-like groups to take on characteristics of denominations and church-like organizations. Over time, sects tend to become accommodated to their environment with a subsequent decline in tension. Members may become more upwardly mobile and appreciative of worldly rewards and desires. Similarly, organizations may become less critical of and antagonistic to the outside as they seek to ensure their own survival. The need to amass human, economic, and other resources may force a reduction in tension. Often, the sheer growth of religious organizations or their tendency to become bureaucratized and formalized leads minorities within these organizations to break away in pursuit of the original, purer values of their founders.129 Schism potential differs across denominations. Some denominational traditions simply provide stronger precedents for breaking away. Some denominational families seem to be more rigid organizationally. As a result, they experience the difficulties of movements in authoritarian states where people organize and rebel against strict authority.130 The most powerful single predictor of schism is apparently size (denomination membership): the larger the denomination, the greater the tendency of schism. Organizational growth appears to raise problems of boundary maintenance for denominations and opens opportunities for insurgent groups to appropriate resources and go out 127 Liebman, Sutton, and Wuthnow, “Exploring the Social Sources of Denominationalism,” 344. 128 Mayer N. Zald and Roberta Ash, “Social Movement Organizations: Growth, Decay and Change,” Social Forces 44 (1966), 337. 129 Ibid., 337. 130 Ibid.

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on their own.131 Heterogeneity of a group’s support base can also contribute to the growth of factions and schisms. Members who perceive that they do not share needs and interests with the larger group will be prone to pull away and form their own entities. In the ever-shifting and ever-diversifying nature of American religion, the lines of religious conflict may no longer be primarily between denominations but within them. The new lines of conflict are between religious liberals and religious conservatives, between progressives and the orthodox.132 There the lines of religious conflict have shifted away from denominationalism and new fault lines have emerged. For Roof and McKinney, the dividing line is between the religious and the secular (conservatives and liberals).133 Robert Wuthnow describes the division as between religious liberals and religious conservatives while James Davison Hunter prefers the terms orthodox and progressives.134 Moreover, whereas earlier conceptions of the continuum presumed that movements moved exclusively in churchly directions, it is now understood that religious change movements can move from church to sect or sect to church.

Jewish Religious Organizational Life Each of the main American Jewish religious movements or systems (Conser­vative, Orthodox, Reconstructionist, and Reform) possesses a vast array of institutions and services, including but not necessarily limited to the following (and note the sheer spread and comprehensiveness of organizational activity): offices; buildings; campuses; congregations; individual members; congregational umbrella organizations providing a range of programs, events, and services; rabbinic organizations; at least one seminary; women’s and men’s auxiliaries; a Zionist support network; professional and graduate training programs for cantors, educators, administrators, social workers, Jewish communal service workers, and psychologists; undergraduate and other graduate academic programs with extensive library collections; alumni and/ or professional associations and placement services; trips to Israel for all ages; adult education programs; summer camps; campgrounds; collegiate, high school and elementary youth programs; entire school systems (nursery through university); 131 Ibid., 351. 132 Goldstein, “The Dialectics of Religious Conflict,” 78. 133 Roof and McKinney, American Mainline Religion, 70. 134 See Robert Wuthnow, The Restructuring of American Religion (Princeton, NJ: Princeton University Press, 1988), 164; Goldstein, “The Dialectics of Religious Conflict,” 89.

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political advocacy and social action agencies; and fund-raising operations for hospitals, schools, and social services in Israel and elsewhere overseas. Each movement generates publications, proceedings, conferences, official platforms, and guides to belief and observance. There are also special-interest organizations, providing a wide range of programs such as kosher food supervision, burial services, ritual circumcision (mohalim), ritual baths (mikvaot), and outreach, among others. Many of these networks have international, national, regional, and local configurations as well, and they are all well endowed with committees, professional staffs, and an extensive offering of services to individuals and member organizations. Each level of bureaucracy requires funds, contributors, and support services, which, not surprisingly, leads to well-entrenched interests and loyalties. 135 Herein lies the dilemma: the organizational expanse is a most positive development. It means, among other things, that Judaism is alive and well in North America. It means that Jews individually and collectively have the resources, commitment, and interest to establish and sustain all of this activity. But, religious organizational expansion possesses mutually contradictory tendencies. While in one sense it provides routes for involvement, interaction, affiliation, and identification, the same structures also sow the seeds of communal fragmentation in a more macro sense. For, as people join and participate in their selected organizations, a positive feature, they will come to value and deepen their loyalty and commitment to these over other associations. They will build their main social ties with similarly affiliating individuals. Ultimately, these organizations and members will need to pursue their own interests, which will of necessity differ with if not distance from other groups and individuals. In many ways, Jews as a group are quite cohesive in relation to the larger non-Jewish societal context.136 People orient their lives around significant social (family, friends, associates) and institutional (schools, clubs, organizations, synagogues) relations. In these natural and normal ways, individuals create distinctive and delineated lifestyles and social circles. However, while Jews may be interacting, in great measure, primarily or largely with other Jews, there are co-religionists with whom they do not, will not, and may never 135 It is important to note that Orthodoxy writ large does not comprise a monolithic institutional structure. It is less centralized than the Conservative, Reconstructionist, and Reform denominations, and maintains multiple centers of authority and organization. 136 Calvin Goldscheider, Jewish Continuity and Change: Emerging Patterns in America (Bloomington, IN: Indiana University Press, 1986), 182–83.

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i­ nteract. Therefore, social cohesion within specific groups or subcultures in the Jewish community may be strong, but weak across subcultures.137 It was noted earlier that social conflict is an inherent feature of all social life that occurs in diverse settings at multiple levels of complexity. Conflict takes place in a host of arenas of human interaction: interpersonal, ­interorganizational, intergroup, and intercommunal. That conflict would occur between and within individuals, groups, institutions, and organizations in the Jewish c­ ommunity— with the emergence of factions, interest groups, and parties—should not be unexpected. Yet, the American Jewish polity and its organizational structure in the twentieth century have been built upon a consensual basis. Great efforts have been expended to minimize both the reality and appearance of internal ­disputes and controversies, especially to the outside world. Jewish leaders historically have attempted to paint a picture of “Am Echad,” or one people, a ­unified ­community that is generally in full agreement on key issues. Remarkably, consensus on many issues of concern has been achieved despite dramatically differing ideologies and constituencies. Still, Jewish history and contemporary Jewish life are replete with cases of intracommunal tension, conflict, dissenting religious movements, even communal or religious secession and schism. And the nature of relations among the main religious, institutional denominations in modern Judaism has likewise been characterized by intense intergroup rivalry, tension, and divisiveness, with implications for overall communal fragmentation. Divisiveness between denominations is more than a theoretical problem. These groups are each characterized by powerful but increasingly divergent ideologies and organizational strategies with differing visions about the American Jewish community and Jewish life. Indeed, the divergent institutional expressions of Jewish religious life are all too often coupled with quite hostile, polarized (or nonexistent) relations between them. But, while much attention to religious conflict in the Jewish community is often directed to tensions between Conservative, Orthodox, Reconstructionist, and Reform groups, there is always a significant and ongoing process of internal differentiation and diversification within them. The denominations are far from being monolithic structures. Internal tensions and pressure groups exist and ideological diversity abounds. Many of the issues over which denominations differ are the same issues about which intradenominational dissent emerges. 137 Eric Levine, “Jewish Religious Unity: Dilemmas of Organization, Conflict and Intergroup Relations,” paper presented at the Harry Crowe Memorial Lectures, York University, North York, Ontario, Canada (September 1989).

Movements, Institutions and Organizations

Internal conflicts erupt not only over ideological matters, but also over issues of power, influence, and scarce resources. Potentially, there are a number of causes that could be identified as stimulants to schismatic activity. And throughout Jewish history and in current times as well, religious conflict has led to religious schism. Schism refers to the successful splitting off of a new organization from an existing organization or, in the context of this study, from a religious denomination. The motivation for such action builds over time and reflects a relationship consisting of a continuous and high level of conflict between the parent and schismatic bodies. Religious schism can only occur within a religious organizational system. In fact, the denominations as they exist in Judaism in the ­contemporary era reflect the outcomes of past schisms. Conflict, however, is a more generic phenomenon and can occur both within and between denominational systems, and need not result in schism. Conflict denotes a perceived divergence of interest, or the recognition that interests are currently incompatible or cannot be met at the same time. While much of the social science literature maintains that social conflict can serve positive functions, this research acknowledges that it can also weaken communal cohesiveness, the institutional structure, and a community’s ability to mobilize and respond to its pressing issues of the day.138

Conflict and Schism: Conservative Judaism Under Siege Contemporary cases help to demonstrate the nature of conflict, schism, and the role of new denominational organizations to pursue a religious change agenda. The discussion that follows is drawn from earlier research conducted by the author on organizational conflict within the Conservative Jewish denomination that resulted in the emergence of an internal dissenting social movement, the establishment of new organizations, and, ultimately, denominational schism.139 138 See Dean G. Pruitt and Jeffrey Z. Rubin, Social Conflict: Escalation, Stalemate and Settlement (New York: Random House, 1986). 139 See Eric Levine, “The Problematics of Jewish Collective Action—Community and Conflict and Change” in Contention, Controversy and Change: Evolutions and Revolutions in the Jewish Experience, eds. Simcha Fishbane and Eric Levine (New York: Touro College Press, 2015), 4–57; Eric Levine, “Protest, Schism and Movement: A Case of Jewish Religious Conflict,” unpublished paper (1999); Eric Levine, “‘Bowling Together’: Community Building in the ‘90’s,” Cornerstone 2 (Fall 1997); Eric M. Levine “Communities in Conflict: Social and Religious Movements in Jewish Life,” Unpublished Doctoral Dissertation, Wurzweiler School of Social Work, Yeshiva University, September 1994; Eric Levine, “The Ramifications of Jewish Communal Conflict.”

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Perhaps since its inception some 100 years ago, strains and struggles have been apparent between traditional and liberal wings of Conservative Judaism.140 In 1983, the second denominational split occurred when the Union for Traditional Conservative Judaism (UTCJ) was formed to advocate for a return to a more traditional approach in Conservative Judaism and away from radical change, which was seen as leading the denomination in the wrong direction. The first schism in the Conservative denomination had occurred when the Reconstructionist movement was established. Although the exact date of the secession is the subject of some scholarly discussion, it can arguably be traced to 1940 with the creation of the Jewish Reconstructionist Foundation. This particular case of the UTCJ involves synagogues and their central coordinating bodies, which are basic social welfare institutions and the building blocks of Jewish communal life. Furthermore, the UTCJ represents an example of the fracturing and reconstitution of community, reflecting action taken by people in response to commonly felt needs and concerns. The case involves an incipient social and religious movement, religious movement organizations, conflict, and religious schism. Religious conflicts often represent the struggle over access to limited resources, such as power, constituencies, prestige, communal authority, control over decision-making, and funding. However, tensions in the religious sector can also imply conflicts of a different and unique nature, including those over ideological supremacy, values, and the conferral of religious legitimation.141 The breaking away of the UTCJ from the larger body of Conservative Judaism took place at a time when the Jewish community was increasingly confronted by a variety of religious and societal tensions. The process of secession by the traditionalists in Conservative Judaism and the eventual formation of the UTCJ can probably also be located in the inherent tensions and inconsistencies in the denomination. The emergence of the group occurred at a time when such issues as the changing definition of Jewish personal status and evolving roles of women in Judaism, including their right to ordination, assumed increased meaning. It was the latter issue that particularly galvanized this group. The numbers of disgruntled traditionalists had been growing during the 1970s and by the end of the decade, this faction claimed that the denomination was too obsessed with change, with radical departures from 140 See Marc Lee Raphael, Profiles in American Judaism (San Francisco: Harper & Row, 1985); Marshall Sklare, Conservative Judaism, An American Religious Movement (New York: Free Press, 1955; reprint (Lanham, MD: University Press of America, 1985). 141 See Lewis Coser, The Functions of Social Conflict (Glencoe, IL: Free Press, 1956).

Movements, Institutions and Organizations

traditional interpretations of Jewish law.142 In fact, they became convinced that Conservative Judaism n­ either possessed nor required a left-wing position because Reconstructionism, despite leaving, had actually triumphed within the Conservative movement itself.143 Still, at its inception, the UTCJ called itself a new organization within Conservative Judaism dedicated to the ­traditional ideas on which the denomination was founded. The group stressed that it was part of the Conservative movement and that Conservative Judaism represented traditional Judaism. An early identifiable step in the process of schism can be traced to a December 1979 gathering of rabbis for a “Conference on Halakhic Process.” The one-day meeting was devoted to debating the question of women’s ordination and hearing papers from leading rabbis on the direction of traditional, halakhic Conservative Judaism. The Conference produced a resolution on ordination that criticized the exclusion of key scholars from the process as well as the non-legal basis of women’s ordination. As a result of the Conference on Halakhic Process, a loose coalition of traditional Conservative rabbis emerged, known as the Halakhic Fellowship. This Fellowship was separate from an earlier group called the Ad Hoc Committee for the Preservation of Tradition and Diversity, which itself was succeeded by a group called the Committee for Preservation of Tradition within the Rabbinical Assembly (the Rabbinical Assembly is the professional rabbinic organizational arm of the Conservative denomination). Apparently, Halakhic Fellowship organizers sought to distance themselves from certain leaders of the other group. Although holding those individuals in esteem, it was deemed to be a political liability to associate with them. Ironically, despite all of the caution and posturing, the Fellowship (as was the Committee) was a relatively inactive organization, although it had established officers, created a bank account, and eventually included lay people in its membership. But, from 1979 to 1983, as the women’s ordination issue waned, the protest also dissipated. The organization remained, for the most part, as an entity on paper only. However, one traditionalist rabbi maintained a “secret” but extensive mailing list (to which he sent sporadic mailings), which was used later when the traditionalist camp 142 Abraham J. Karp, “A Century of Conservative Judaism in the United States,” in American Jewish Yearbook 1986 (New York: American Jewish Committee and Jewish Publication Society, 1987), 3–61; Jack Wertheimer, “Recent Trends in American Judaism” in American Jewish Yearbook, 1989 (New York: American Jewish Committee and Jewish Publication Society, 1989), 63–62. 143 Jack Wertheimer, “Recent Trends in American Judaism,” 138.

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mobilized in the wake of the resurrection of the ordination question at the Jewish Theological Seminary ( JTS) in 1983.144 The faculty of the JTS had voted in 1979 to postpone indefinitely any decision to admit women to the rabbinic school. But mounting pressure forced the issue, resulting in a 1983 action to finally admit women and approve their ordination. As a reaction to this move, those opposed to this decision and other changes met in New York City in 1983 and organized the UTCJ as an ongoing lobby within the denomination. Although the women’s issue had been the primary concern, it was no longer so. Activists had tried to take back the Conservative denomination but failed. The group now broadened its program to represent the interests of those within the Conservative coalition who opposed what they perceived as a move away from tradition. One of the Union’s earliest and bold challenges to Conservative leadership came through the establishment in 1984 of a separate “Panel of Halakhic Inquiry,” which, among other things, restated the objection to women as rabbis and counting women in a minyan (prayer quorum). A ruling dealing with the new Conservative prayer book argued that “‘it should not be used for the purpose of fulfilling one’s prayer obligations,’ because it introduces ‘gratuitous changes’ . . . and through its alternative readings, undermines the obligatory nature of Jewish prayer.”145 The Panel continued to be seen as a source of competition by the denomination’s official Committee on Jewish Law and Standards. Despite attempts to undermine it, the Panel weathered the attacks and continued to serve as the rabbinic, halakhic authority for the UTCJ. Subsequent organizational moves that took place in 1990 effectively completed the transformation of the UTCJ from a protest organization to an independent religious institution in its own right. The Union took two bold steps that were indicative of the weakening relationship with Conservative Judaism. In March of that year, the Union announced plans to open the Institute of Traditional Judaism, a new rabbinic school. The school began functioning that September with a small class of JTS-ordained rabbis seeking to enhance their studies. Then, in April, the UTCJ Board of Directors recommended that the name of the organization be changed to the Union for Traditional Judaism (UTJ). 144 In addition to the written sources cited as providing background on the precursors to the UTCJ, the history of the organization’s early formative phases was in part reconstructed from data collected from interviews with early UTCJ activists. On the request of the interviewees, all identifying information was kept anonymous. The author has maintained a confidential tracking of all interview data. 145 Wertheimer, “Recent Trends in American Judaism,” 137.

Movements, Institutions and Organizations

Two resolutions to alter the bylaws and change the name were passed by the membership at its annual conference in May. A proposal on the name change was distributed to members prior to the May convention. At the gathering, the resolution was passed by a vote of 54 to 3. Although leaders denied that either step was intended to separate the Union from the denomination, in effect, these actions were powerful statements of the group’s directions and reflective of the Union’s desire to broaden its appeal, especially to the Orthodox community, and to be seen as nondenominational. Leaders also denied that they were striving to become the base for a new denomination. Instead, the stated goals were to secure an independent identity and to promote greater Jewish unity and open-minded observance across the spectrum. Still, such steps appeared to presage the consolidation of a new denominational system. Despite assertions that such actions were only meant as affirmations of the Union’s vision, they were simultaneously clear rejections of the Jewish Theological Seminary, the United Synagogue of America (the congregational umbrella organization), and the Rabbinical Assembly. A later action seemed to underscore the finality of the split from mainstream Conservative Judaism. In September 1992, the UTJ absorbed the Fellowship of Traditional Orthodox Rabbis (FTOR), a professional ­association of liberal Orthodox rabbis disenfranchised from the mainstream of that denomination. The move led to the creation of a new rabbinic body called Morashah (heritage). The merger appeared to confirm the emergence of a new denominational middle ground. Technically, organizational schism was brought about by the creation of the initial social movement organization, the UTCJ. The name change plus these other events completed the formal break and signified full social, communal, and organizational separation from the parent ­denomination (see Table 1). Table 1  The Institutions of Traditional (Conservative) Judaism Institution

Date founded

Halakhic Fellowship

1979

Union for Traditional Conservative Judaism (UTCJ)

1983

Panel of Halakhic Inquiry

1984

Union for Traditional Judaism (UTJ)

1990

Institute of Traditional Judaism (ITJ)

1990

Morashah + Fellowship of Traditional Orthodox Rabbis (FTOR) merger

1992

Kosher Nexus/Operation Pesach Youth–MTV challenge

1994 Late 1990s

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From its earliest days as an ad hoc lobbying coalition, to its formal e­ stablishment in 1983, to its 1990 name change and opening of a seminary, the UTJ as an organization became, for a time, a part of the larger Jewish community’s religious infrastructure. Its goals and directions changed and evolved beyond its original expectations. Although its moves to strike the word Conservative from its name and the initiation of the rabbinic program entailed a good deal of collective courage and soul searching, if not risk as well, a turning point was reached and passed. The Union completed its break with Conservative Judaism, even though residual social, institutional, and emotional ties lingered. Whether or not UTJ represented “true” Conservative Judaism or a new version of Jewish life appealing to the margins of the Conservative and Orthodox communities, it is clear that the Union’s sphere of interest expanded beyond original intents. That the group was traditional is evident, and more so than the rest of its Conservative counterparts was probably also true. While maintaining that religious matters are most appropriately deliberated upon by rabbinic scholars, the UTCJ/UTJ attempted to broaden its constituency. It quickly ensured that its membership included lay people,­ educators, Talmudic scholars, cantors, and pulpit rabbis. To help build cohesiveness across a national membership, to mobilize support and resources, and to chart out its unique direction, the UTCJ/UTJ created a Board of Directors, an Executive Committee, and hired an Executive Director and administrative staff. It established an office in a northern suburb close to New York City and began to convene annual conferences, rabbinic retreats, and youth weekends. Early on, fund-raising drives were initiated to subsidize its small but growing bureaucracy and expanding operations. For the most part, the organization remained comprised of individual memberships, not moving into the arena of formal congregational affiliation. Generally, congregants, synagogues, and rabbis retained their official connection with the institutions of Conservative Judaism. UTCJ/UTJ attempts to work through Conservative institutional channels were generally unsuccessful. It was unable to place itself formally on the agenda of the annual Rabbinical Assembly (RA) conventions. As early as 1986, efforts were made to create a joint committee between the Union and the RA to discuss goals and grievances. Although Union officials thought that such an ongoing forum was indeed agreed to, RA leaders denied that such a committee was created. Conflicts over the training of women as c­ antors, religious standards at the movement’s summer youth camps (Ramah), cooperation with the United Synagogue, specific decisions made by the Panel for Halakhic Inquiry (such as

Movements, Institutions and Organizations

its rejection of a new Conservative prayer book, Sim Shalom), hiring of Unionaffiliated scholars at the Seminary, and Union fears about Conservatism’s commitment to matrilineal descent continued to widen and deepen the chasm between the Union and its parent organizations. As evidenced in various organizational documents, the early agenda of the Union reflected a number of underlying purposes and goals. Clearly, the group implicitly sought to establish its credibility in the eyes of the public and to ensure its viability. The group appeared to recognize that it was in for a long haul and desired to ensure its organizational survival. The organization also sought to broaden its image and the issues it was concerned with. As noted above, one of its first steps was to establish the Panel for Halakhic Inquiry to deal with questions from the community and provide traditional Conservative Jews with authoritative halakhic answers. The UTCJ/UTJ also began to print various publications, including volumes containing rabbinic responsa and a journal to serve as an educational resource and organ of halakhic opinion within Conservative Judaism. UTCJ/UTJ soon published a regular newsletter and created a national lecture bureau to further disseminate its views. Basic to organizational goals was the desire to upgrade the level of Jewish knowledge and ritual observance of the laity. The 1979 Liebman-Shapiro Report, which documented the woefully low levels of observance in the denomination but was never released by Conservative leadership, became something of a rallying cry for the early UTCJ. As a result, keruv or outreach for the sake of increased religious practice became a key element in the Union’s operations. As if to emphasize its point, the 1990–1991 brochure carried a clarion call on its masthead to “Bring Jewish Tradition Home.” The group created a telephone hotline to answer lay inquiries regarding kashrut observance, and each year sponsored “Operation Pesach,” a project to assist families in adhering to the meticulous ritual requirements related to the Passover holiday. As if to establish a beachhead in youth engagement and compete with United Synagogue Youth, the UTCJ/UTJ designed a youth outreach program called the MTV Challenge. It also pioneered the development of a “Jewish Living Will” in the face of advancing medical technology. Finally, the Union played a prominent role in trying to mediate the controversy over “Who is a Jew” that exploded in Israel and America in 1988–1989. Since its original mandate was frustrated, the Union reinterpreted and redefined its mission and created new tactics and new goals. Despite these and other organizational moves throughout the 1990s and the early twentieth century, the UTJ has faded from the scene and, while still in existence, it has had little impact either on Conservative Judaism or the broader Jewish community.

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The UTCJ/UTJ was certainly not successful in influencing the Conservative denomination, but perhaps that is placing an unrealistic expectation on the movement. The denomination did not halt its efforts to ordain women nor did it change its directions on the many other concerns raised by the original UTCJ activists. Obviously, the UTCJ itself saw that hope was lost, for it eventually dissociated from Conservative Judaism. However, the movement was modestly successful in another way, in that it was able to create, at least t­ emporarily, a meaningful refuge for disenfranchised Conservatives and some members of the Orthodox community. In the final analysis, its main contribution may be that it provided an organizational and communal home for an alienated and searching constituency in the Jewish community. Ultimately, the ­community-building features of the UTCJ-UTJ enterprise were arguably its most relevant. The Union created a new collective identity for its following, succeeded in reframing the issues and, in effect, removed its constituency from the conflict. At least for a time, the UTCJ/UTJ created an entirely new ­community, new religious organizations, and arguably a new “traditional” denominational system wedged between the main body of Conservative Judaism and the left wing of Orthodoxy. And key to this study, the UTCJ/ UTJ attempted to replicate many of the institutions of Conservative Judaism, thereby behaving in isomorphic fashion and employing a well-known and comfortable, and thereby limited, organizational repertoire and form. The UTCJ/UTJ emulated and simulated structures, programs, and services of Conservative Judaism. This institutional and structural development ­functioned to mobilize, serve, build their constituency and perpetuate a movement, and wittingly or not, also served to separate themselves and to compete with the parallel associations within the parent denomination.

The Rise, Emergence, and Institutional Development of Open Orthodoxy A fascinating and, in many ways, similar process of organizational schism and denominational development is underway as of this writing. In this writer’s view, a new denominational system is emerging on the margins of Orthodoxy. While its exact nature, purpose, direction, and even name are still works in progress, I will refer to this phenomenon as “Open Orthodoxy,” or the Open Orthodox alignment, as distinct from the terms Modern or Centrist Orthodoxy.146 146 Modern or Centrist Orthodoxy is mainly centered around key organizations, including the Orthodox Union (OU), Rabbinical Council of America (RCA), Yeshiva University (YU), and Religious Zionists of America (RZA), among others.

Movements, Institutions and Organizations

Open Orthodoxy has emerged as a reaction and counter-movement to the perceived rightward shift of the Modern Orthodox camp. What is so interesting is that among the main issues that are prompting the coming together of Open Orthodoxy is the issue of women’s religious roles and ordination. Despite the similarity in structure and issue to the case of the UTCJ/UTJ, clearly the response of Open Orthodoxy differs dramatically. Where the Union organized precisely to resist women’s ordination, Open Orthodoxy is embracing the idea and in many ways redefining the nature and role of the rabbinate beyond its immediate camp. As if to dramatize the point, albeit writing in and for a different context, Zald and Berger teach us that even though the professed aspiration of a movement is to change the behavior, goals, and structure of its target organization, the real goal may be to bring about changes in the larger society.147 Open Orthodoxy is building its movement by copying, intentionally or not, the denominational structure and organizations of existing Jewish religious groups. Consequently, Open Orthodoxy (and the UTCJ/UTJ before it) is behaving in isomorphic fashion. In addition, I contend that the UTCJ/UTJ’s and Open Orthodoxy’s organizational forms, repertoires, and decisions have been bound by prior experiences, by observation, and by what has been commonplace in the overall Jewish community and its religious systems. The rightward shift in the Orthodox world is a well-documented phenomenon.148 Jonathan Sarna compellingly describes the current environment in which Open Orthodoxy has found itself. . . . American Orthodoxy is deeply divided over the issue of how to confront modernity. There is nothing new about this: Jeffrey Gurock has shown that the tension between “accommodators” and “resisters” in Orthodox life dates back to the 19th century. Parallel debates have animated many other American religious movements. Indeed, such debates have also often proved salutary: each side checks and balances the excesses of the other. The problem is that, in the absence of broadly respected leaders, the faultlines between modern and right-wing Orthodox Jews have deepened. In one particularly vitriolic attack, Rabbi Elya Svei, a prominent member of the right wing Agudat Israel, characterized Yeshiva University’s President Norman Lamm as “an enemy of God”—a charge that he subsequently refused to retract. More broadly, Modern Orthodox Jews—including, recently, Senator Joseph Lieberman—have found themselves written 147 Zald and Berger, “Social Movements in Organizations,” 204. 148 Ferziger, Beyond Sectarianism, 9.

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Dynamics of Continuity and Change in Jewish Religious Life out of Orthodoxy altogether by some right-wing critics. No wonder that Professors William B. Helmreich and Reuel Shinnar, in a recent analysis, depicted Modern Orthodoxy as “a movement under siege.” The question, however, is not whether Modern Orthodoxy will survive—in fact, it retains thousands of adherents. The question is whether Orthodoxy itself can ­survive as a single movement or whether (like so many Protestant denominations that have faced similar challenges) it will ultimately polarize so far as to crack. The fact that Orthodox Judaism, unlike its Conservative and Reform counterparts, does not have any strong institutional ties binding all of its factions together makes the danger of such a schism all the greater.149

Among many issues of contention, one of the most divisive and explosive has been intense disagreements about and openness to enhanced ritual and leadership roles for women. One of the major issues separating the Orthodox from the non-­Orthodox has been that of the ordination of women . . . In March 2009, Rabbis Daniel Sperber and Avraham Weiss bestowed the title ‘‘Rabba’’ (‘‘Female Rabbi’’) on an Orthodox Jewish woman who had served as a religious guide and offered spiritual and pastoral counseling at Weiss’ congregation. The act has been greeted with significant scorn in the Orthodox community, but that is largely the reaction of men who let their opinions be known . . . Although the ordination of women is currently beyond the pale, Orthodox women are taking on other religious leadership roles. For example, Yo’atzot—women who are recognized as authorities capable of providing information on halakhic aspects of family purity, sexuality and reproduction—are becoming increasingly normative in American modern Orthodox communities. Additionally, there are now several women who function as members of the clergy, albeit without the title of rabbi. For example, one New York City community, Lincoln Square Synagogue, has a female who functions, as least in part, as a member of the clergy, although without the title ‘‘Rabbi’’ or ‘‘Rabba.”150 149 Jonathan Sarna, “The Future of American Orthodoxy,” Shma 31, no. 579 (2001), 2–3, accessed May 16, 2017, http://www.brandeis.edu/hornstein/sarna/contemporaryjewishlife/thefutureofmodernorthodoxy.pdf. 150 Yehuda Turetsky and Chaim I. Waxman, “Sliding to the Left? Contemporary American Modern Orthodoxy,” Modern Judaism 31, no. 2 (2011): 122–23.

Movements, Institutions and Organizations

A significant realignment of Orthodoxy is occurring in part due to the incursions of Open Orthodoxy and Orthodox feminism.151 Still, to date, the ­institutions of Open Orthodoxy remain on the margins of even the mainstream Modern Orthodox community.152 Nonetheless, such a rearrangement heralds an emerging schism in Orthodox ranks. Based on the strident positions shared by Agudath Israel and the RCA petitioners, it is not difficult to envision a day coming soon when YCT and its supporters will find themselves completely alienated from all of the other components of the Orthodox world including the majority of those who align themselves with YU. Such a scenario would push the “Open” contingent to form a new coalition with the growing trend toward nondenominationally affiliated synagogue communities that aim to be fully egalitarian and halakhic.153

The discussion that follows has a dual purpose, to offer a rough chronological summary and a review of the institutional development of Open Orthodoxy as a bona fide religious counter-movement (see Table 2). Open Orthodoxy has evolved as a movement over a number of years through the gradual ­establishment of significant organizations, the institution of new religious Table 2  The Institutions of Open Orthodoxy Organization

Date of Founding

Edah

1997–2006

Jewish Orthodox Feminist Alliance ( JOFA)

1997

Yeshivat Chovevei Torah (YCT)

1999

The Institute for Jewish Ideas and Ideals

2007

Morethodoxy blog

2009

Yeshivat Maharat (YM)

2009

International Rabbinic Fellowship (IRF)

2009

Vaad Hagiyyur

2010

Porat

2016

Potential Fellow Traveler Organizations: Beit Morasha, Beit Hillel, Ne’emanei Torah Ve’Avodah, Yeshivat Har’el, Pardes, Mechon Hadar, Kehilat Hadar, Drisha Institute for Jewish Education, independent minyanim, Uri L’Tzedek

151 Ferziger, Beyond Sectarianism, 221. 152 Ibid., 10. 153 Ibid., 221. The abbreviation YCT refers to Yeshivat Chovevei Torah.

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p­ ractices and symbols, new interpretations and applications of Jewish law, and the slow building of a constituency including ideological adherents, synagogue leaders and members, and supportive fellow traveler individuals and organizations. Institutionally speaking, the movement created organizations around which an Open Orthodox community and lifestyle could be pursued and promulgated.

Grass Roots Membership Organizations—Building a Constituency The seeds of Open Orthodoxy can perhaps be traced, institutionally, to the establishment of Edah. Founded in 1997, Edah in its own description was intended to be a grassroots movement to promote an open-minded and open-hearted Orthodoxy, passionately committed to Jewish Law while remaining receptive to general culture. Its goals were to renew Modern Orthodoxy and its lead institutions and to strengthen the ties between Orthodoxy and the Jewish people at large. The organization, however, was closed in 2006.154 Publicly, the leadership of the organization maintained that since it had achieved many of its original objectives and that the Modern Orthodox community had matured and stabilized, Edah elected to wind down. In the writings of its founder and Director, Rabbi Saul Berman, “We don’t see the need for the Jewish community to bear the burdens of yet another Jewish institution, because we believe the instruments we created for the promotion of Modern Orthodoxy will now be furthered by incumbent organizations and their leaders without our having any longer to make the case.” Its journal, website, audio-visual library, adult education programs, and other projects were largely absorbed by YCT and others.155 The reason for the shutdown was debated in journalistic, communal, and academic circles. While leading sociologists Sarna and Heilman disagreed about the reasons and implications for the closing, the challenges of fund raising were seen as a determining cause.156 The Open Orthodox alignment continued to evolve in the post-Edah years. Since the early ’90s, Orthodoxy has undergone a number of great shifts. Responding to a precipitous move to the right within Modern Orthodoxy, 154 See the Edah website, accessed May 16, 2017, http://www.edah.org/. 155 Saul J. Berman, “The Emergence, Role and Closing of Edah,” Jewish Press ( July 12th, 2006, latest update: October 14th, 2015), accessed May 16, 2017, http://www.jewishpress.com/ indepth/front-page/the-emergence-role-and-closing-of-edah/2006/07/12/. 156 Dana Evan Kaplan, Contemporary American Judaism: Transformation and Renewal (New York: Columbia University Press, 2013), 148–49.

Movements, Institutions and Organizations a plethora of institutions and organizations have emerged. These include the Jewish Orthodox Feminist Alliance (JOFA), Edah, YCT and YM, the Institute for Jewish Ideas and Ideals, and the International Rabbinic Fellowship (IRF). In Israel, too, Beit Morasha, Beit Hillel, Ne’emanei Torah Ve’Avodah and others were founded and today women are being ordained (receiving semikha) from Yeshivat Maharat as well as Yeshivat Har’el.157

The Institute for Jewish Ideas and Ideals was founded as a think tank and educational vehicle in 2007 by Rabbi Dr. Marc Angel. The Institute was ­established to offer a vision of Orthodox Judaism that was intellectually, ­spiritually, and emotionally compelling, and committed to expressing an appreciation of legitimate diversity within Orthodoxy. Its webpage language is telling and signifies its stance in the Orthodox spectrum.­ For ­example, it raises such questions as whether that Orthodox Jewish life is narrowing its intellectual horizons, adopting ever more extreme halakhic positions, encouraging undue conformity in dress, behavior, and thought, fostering an authoritarian system that restricts creative and independent thinking, and growing more insulated from non-Orthodox Jews and from society in general.158 Still, it is clear that a vacuum was felt by the closing of Edah’s doors. A significant step to fill the gap was taken in 2016. A new organization, PORAT: People for Orthodox Renaissance and Torah, was introduced to serve as an Open Orthodox membership organization and in many ways supersedes and recreates Edah. A board of directors was formed and the early plans included raising funds to hire staff, to sponsor public forums and educational programs, and create a website. In the words of Rabbi Avraham (Avi) Weiss, perhaps the universally acknowledged architect and leader of the Open Orthodox movement: Today, Modern Orthodoxy is blessed with rabbinical schools, rabbinic organizations, batei din, think tanks, feminist and LGBTQ advocacy groups, but no lay-led, grassroots membership organization thinking holistically about the broad range of issues.159 157 Avi Weiss, “Defining ‘Open Orthodoxy,’” Tablet ( June 30, 2015), retrieved from http:// www.tabletmag.com/jewish-life-and-religion/191907/defining-open-orthodoxy. 158 See the Institute for Jewish Ideas and Ideals website, accessed May 16, 2017, https://www. jewishideas.org/. 159 Avi Weiss, “Don’t Lock Me Out: Closing Charge at Porat’s Inaugural Event,” Times of Israel (May 18, 2016), accessed May 16, 2017, http://blogs.timesof Israel.com/porats-inauguralevent-closing-charge/.

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Weiss and Rella Feldman laid out the broad purposes of PORAT in a jointly composed essay. What’s missing is a broad, lay organization that subscribes to this more inclusive Modern Orthodoxy. In response, a new national organization called PORAT (literally, “fruitful,” from the acronym People for Orthodox Renaissance and Torah), has been formed. Its founding committee includes leaders from within the Modern Orthodox community, including this article’s authors. But the most central members are lay Modern Orthodox adults of all ages. PORAT is a grassroots organization.160

Porat was established to respond to the alienation and disenfranchisement felt by many in the Orthodox community. Writing pensively, Weiss and Feldman note: This past year a growing number of Orthodox rabbis have been declared personae non gratae by institutions and organizations that have been identified with the more centrist streams of Orthodoxy. Some of these instances did not occur in the public eye, and I (Avi) have witnessed them myself: A world-renowned rabbinic figure was invited and then disinvited from serving as a Shabbat scholar-in-residence in a centrist Orthodox synagogue; a rabbi with ordination from the Chief Rabbinate of Israel was denied membership in the Rabbinical Council of America (RCA) because he supported the values of an institution not to their liking. I have also been personally affected: after writing weekly divrei Torah for a widely read Jewish newspaper for many, many years, I was recently informed that my column would be discontinued because of my association with a more open Orthodoxy . . .161

The emotional statement of a member of the nascent membership organization is quite telling: I joined PORAT “Because I have been turned into an outsider in a community I love.”162 Thus the goal of PORAT is clear: 160 Avi Weiss and Rella Feldman, “A More Inclusive Modern Orthodoxy,” Tablet (May 11, 2016), accessed May 16, 2017, http://www.tabletmag.com/scroll/202196/a-more-inclusive-­ modern-orthodoxy. 161 Ibid. 162 See the PORAT Facebook page, accessed May 16, 2017, https://www.facebook.com/poratonline/photos/a.953182804780164.1073741831.920974678000977/9531829747­80147/? type=3&theater.

Movements, Institutions and Organizations . . . to demonstrate that a critical mass (we believe it is in the tens of thousands) of Orthodox Jews identify with the values of an inclusive Modern Orthodoxy. It will make this point by organizing events around the country, and using the web to encourage individuals to sign on as supporters of PORAT’s values. Unlike the Orthodox Union, which is primarily a federation of synagogues, PORAT is exclusively a “union” of thousands of individuals.163

Open Orthodoxy, Feminism, and the Ordination of Women The role of women in Orthodoxy has certainly been a galvanizing issue behind the evolution of an Open Orthodox sector. In many ways, Orthodox Jewish feminism can be credited with spurring the advancement of this movement, creating new ways of thinking, learning, practicing, and organizing. The current debates and action around the ordination of women under Orthodox auspices is a natural evolution of years of institutional, philosophical, and ideological work. Interestingly, this pattern of development mirrors a similar process in other religious settings. Social scientist Mark Chaves has observed in non-Jewish contexts that the ordination of women opens up religious organizations to new models of practice and new understandings of the mutual roles of religious men and women. “Officially permitting female clergy channels conflicts over gender equality in particular directions . . . The formal rules granting full equality matter, but they matter more because they present opportunities for new sorts of legitimate social action inside the organization than because they directly govern internal practice.”164 The Jewish Orthodox Feminist Alliance ( JOFA) dates back to 1997. The organization has grown from a small group that gathered in the home of founding President Blu Greenberg into a professionally staffed, international coalition. It has a membership of over 5,500 individuals and has obtained the support of scholars, leaders, activists, and philanthropists in the Jewish and feminist worlds. The official statement on its website presents JOFA as the leading organization advancing social change around gender issues in the Orthodox Jewish community. It seeks to expand the spiritual, ritual, intellectual, and political opportunities for women within the framework of Jewish law by advocating meaningful participation and equality for women in family life, 163 Weiss and Feldman, “A More Inclusive Modern Orthodoxy.” 164 Mark Chaves, “Ordaining Women: The Diffusion of an Organizational Innovation,” ­American Journal of Sociology, 101, no. 4 (1996), 868.

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synagogues, houses of learning, and Jewish communal organizations to the full extent possible within halakha.165 A major movement-building and highly controversial action was taken in 2009. Privately, Rabbi Avi Weiss had started to train women to be rabbis and he and Rabbi Daniel Sperber granted ordination to Sara Hurwitz that year. Shortly thereafter, in September 2009, Hurwitz became co-founder (along with Weiss) and Dean of Yeshivat Maharat, the first Orthodox yeshiva to ordain women as clergy. Originally, Hurwitz was ordained with the title Maharat, manhiga hilkhatit rukhanit Toranit (Hebrew for a halakhic, or legal, spiritual religious leader). Weiss changed her title to rabba—a feminization of rabbi—in February 2010, incensing many in the Orthodox community. While the Reform, Reconstructionist, and Conservative movements have been ordaining women since 1972, 1974, and 1985, respectively, the Orthodox community has resisted this development.166 To date, 42 women have enrolled in Yeshivat Maharat’s programs and 14 have been ordained. Graduates are ordained as “toreh toreh”—a decisor of Jewish law. The Yeshiva encourages its alumnae to use the professional title most appropriate to them, in consultation with the communities they serve.167 To demonstrate the diffusion of the practice of ordaining women, in June 2016, Orthodox Rabbi Daniel Landes ordained 8 women out of a class of 21. While Landes is the former director of the Pardes Institute, an egalitarian Beit Midrash and arguably another organization that might claim to be part of a new Orthodox system, the press called the ordination ceremony in Israel “a very public affirmation of a new post-denominational model of halakhic egalitarianism.”168 In addition to Landes’s effort and Yeshivat Maharat, there are several individuals and small institutions that are ordaining women, including Jerusalem’s Har’el Beit Midrash. Sharon Weiss-Greenberg, the executive director of the Jewish Orthodox Feminist Alliance, estimated that there are some 20 ordained Orthodox female “rabbinical leaders” who are working in Jewish communities, 165 See the Jewish Orthodox Feminist Alliance website, accessed May 16, 2017, https://www. jofa.org/. 166 Batya Ungar-Sargon, “Orthodox Yeshiva Set To Ordain Three Women. Just Don’t Call Them ‘Rabbi,’” Tablet ( June 10, 2013), accessed May 16, 2017, http://www.tabletmag. com/jewish-life-and-religion/134369/orthodox-women-ordained. 167 See the Yeshivat Maharat website, accessed May 16, 2017, http://www.yeshivatmaharat. org/mission-and-history/. 168 Amanda Borschel-Dan, “‘Post-Denominational’ Orthodoxy Gains New Leadership in Historic Ordination,” Times of Israel ( June 9, 2016), accessed May 16, 2017, http://www. timesofisrael.com/post-denominational-orthodoxy-gains-new-leadership-inhistoric-­ordination/.

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excluding Landes’s fledgling female rabbis.169 One year prior to Landes’s act, two men and two women received Orthodox ordination from Rabbis Herzl Hefter and Daniel Sperber of the Har’el Beit Midrash. In his Efrat congregation, Rabbi Shlomo Riskin appointed a woman a “spiritual adviser.” Hefter trains his students in Hebrew and shuns denominational definitions, and has remarked that American factionalism and communitarian politics make coed programs like his more possible in Israel than in the United States.170 The reaction of the Orthodox center and right wings has been immediate and caustic and one of many conflicts that have wracked the Orthodox community. But the subject of women clergy is particularly charged and represents deepening rifts within even Modern Orthodoxy. But outside this room, the reaction to Hurwitz’s January 2010 appointment by Avi Weiss, the senior rabbi of a Riverdale, New York Orthodox synagogue, was anything but supportive. “Any congregation with a woman in a rabbinical position of any sort cannot be considered Orthodox,” proclaimed the 10-member Council of Torah Sages of Agudath Israel of America— deemed American ultra-Orthodoxy’s most authoritative rabbinic body—in a February public statement. Its director of public policy, Avi Shafran, was outraged: “Tznius [modesty] isn’t a mode of dress,” he said. “It includes the idea that women are demeaned and not honored when they’re put in the public eye and put on a pedestal. The position he [Weiss] has created violated the concept.” Whether or not the ordination violates a specific halacha [ Jewish religious law] is unimportant, Shafran explained. “There is nothing in the Shulhan Aruch about keeping a cat in the aron kodesh [the Holy Ark in the synagogue]. It’s technically permitted, but it’s wrong to do.” While a condemnation from Agudath Israel was not unexpected, more centrist Orthodox voices were equally unforgiving. “The ordination of women as rabbis represents a serious and inappropriate breach with our sacred tradition and is beyond the pale of Orthodox Judaism,” said Steven Pruzansky, vice president of the Rabbinical Council of America (RCA), a 1,000-member group that claims to be “the largest Orthodox rabbinic organization in the world,” and rabbi of Congregation Bnai Yeshurun in Teaneck, New Jersey. He went even further on his blog, writing that the 169 Ibid. 170 Elhanan Miller, “Can These Newly Ordained Rabbis Upend the Status Quo in Israel?” The Forward (August 2, 2016), retrieved from http://forward.com/sisterhood/346541/canthese-newly-ordained-rabbis-upend-the-status-quo-in-israel/.

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Dynamics of Continuity and Change in Jewish Religious Life role of female clergy “not only mimics Reform, but in fact is a throwback to pagan ideologies.”171

In response to attacks from the Orthodox right, Rabbi Asher Lopatin, the President of YCT, weighed in on the women’s ordination issue. All the fears on women’s and gender issues on the part of many in the Orthodox community point to a general fear that the slope is slippery, and the Orthodox world in general is on the verge of slipping off the cliff to religious anarchy . . . It is stunning that with all the measurable incontestable successes of the Orthodox community—and with all the momentum that the numbers show into the next generation—the Orthodox community is still scared and lacks the self-confidence necessary to take on the role it now has as a dominant force in American Jewish life.172

Sarna offered his sobering analysis of the implications of Orthodox Jewish feminism. . . . American Orthodoxy faces sweeping challenges from contemporary feminism. Jewish Action calls this “perhaps the most explosive issue facing Orthodoxy” and wonders aloud whether it “will estrange feminists and their supporters from the rest of Orthodoxy.” In many communities, the answer would seem to be yes. So-called “women’s issues”—whether, for example, women may organize separate prayer groups on a regular basis, or dance with the Torah on Simchat Torah, or celebrate ritually the bat mitzvah of their daughters, or wear tallit and tefillin—divide Orthodox synagogues one from another in many of the major communities where Orthodox Jews live, and have divided many synagogues internally as well. Indeed, it can be argued that these issues are to contemporary Orthodoxy what debates over mixed seating and the height of the mehitzah were to an earlier generation. Those issues turned out to be defining ones for Orthodox Judaism: in time, synagogues with mixed seating had to stop calling themselves Orthodox. Will the women’s issues today prove ­similarly divisive? The heated rhetoric on both sides hardly hints at the 171 Sarah Breger, “Do 1 Rabba, 2 Rabbis and 1 Yeshiva = A New Denomination? As Mainstream Orthodoxy Moves to the Right, a Liberal Faction Gains Momentum,” Moment (November-December 2010), accessed May 16, 2017, http://www.momentmag.com/ do-1-rabba-2-rabbis-and-1-yeshiva-a-new-denomination/. 172 Asher Lopatin, “Challenges and Opportunities for a Robust Orthodox Judaism,” Conversations 17 (2013), 52.

Movements, Institutions and Organizations possibility of compromise. The question, as Orthodoxy ponders its future, is whether “the most explosive issue facing Orthodoxy” will ultimately blow up, fragmenting American Orthodoxy in the process.173

The Open Orthodox Men’s Rabbinate Yeshivat Chovevei Torah (YCT) was established in 1999 to recruit, train, and place rabbis to lead communities in the spirit of Modern Orthodox values and commitments. YCT has ordained over 100 men serving in the full range of ­rabbinic roles.174 YCT has carved out a space to the left of Yeshiva University’s rabbinical school (RIETS). Along the way, the seminary has championed a more “open” brand of Orthodoxy. But the conflicts and pushbacks around YCT are significant. The Rabbinical Council of America, the largest coalition of Orthodox rabbis, does not permit YCT graduates to become members. That posture, in effect, denies the legitimacy of YCT ordination and undermines rabbinic decisions made by any YCT rabbi. Furthermore, this RCA stance, along with the reluctance of the two main synagogue umbrella organizations, the National Council of Young Israel and the Orthodox Union, to officially associate with YCT serves to block graduates from obtaining pulpit positions in synagogues around North America. Well-known and respected journalist Uri Heilman interviewed a number of leaders to get a sense of their feelings surrounding the relationship between the two factions. Rabbi Shmuel Goldin, RCA president: Our policy is at this point that smicha from Chovevei Torah is not an accepted smicha in the RCA. In order to be accepted in the RCA, an institution has to present its credentials, and then a study is done to determine whether or not it should be admitted to the RCA . . . The red lines would be what we consider to be appropriate halachic standards, and also appropriate philosophical standards . . . RCA took a position when the whole rabba controversy erupted that while we are very much in favor of women’s leadership roles in Jewish community, we don’t believe that a woman rabbi is a construct that’s acceptable. If YCT were to admit women, that would be a red line. They don’t at this point. 173 Jonathan Sarna, “The Future of American Orthodoxy,” 3. 174 See the Yeshivat Chovevei Torah web site, accessed May 16, 2017, http://www.yctorah.org/.

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Dynamics of Continuity and Change in Jewish Religious Life Steven Lieberman, Chovevei’s chairman of the board: It used to be two to three years ago that people would ask what was wrong with YCT that YCT rabbis were not being accepted rabbis; now they ask what’s wrong with the RCA . . . We’d like to end that breach. We’d like to work with the RCA. We would love for our rabbis to be members of the RCA, and we’d love for our members to be part of the Young Israel. But we don’t need the RCA, and we don’t need Young Israel. We’d like to have relationships with both of them. But YCT is doing just fine without having its rabbis as members of the RCA . . . This whole dispute is just politics . . . The quality of YCT grads is undeniable. Rabbi Avi Weiss, Chovevei’s founder and outgoing president: I wish we could be part of the RCA, but I really don’t pay any attention to that at all . . . What we’re finding is there are synagogues all over the country who are davka [specifically] calling and want a Chovevei rabbi . . . In 90 percent of Orthodox communities it’s a non-issue. We feel we are very strong partners with the OU. Rabbi Asher Lopatin, Chovevei’s incoming president: I’m not sure people are looking at national organizations like the RCA as bellwethers anymore . . . The people are really looking at getting the rabbi that works for them . . . Of course I would love the RCA to welcome Chovevei rabbis . . . I’m a member of the RCA. I want to work also with Young Israel to let them see what Chovevei is about. Both Lopatin and Weiss cited Chovevei’s warm relationship with the Orthodox Union, which has hundreds of member synagogues (including Young Israel affiliates). Most Chovevei pulpit rabbis are at OU shuls. However, the OU’s executive vice president emeritus, Rabbi Tzvi Hersh Weinreb, went out of his way to note that the OU does not actually have any formal relationship with Chovevei.175

In response to these confrontations, in November 2009, Angel joined forces with Weiss to create a new association of rabbis as an alternative to the RCA, the International Rabbinic Fellowship (IRF). According to its mission statement, the group provides a “safe space” for rabbis to speak “openly and candidly” about all issues having to do with Jewish life. Also in 2009, an online blog was set up by YCT graduates and others who are similarly inclined r­ eligiously 175 Uriel Heilman, “Is Yeshivat Chovevei Torah Kosher Enough?” Jewish Telegraphic Agency (September 7, 2012), accessed May 16, 2017, http://www.jta.org/2012/09/07/ news-opinion/the-telegraph/is-yeshivat-chovevei-torah-kosher-enough.

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and philosophically. Named Morethodoxy, its stated purpose was to explore the breadth, depth, and passion of Orthodoxy. The IRF estimates that it has 150 members. It welcomes YCT graduates but is careful to note that RCA members also belong and that it is not a Chovevei alumni association. IRF claims that it is not challenging the authority of the RCA but hopes to counter the RCA’s centralization and control of the rabbinate. In 2010, IRF created a Vaad Hagiyyur, a rabbinic court, comprised of accomplished halakhic scholars as well as seasoned pulpit rabbis, to carry out conversions. This move was intended to provide support for local rabbis to perform conversions as well as to fend off delegitimization by the RCA and the Israeli rabbinate.

Fellow Travelers Finally, parallel or sister organizations have been established in the United States and Israel, with similar worldviews and philosophical and religious orientations. These are fellow traveler organizations that one could argue also fall into the evolving Open Orthodox camp. Whether from a shared philosophical and religious policy orientation or overlapping constituencies and memberships, these organizations might include the various independent minyanim (prayer groups), partnership minyanim (à la the Shira Chadasha, Kehilat Hadar, or Darchei Noam models), and women’s tefilah–prayer and learning groups. In addition, this cluster of organizations might encompass Uri L’Tzedek, an Orthodox social justice organization dedicated to combating suffering and oppression. A number of these might aptly be termed part of the loosely connected Jewish innovation sector, or even an Orthodox innovation sector. Potentially, the more formal organizations connected to the Open Orthodox community might include the Drisha Institute, Mechon Hadar, and Israeli counterparts such as Pardes, Beit Morasha, Beit Hillel, Ne’emanei Torah Ve’Avodah, and Yeshivat Har’el. Of course, it is an open question whether or not these organizations view themselves as “officially” or “unofficially” connected with the Open Orthodox alignment and, if so, to what extent, how actively, and around what issues.

Whither Open Orthodoxy—A New Denomination? Over and above the ongoing institutional and policy conflicts between Open Orthodoxy and the rest of contemporary Orthodoxy is the debate as to whether the alignment constitutes a new denomination. The ­controversy even touches upon the name of the group. On one hand, Open Orthodox leaders are themselves searching to define their movement and their opponents are doing

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likewise. Labeling and demarcation of boundary lines has become a function of internal movement choice and framing and efforts to superimpose definitions from the outside. Weiss considered the possibilities. From the beginning, I and others were uncomfortable with this term. Centrist Orthodoxy never resonated, as it suggests a position in the center of those on both sides. As the flanks shift, the center must also shift in order to remain in the middle. Centrist Orthodoxy becomes reactive, losing its autonomy . . . With the advent of YCT, YM, the IRF, JOFA, and others, honest and respectful discussion is taking place concerning what terms should be used to describe these new phenomena in Orthodoxy . . . Some suggest the continued use of the term “Modern Orthodoxy.” Modern Orthodoxy is a trademark term. Bearing in mind that it has been abandoned by RIETS and the RCA, a vacuum has been created. Why not fill that vacuum by reclaiming it and infusing it with new ideas and new perspectives while holding on to the term with which people feel comfortable . . . Others, like myself, prefer a new term: “Open Orthodoxy.”176

Gil Student, the founder of an influential blog in the Orthodox world, Torah Musings, has suggested the term ‘‘Post-Orthodox’’ to describe the group that, in his view, has veered from traditional Orthodox beliefs and practices.177 He notes: The long-brewing schism in Modern Orthodox Judaism is daily becoming more evident to even casual observers. As the schism reaches its ­boiling point, the heated moments of controversy bubble up more frequently. To date, most discussions of this phenomenon have been lacking certain important features. The first is a definition of the new group. In 1997, R. Avi Weiss declared the beginning of Open Orthodoxy. Adopting terminology from the Evangelical movement, Prof. Alan Brill coined the term Post-Orthodox, recently invoked by R. Shalom Carmy. R. Steven Pruzansky has adopted the political term Neo-Conservative to refer to the group. A name carries 176 Weiss, “Defining ‘Open Orthodoxy.’” RIETS is the abbreviation for Yeshiva University’s affiliated rabbinic school, the Rabbi Isaac Elhanan Theological Seminary. 177 Turetsky and Waxman, “Sliding to the Left? Contemporary American Modern Orthodoxy,” 124.

Movements, Institutions and Organizations i­ mplications beyond the convenience of reference; it brings history and sociology into the conversation, implying either continuity with or separation from others. The term Open Orthodoxy insists the group is still part of Orthodox Judaism. The terms Post-Orthodox and Neo-Conservative imply a break.178

Yet others have been speaking of a widening chasm within the movement and the inevitability—if not the desirability—of a schism. On the resisters’ side, those insisting that lines must be drawn have mostly limited themselves to fighting against new practices rather than ostracizing people, although, in a few synagogues, men who participate in partnership minyanim have been banned from leading services in their home congregations, and there are concerted efforts to bar YCT graduates from being hired by major Modern Orthodox synagogues. Some resisters have also taken to dismissing their opponents as closet Conservative Jews; to one prominent rabbi, the Open Orthodox should be known as ‘the observant non-Orthodox.’179

A right-wing publication, Yated Ne’eman, heralded a denominational split in a 2015 essay entitled “The Birth of a New Denomination, and Secession at the RCA.” Well, after a decade of this being the path taken by most people in our camp, as calls by the Yated and a few others were consistently ignored, Open Orthodoxy has ordained over 100 men (at Yeshivat Chovevei Torah – YCT), opened a semichah program for women (Yeshivat Maharat) which thus far ordained a dozen female rabbis, and has successfully launched two ­rabbinical organizations, both of which perform geirus and one of which provides kashrus certification. Open Orthodoxy has furthermore developed new geirus standards, and its clergy have become principals, assistant principals and rabbeim at Modern Orthodox day schools in New York, Maryland and elsewhere, and have taken over pulpits at large and small Modern Orthodox shuls across the country. Several local vaadei rabbonim have been forced to shut down due to Open Orthodox involvement. In short, much damage has been done. 178 Gil Student, “Symposium on Open Orthodoxy, Introduction: Religious Polemics and Studies,” Torah Musings (August 17, 2015), accessed May 18, 2017, http://www.torahmusings. com/2015/08/symposium-on-open-orthodoxy-i/. 179 Jack Wertheimer, “Can Modern Orthodoxy Survive?” Mosaic (August 3 2014), accessed May 18, 2017, http://mosaicmagazine.com/essay/2014/08/can-modern-orthodoxy-survive/.

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Dynamics of Continuity and Change in Jewish Religious Life Now that Open Orthodoxy is large enough to stand on its own, and its populist appeal to those elements within Orthodoxy who do not know enough to realize its danger has increased, the Open Orthodox rabbinate has formally declared its movement to be a new denomination and has begun to sever official ties with the Modern Orthodox rabbinate, exactly as the Conservative movement did a century ago. The similarities are absolutely striking.180

Keen observers of American Orthodoxy have been commenting on these organizational moves and clashes, with differing assessments. Commenting on the establishment of the IRF, Jeffrey Gurock, professor of American Jewish history at Yeshiva University and a leading scholar of American Orthodoxy, stated that: This organization represents a maturation, providing a sense of permanence to Chovevei Torah and Open Orthodoxy . . . Prior to this, those who shared this point of view felt a certain degree of isolation. Gurock cautions not to overstate the significance of the establishment of the group, which is certainly not the first alternative association for rabbis. A wing of Orthodoxy is just a wing, he says. Members can be loyal members of the RCA and part of their own organization.181

Jonathan Sarna, the noted scholar of the American Jewish experience whose work has been extensively cited in this chapter, adopts a contrasting view. He sees the creation of the IRF, for example, as a step toward the establishment of a new movement. “In American religion, when you have a new seminary and a new board of rabbis, including many who are not acceptable to the RCA, one begins to wonder if in fact we are seeing the development of two movements that use the term Orthodox.”182 But Turetsky and Waxman remain skeptical of Open Orthodoxy constituting a new denomination . . . primarily because most of those who are part of the new organization and institution, IRF and YCT, identify as Orthodox and wish to remain as such . . . Finally, the present does not appear to be a propitious moment for establishing new denominations. This seems to be i­ndicated by the 180 I. Schwartz, “The Birth of a New Denomination, and Secession at the RCA,” Yated Ne’eman (July 8, 2015), accessed May 18, 2017, https://yated.com/the-birth-of-a-new-denominationand-secession-at-the-rca/. In addition, Rabbis Weiss and Lopatin announced their resignation from the RCA in July 2015. 181 Breger, “Do 1 Rabba, 2 Rabbis and 1 Yeshiva = A New Denomination?” 182 Ibid.

Movements, Institutions and Organizations experience of the Union of Traditional Judaism (UTJ) and its ­movement, which began within Conservative Judaism but broke and formed its own ­rabbinic organization and seminary. It has not developed into a distinct denomination even though it appears that the cleavages between the founders of UTJ and mainstream Conservative Judaism appear significantly wider than that between the founders of the IRF and mainstream Orthodox Judaism. The present, if anything, is an era of trans-denominationalism, post-­ denominationalism, and/or non-denominationalism, in which increasing numbers of younger Jews are eschewing denominational labels.183

But, Rabba Sara Hurwitz wrote in 2009, prior to her ordination, that “there is no doubt that the advent of women in rabbinic positions has already and is likely to cause a stir within the Orthodox community. Some even suggest that it will cause a major split in the Orthodox movement. If that were to happen, I believe that the Modern Orthodox movement would be making great strides to sustain itself as a distinct and vibrant movement.”184 But we will leave the final word to Avi Weiss. Since the founding of Yeshivat Chovevei Torah (YCT), and some years later, Yeshivat Maharat (YM), I and others have been asked whether we are creating a new movement within Orthodoxy. Movements are generally not announced; they evolve. They are not proclaimed; they emerge, sometimes gradually, other times, swiftly. Their growth is usually p­ ainstaking, surfacing here and there. While they meet opposition, if they are strong and viable, they coalesce to become a powerful voice. It’s only years later that one can assess whether a movement has taken root.185

While Weiss’s rendering of how movements originate and develop may be debatable, to this writer, all indications are that a new movement has undoubtedly taken root, religious organizational schism has occurred, and a new denominational system is coalescing. We now turn to a comparative analysis of the cases of the UTCJ/UTJ and Open Orthodoxy to further explore the themes of schism, denominational formation, and organizational isomorphism, repertoire and form, and to a final discussion of the Jewish religious franchise in America.186 183 Turetsky and Waxman, “Sliding to the Left? Contemporary American Modern Orthodoxy,” 134–35. 184 Sara Hurwitz, “Orthodox Women in Rabbinic Roles,” in New Jewish Feminism, ed. Elyse Goldstein (Woodstock, VT: Jewish Lights Publishing, 2009), 153. 185 Weiss, “Defining ‘Open Orthodoxy.’” 186 As this book was going to press, the Orthodox Union announced a new policy barring women from serving as clergy at its 400-member congregations across the United States.

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DISCUSSION The two cases discussed in this chapter, the Union and what I am terming the Open Orthodox alignment, are illustrative for understanding shifts taking place in the contemporary Jewish community. They exhibit quite interesting parallels and similarities and are also expressive of the process through which

A rabbinic ruling by seven leading Modern Orthodox rabbis was adopted as official OU policy at a board meeting on February 1, 2017. The new policy ruled that “a woman should not be appointed to serve in a clergy position” and barred women from holding a title such as “rabbi.” The policy statement also barred women from serving without title in a role in which they would be performing clergy functions, such as regularly leading services, delivering sermons, ruling on matters of religious law, officiating at weddings and funerals, and formally serving as the synagogue’s primary religious mentor, teacher, and spiritual guide. The OU statement encouraged women to take other synagogue leadership roles, asserting that the “synagogue experience would be enhanced by . . . an even greater presence of women functioning as educated, knowledgeable and halachically committed role models, teachers, and pastoral counselors.” The OU pledged that it would encourage dialogue in order for women within Orthodoxy to “assume greater lay and professional roles” and to remove “barriers that impede women from further contributing to our community, in halachically appropriate ways.” As to be expected, news of the policy drew immediate condemnation from rabbis and leaders on the Modern Orthodox left and, once again, demonstrated the ongoing conflict around worldviews and policy between the flanks of Orthodoxy. See Orthodox Union Bars Women from Serving as Clergy in Its Synagogues, Jewish Telegraphic Agency (February 2, 2017), accessed May 18, 2017, http://www.jta. org/2017/02/02/top-headlines/ou-bars-women-from-serving-as-clergy-in-its-synagogues. The Orthodox Union’s coverage was posted on their website. See “On Women’s Professional Roles in the Synagogue, Orthodox Union Staff,” accessed May 18, 2017, https://www.ou.org/blog/uncategorized/womens-­p rofessional-roles-synagogue/, accessed May 18, 2017. The Rabbinic Panel’s statement appears online at https://www. ou.org/assets/Responses-of-Rabbinic-Panel.pdf?utm_source=SilverpopMailing&utm_ medium=email&utm_campaign=Test%20-%20A%20Statement%20from%20the %20OU%20(1)&utm_content=&spMailingID=14181615&spUserID=MT Y5 MzIzMzM4Nzg3S0&spJobID=923051361&spReportId=OTIzMDUxMzYxS0, accessed May 18, 2017. The Orthodox Union’s official statement was posted at https://www. ou.org/assets/OU-Statement.pdf ?utm_source=SilverpopMailing&utm_medium =email&utm_campaign=Letter%20from%20Allen%20to%20Press%20(1)&utm_ content=&spMailingID=14182066&spUserID=MzU1NjAyNzA2NDMS1&spJobID= 923053401&spReportId=OTIzMDUzNDAxS0, accessed May 18, 2017. In a follow-up action reported in the media, in May 2017, the OU was meeting with its four member synagogues that had hired women as clergy, asking them to change their titles. Titles in use alternatively are Maharat, Rabba, or Rabbanit. See “Orthodox Union asks women clergy to change their titles,” Jewish Telegraphic Agency (May 19, 2017), accessed June 5, 2017, http://www.jta.org/2017/05/19/news-opinion/united-states/orthodox-unionasks-women-clergy-to-change-their-titles.

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social/religious movements organize “institutionally” and structurally to create ­community and pursue their change agenda. Both cases represented breakaways from established religious systems. They consisted of organizational frameworks operating on the margins and sought changes in policy and the level or kind of religious observance in their respective parent denominations. Their lifespans even overlapped before UTJ eventually lapsed into quiescence. There had even been backroom discussions between elements of Open Orthodoxy and UTCJ/UTJ to merge, although the conversations did not reach fruition. Both broke away from their religious establishment around a number of concerns, substantially on women’s issues. But, the two organizations moved in very different directions and promoted very different responses to the women’s issue. Ironically, it was the more “liberal” organization—the UTCJ/UTJ—that adopted a stricter line on women’s ordination while the relatively more “rightward” group—Open Orthodoxy— evolved a more progressive approach to women’s ordination. The UTCJ/UTJ staked its position on denying women’s rabbinic roles and had to maintain that claim to substantiate their religious legitimacy and distinguish themselves from their Conservative opposition. Whereas the Union was resisting the perceived leftward shift and decline in religious practice and halakhic commitment in Conservative Judaism, Open Orthodoxy has been resisting the rightward shift in Orthodoxy, the delegitimation of the modern camp, and a general Orthodox resistance to change. In retrospect, the UTCJ/UTJ was locked into a no-win situation and, in the end, represents a failed social movement. Of course, it is still early to predict the prospects for the Open Orthodox enterprise now underway.

Organizational Isomorphism, Organizational Forms, and Repertoires In addition to parallels in the issues the UTCJ/UTJ and Open Orthodoxy selected as their focus, both groups exhibited organizational isomorphism. Not only did they set up similar patterns of organizational infrastructure to one other, they also mimicked, consciously or not, the already existing ­religious establishments of the Conservative, Orthodox, Reconstructionist, and Reform movements. As noted earlier, over the course of time, each of the main American Jewish religious frameworks has established a vast array of institutions, programs, services, and agencies. In the two cases under examination, both set up the same basic organizations (albeit with some difference and in different sequences) to effect change in religious practice/policy, to

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build their ­respective constituencies and influence communities, to support ­disenfranchised rabbis and laypeople, and to train professionals and build leadership. They each set up rabbinic schools (ITJ, YCT, and Maharat), professional rabbinic associations (Morashah and IRJ), rabbinic panels or rabbinic courts (Panel of Halakhic Inquiry and the Va’ad Hagiyyur), general membership organizations (UTJ and Porat), and special interest and educational arms/ organizations (MTV Challenge, Kosher Nexus, JOFA, Edah, Institute for Jewish Ideas and Ideals, Uri L’Tzedek, and so on). Clearly, the Open Orthodox movement is appealing to a wider constituency of potential adherents (observant progressive Orthodox as opposed to the UTJ’s limited demographic of right-wing Conservatives) and has a number of sister organizations who are fellow travelers. They each held organizing conferences, published journals, newsletters, position papers and scholarly literature, maintained active websites (although Open Orthodoxy today has the advantage of the ready availability of advanced technology and social media as organizing and communication tools) and dispatched press releases and their top speakers to promulgate their views, in addition to sending letters and appeals to and meeting with representatives of their parent denomination. It was noted previously that when insurgents face pressure to frame their calls for change within accepted models of organizational form and repertoire, often they will cloak their efforts in appeals to restore the group to its original version or its hallowed tradition. The Union provides a classic illustration of this process. One of its earliest brochures referred to the group as the “Union for Traditional Conservative Judaism in the Spirit of Solomon Schechter,” in reference and deference to a revered scholar and leader who shaped and left an indelible mark on Conservative Judaism in America in the early twentieth century. At its inception, the UTCJ called itself a new organization within Conservative Judaism dedicated to the traditional ideas on which the denomination was founded. The group also stressed that Conservative Judaism, in fact, represented traditional Judaism. In all of its public documents, the group endeavored to assure the audience that it was not a divisive force seeking to split the denomination. In another brochure, this same theme was echoed: If  anything, the U.T.C.J. has maintained the unity of the Movement by making it affirmatively clear that there is a legitimate and important place within the Conservative Movement for traditional Jews. We strongly believe that those who advocate radical change in the liturgy, acceptance of patrilineal descent, and the ordination of women are leading the Movement in the wrong direction. Without the U.T.C.J., many traditionalists might have already broken

Movements, Institutions and Organizations away—we are simply trying to preserve the traditional and careful halakhic approach that has always typified our Movement at its best.187

In many ways, the organizational structure sought by the Union and Open Orthodoxy, and set up by the mainline Jewish religious movements, mirrors the ecclesiastical organizational form commonly adopted by non-Jewish religious systems.188 Closer to home, there are striking parallels between the religious organizational forms and what has been common in the Jewish community at large over the past 100 years, particularly emulating the Jewish federation and other national systems created as central umbrella bodies. Not only is there a generational similarity in time frame when these various centralized and federated systems emerged, but they all follow the pattern of the distribution of responsibility among member sub-organizations. Moreover, there is a coincidental generational similarity in terms of leaders since the primary movers of the UTCJ/UTJ and Open Orthodoxy have come mainly from the baby boomer and “greatest generation” cohorts. As a result, the leadership of the two movements were of roughly similar age, with some exception were primarily men and American born, had been educated at the same institutions and in many cases educated together, came of age in the same social, political, and Jewish religious milieu, and became involved as religious activists in the broader Jewish community and respective denominational communities at similar moments. Typically, the respective movement leaders were educated at JTS or YU, as were many constituents, their synagogues were members of the United Synagogue or the OU, the rabbis had been members of the Rabbinical Assembly or the Rabbinical Council or America, and many had attended denominational camps and youth groups and other programs and services. Even geographically, these were mainly American movements and northeastern dominated movements. The UTCJ/UTJ and Open Orthodoxy thus adopted organizational forms, repertoires, and action agendas based on what they knew, what they were familiar with, and what they observed elsewhere as the common structure and repertoires of Jewish communal organizations. The movement leaders drew from their own 187 Union for Traditional Conservative Judaism, Questions and Answers about Traditional Conservative Judaism and the U.T.C.J., 4. The brochure was undated but estimated to have been published between 1984 and 1986. 188 See Nancy Tatom Ammerman, Baptist Battles, Social Change and Religious Conflict in the Southern Baptist Convention (New Brunswick, NJ: Rutgers University Press, 1990); Wuthnow, “The Growth of Religious Reform Movements;” Liebman, Sutton, and Wuthnow, “Exploring the Social Sources of Denominationalism: Schisms in American Protestant Denominations;” Roof and McKinney, American Mainline Religion; and Wuthnow, The Restructuring of American Religion.

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experiences and modeled their organizational efforts in kind. Essentially, they set up fairly classic top down, centrally driven organizational systems (as opposed to the more contemporary innovation sector style of organizations noted above), with fundamentally parallel purposes and activities (rabbinic training, professional associations, congregational and/or membership organizations, etc.). While they did seek to be innovative in the organizations they established, they strived perhaps to be different but not too much so. It was noted earlier that institutional isomorphism is composed of three main elements: coercive, normative, and mimetic mechanisms. We can see all three operative in our two cases. The organization building pattern of the UTCJ/UTJ and Open Orthodoxy was certainly responsive to perceived coercive pressures. In trying to navigate the Jewish world and negotiate the political relations with their parent bodies, it appears to be the case that the UTCJ/ UTJ and Open Orthodoxy were responding to the formal and informal pressures placed on them by either their oppositional organizations or by Jewish community/cultural expectations. They were both dependent on communal support for funding, moral support, and loyal constituents, and were vulnerable to pressure to conform to the cultural expectations of the larger Jewish and denominational society. Indeed, both needed to stay connected to the Jewish establishment (religious or otherwise) and could not afford to burn bridges, at least not completely. In fact, dual memberships were common. Synagogues may have been affiliated with the denomination as well as the movement and rabbis often had feet in multiple camps simultaneously. For example, in the case of the UTCJ/UTJ, for the sake of career advancement or to maintain pensions and benefits administered by the Conservative denomination, rabbis were affiliated with the Union, Morashah, and the RA. Synagogues commonly were connected to UTCJ/UTJ and maintained their ties to the United Synagogue. Although straddling the lines, the Union created parallel structures with parallel purposes. Normative forces were at play as well, mainly to ensure that the ITJ, YCT, and Maharat graduates were able to pursue their careers and meet basic requirements of the rabbinate. Normative pressures surface in response to forces toward professionalization, in terms of degrees, licenses, professional associations, professional legitimacy, and body of knowledge. Each rabbinic program has had its distinctive features and sought to balance introducing important innovations while also incorporating the basic body of knowledge seen by the community as requisite for rabbinic education. Finally, it is apparent that mimetic mechanisms were also factors in these cases. Mimetic isomorphism appears in uncertain environments. In such situations, organizations model themselves after others that are perceived as being more

Movements, Institutions and Organizations

legitimate or successful. As we have seen, the pursuit of legitimacy was heavy on the minds of UTJ and Open Orthodox leaders, as they were constantly disenfranchised and delegitimized by their opposition while seeking to define their movements and secure their place in the Jewish world. In order to survive, to obtain general support, recognition, funding, jobs, and followers, the movements modeled themselves after tried and true Jewish religious and other organizations. The Union and Open Orthodoxy set up new organizations and strived to distinguish themselves— but not too much so, for risk of alienating powers and people they desired to coopt and involve. In many ways, the organizational repertoires and forms they utilized reflected bounded thinking where social identity, goals, and cognitive limitations combined to contribute to a bounded organizational intentionality.189

Schism and Denominationalism Open Orthodoxy has emerged as a new denominational expression as a result of both push and pull factors. The push factors consist of the refusal by the RCA to accept as members the graduates of YCT, increased competition and hostility directed to YCT from YU/RIETS, and the resistance of OU and YI synagogues to hire YCT alumni.190 The tenuous, antagonistic relationship between Open Orthodoxy and the rest of Orthodoxy is further exacerbated by the strident attacks that have been waged by the center and right wing toward the movement’s leaders and institutions. As the right keeps pushing them out, Open Orthodoxy pulls away by making moves to separate themselves ideologically (symbolically) and materially (policy, practice, organizations, and affiliations). Structurally (“institutionally”) speaking, it would appear that they indeed are becoming a separate denomination. Membership withdrawal and the setting up of counter-institutions has, in fact, brought about a formal schism although, informally, members may still retain membership in certain organizations and use or support overlapping organizations (i.e., YU, youth groups, synagogues, charities, etc.). American Orthodoxy has never been monolithic and its organizational structure has never maintained a centralized authority. Whereas in the other denominations, for example, there has been one rabbinic school (with one exception being the University of Judaism as a second independent Conservative rabbinic, undergraduate, and graduate school), one professional rabbinic organization, one rabbinic court, one professional c­ antorial organization, one congregational umbrella group, one school system, and 189 Thornton, Ocasio, and Lounsbury, The Institutional Logics Perspective, 80. 190 Ferziger, Beyond Sectarianism, 172, 216–17.

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one youth and camping body, among other programs, Orthodoxy has created and sustained multiples of these kinds of organizations, including numerous independent authoritative rabbinic figures. Open Orthodoxy is a case where the new institutions created are not expansions of an existing system, such as adding a new organization or program under the aegis of or formally linked to one of the existing Orthodox systems of organizations. These are, instead, oppositional organizations, dissenting and separating from the other system on the basis of policy, practice, constituency, and ideology, parallel to and, in effect, replicating what exists elsewhere in the Orthodox world. Whether the new schismatic network grows, gains legitimacy and following, succeeds organizationally, has impact on the community, or lives on remains to be seen. Religious life, Jewish and otherwise, is far from static in America, and it can be expected that there will continue to be all kinds of breakaway groups from existing organizations, at all levels: denominations, regional institutions, and local churches and synagogues. Furthermore, as part of the general trend toward organizational proliferation and religious diversification, it can be ­anticipated that the organizational networks of existing denominations will periodically expand, contract, and differentiate internally. Similarly, the number of new Christian and Jewish denominations in America could also increase, fueled by a perpetual cycle of religious schism. Schism represents a normative process of conflict and change within a religious framework. Conflicts will naturally differ in intensity and duration, and not all religious organizational conflict will eventuate in schism. Furthermore, not all instances of schism will result in decisive and final breaks with existing denominations or organizations, nor result ­necessarily in new denominations. Conflict resolution is possible and breaches can be repaired. Each schism represents a different process of conflict and change, with different features, circumstances, natures, transitions, and phases. Consequently, the subject of this research derived in great measure from a concern for the directions of the Jewish community, arising out of a deep appreciation of the many challenges presented by the modern era in Jewish history. Dramatic events of the past two hundred years have contributed to major upheavals in contemporary Jewish communal life, including the Enlightenment, the Emancipation, mass immigration to new worlds, the Holocaust, the rebirth of the State of Israel, globalization, and technology. These events have occurred in relatively rapid succession. Furthermore, Jews in America and other nations today as never before have the freedom, resources, and choice to define their personal sense of identity. These patterns have significantly altered the ways that the Jewish people have organized individual and group experience, contributing to the development of new modes of expressing Jewish identity as well as Jewish communal organization.

Movements, Institutions and Organizations

The results of this study have meaning for the entire American Jewish polity, as well as for its religious system. The confrontations within the religious framework on a range of issues are powerful enough to influence the total Jewish social order. In addition, the religious conflicts surrounding the case of the UTCJ/UTJ and Open Orthodox secessions have real-life consequences. The combination of major policy differences (i.e., personal status disputes such as conversion) and the evolution of separate religious systems and lifestyles does not bode well for the community. Two additional complicating factors may be in play. First, the effects of structural division, social distance, and personal status differences are cumulative and mutually reinforcing. Each problem is further exacerbated by the appearance of the other, more than if it existed alone. Second, the picture becomes more complex when placed against the backdrop of the overall trend toward organizational proliferation and religious diversification in the Jewish community. This research has been primarily interested in religious life and has not considered other extensive organizational networks. As a result of these forces, the maintenance of a Jewish common interest and communal consensus among the ever increasing number of Jewish interest groups of all types is becoming more difficult to sustain over time and across the range of issues. Further research would be needed to substantiate the impact of each of these suggested factors on policy setting, on communal relations, and the communal structure. Elazar claims that there had been a three hundred year thrust toward communal fragmentation, but that in recent decades the Jewish people had been in a period of reintegration. As evidence, he points to the creation of the modern State of Israel and the reconstitution of the diaspora Jewish communities after the Holocaust. He also cites the institutionalization and power of the American Jewish community, perhaps symbolized best by the federation movement.191 Writing in the mid-1970s, he could not have fully anticipated these more recent trends, which, in contrast, seem to imply intractable conflicts and permanent, irreparable divisions among Jews. Ironically, despite powerful forces toward integration and centralization, there are mutually contradictory forces toward hopeless, irrevocable fragmentation. In democratic pluralist settings, dissent and controversy regarding communal policy will always exist, as will competition for all kinds of scarce resources, especially assuming continued organizational proliferation and religious diversity. Sadly, however, the current religious arguments possess the potential to split the Jewish people along religious lines permanently. Indeed, this author would argue that the battle has already been lost. Barring unexpected initiatives toward religious 191 Elazar, Community and Polity, 339.

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rapprochement, with major reversals of religious policies by one or more of the denominations, there is probably little hope for any consensus on personal status and many other religious policy issues. Even more, the worldviews of the religious groups have substantially diverged. Beyond the seemingly irresolute nature of the personal status question and other religious policy conflicts, there may really be an ongoing cultural war among Jews, between religiously traditionalist and liberal sectors, at times in abeyance, at times in open hostility. These religious cleavages often overlap with politically conservative and liberal viewpoints. Consequently, the Jewish community is becoming more and more like all other religions in America and the arrangement of religious groups in the Jewish community is now comparable to the denominational picture of other faiths. For the foreseeable future, Judaism will remain as one religion. But, the Jewish religion has evolved into a denominational family comprised of a number of constituent denominations, much like the many Protestant denominational families in America today. The denominations will continue to share important social and structural features, such as concerns for Israel’s security, common history, overlapping social welfare, and political concerns as well as some shared institutions, common religious origins, including source texts, law and lore, language, calendar, and symbols (although with increasingly different interpretations and approaches to each), and—to an extent—a shared (but increasingly divergent) value system. But, despite shared attributes, the denominations resemble and function like different cultures. The positioning of Open Orthodoxy possesses additional macro-level significance for the religious framework of the American Jewish community. Wertheimer is an astute and knowledgeable interpreter of the American Jewish experience and especially religious communal and policy issues. The urgent question for Modern Orthodoxy is which values can be accommodated without undermining religious commitment and distorting traditional Judaism beyond recognition—and, conversely, what losses will be sustained if Modern Orthodoxy should undertake more actively to resist the modern world in which its adherents spend most of their waking hours. The same urgent question, mutatis mutandis, has confronted other Jewish religious movements in the past, and has continued to haunt their rabbis and adherents long after they made their choice of a path forward. That is one reason why today’s unfolding culture wars within Modern Orthodoxy carry far-reaching implications not only for that movement but for the future of American Judaism as a whole.192 192 Wertheimer, “Can Modern Orthodoxy Survive?”

Movements, Institutions and Organizations

The Open Orthodox alignment has passed through various transitional phases in its growth. The separation from the rest of Orthodox Judaism is deepening and arguably finalizing. As it adds on new organizational features that mirror the other denominations, it has essentially established itself structurally and institutionally as a new, full-fledged denominational system. The question, of course, will be whether this alignment can demonstrate staying power and sustain itself. The original formation of the various movement organizations marked the point of schism in Orthodox Judaism. However, the continuity of Open Orthodoxy, the new religious framework, will be contingent on a number of organizational maintenance and growth factors. Their survival will require certain essential conditions. They will need to exhibit an ability to continually amass resources, including funds, leadership, affiliations and collaborations, public relations, property, and a constituency comprised of individuals and organizations such as synagogues. They will need to create the institutions, services, and programs that can support membership, promote their message, and assist in the gathering of resources. In addition, the group will need to sustain its collective identity, providing the constituency with a constant source of shared meaning and renewed sense of purpose, mission, and vision. If successful, these actions will help guarantee the effective transformation of the Open Orthodox alignment from a group of counter-movement organizations into an established religious institution or system, often the consequence of a successful religious insurgency. The establishment of seminaries, creating a rabbinic membership organization, accepting individual memberships, and expanding services to the broader community all presage the institutionalization of the movement and consolidation of a denominational system. Despite the seeming growth trajectory of the Open Orthodox movement, at the time of this writing, internal debate continues about the precise definition of the movement, its agenda, and its name, especially since the establishment of PORAT. As to be expected, movement, institution, and organization building are not without internal disagreements, fits and starts, wins and setbacks. There are groups within that are supportive of branding the movement as Open Orthodox, seceding from the main bloc of Orthodoxy and ramping up the new institutional framework. Others support the broad agenda but bemoan a schism within Orthodoxy. And yet other voices rather see the opportunity to reclaim Modern Orthodoxy and prefer not to speak of Open Orthodoxy as a separate stream. Still, despite the growing pains, all indications are that a new denominational ground is coalescing as a result of Open Orthodoxy’s institutional moves and the boundary setting and labeling superimposed on them by the rest of Orthodoxy. Such a development creates a shift in the religious continuum, typically viewed from left to right as composed of Renewal, Reform,

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Reconstructionist, Conservative, and now followed by the incipient Open Orthodox sector, and then “mainstream” and Charedi (Hasidic and “Yeshivish”) Orthodoxies. Ultimately, this new bloc at the crossroads of the denominational spectrum might cause the split between liberal and traditional camps to become more pronounced and reinforce a permanent religious and communal cleavage. These two movements have been parallel responses to what can be described as system crises. The Jewish religious world has been splitting in response to larger forces affecting all American religions, with the extremes assuming organizational power and ideological supremacy. The configuration of power within the Conservative denomination helped to shape the potential for schism. Conservative Judaism had consisted of one centralized power structure, led by the triumvirate of the Jewish Theological Seminary, the Rabbinical Assembly, and the United Synagogue. Despite ongoing tensions among these three major institutions, historically, the Seminary was the dominant force in the denomination. Indeed, when the Seminary endorsed women’s ordination using non-­ halakhic means according to the opposition, the reverberations were deep and were felt throughout the Conservative community. Apparently, the denominational system was unable to tolerate multiple or competing centers of power and authority, resulting in two organizational splits from both ideological extremes. In contrast, Orthodoxy has tolerated multiple centers of power and authority. Although it could be claimed that American Orthodoxy has also experienced schisms in the form of the Young Israel movement, and even importations of new organizational and ideological competitors from Europe in the form of the Agudath Israel and various Hasidic courts, Orthodoxy has been able to remain as a loose coalition of groups, with substantial social, economic, and institutional interaction across lines. Orthodoxy is certainly not monolithic nor without its serious internal conflicts, but greater ideological clarity and a basic halakhic consensus had contributed to relative Orthodox unity, at least in the past.

CONCLUSION A robust research agenda remains for furthering the institutional analysis of Jewish organizations in general and religious organizations in particular. In terms of the denominational systems, this present study would suggest— among many possible themes—assessing the polity types of denominational systems, their internal operations and structures, informal and formal power and authority patterns, leadership characteristics, programmatic agenda, policy positions, finance and funding, size, relationship with and among constituent

Movements, Institutions and Organizations

organizations, membership styles, roles and rules, patterns of male–female leadership and involvement, and more. Judaism is still one religion, or religious family, even if it now subsumes multiple denominations, which implies greater social and structural separation than previously recognized. The Open Orthodox case may indicate that Orthodoxy itself is now a denominational family, that is, an overarching Orthodox framework, comprised of separate denominational systems: Charedi/Hasidic, Charedi/non-Hasidic, Sephardic, Modern/Centrist Orthodox and now Open Orthodoxy (and compounded by divergences between Israeli and diaspora religious groups). By and large, these groups represent distinct subcultural systems, with different members, leaders, organizations, ritual behavior and beliefs, sartorial customs, residential arrangements, separate marriage patterns, and differing social lifestyles.193 While there is adherence to basics of Orthodox Jewish life, and there is some overlap in shared communities, institutions, religious observances, beliefs, social relations, and lifestyles, in large measure these camps live in their respective subcultures. A poignant tale from a different place and time on a very different but deeply divisive issue also had the potential to open chasms in the American Jewish community prior to World War II. Irving Howe shared the following vignette: I remember one evening in the late thirties when a Trotskyist street meeting was being harassed by a gang of Stalinists and a screeching lady heckler jostled a girl I knew, causing her glasses to fall and break. The girl—with how much guile or sincerity I could never say—started bawling that her mother would punish her for breaking the glasses, and the Stalinist lady, suddenly sympathetic, took her to a store to get a new pair. For the Stalinist lady, my friend had a few minutes earlier been a “fascist,” but when trouble came and the glasses were broken, she must have seemed just a nice Jewish girl.194

While the ideological and social divides between factions of Jewish socialists and communists seem so immaterial and so distant from our world today, it reminds us that conflicts, cleavages, movements, and schisms of all sorts within the Jewish community have been its historical reality and will be inevitable. The key, of 193 See Roof and McKinney, American Mainline Religion, 79. 194 Irving Howe, A Margin of Hope (New York: Harcourt Brace Jovanovich, Publishers, 1982), 25.

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course, will be the extent to which Jews in their various movements, factions, groups, communities, and organizations continue to view each other as part of the same family and demonstrate the will to transcend difference, maintain cohesion, and respond to the challenges and opportunities that all Jews face.

AFTERWORD This opening essay serves as the introductory chapter to the remainder of this collection of fine academics and scholarship. Whereas this section has focused on social movements and organizational role, structure, form, and repertoire, each of the succeeding chapters applies a wider set of tools of social science to analyze the institutions of the Jewish faith and community. On refection, there is a clear connective thread that ties these works thematically. Each author uncovers and explores a dialectic inherent in Jewish life throughout the ages. Each author—in his or her own way—tackles the push– pull tensions, if not the intrinsic contradictions, between accommodation and resistance to the outside world. These excellent works examine the ­historical balancing act of a tradition aspiring to maintain stability, continuity, and communal cohesion, while at times resisting or embracing pressures toward all manner of change. The process of change may emerge incrementally and evolutionarily, and in other moments it explodes into communal awareness as something on the order of a crisis. At times, these forces of transformation produce cases of controversy and conflict, and at others these storms fade into abeyance only to resurface at another point in time finding renewed and different expression. In sum, this collection contributes to the fascinating and ongoing narrative of a relatively small but resilient people and tradition. This dramatic story line encompasses the ups and downs of consensus, schism, and instability as well as the confrontation with external forces, both subtle and hostile (even to the extreme of persecutions and attempted genocide). The chapters that follow, therefore, offer ample testimony that despite the internal contradictions and incursions from without, as long as Jews debate, disagree, create institutions, break away, and form new ones, this truly remarkable story shall go on.

No “Right” of Passage? The Rabbinic Dispute Regarding the Propriety of Bat Mitzvah Celebrations SIMCHA FISHBANE

T

he central issue examined by this essay is that of girls’ puberty rites—or rather, of the lack of such rites in right-wing Orthodox circles. Even if one argued that the Bar Mitzvah ceremony fulfills the technical requirements for consideration as a rite of passage, such public rites do not historically exist for the Bat Mitzvah. In the ultra-Orthodox community the Bat Mitzvah lacks religious ceremony: there are few public religious rituals or, often, private ones. Rubin terms these “personal definitional rites,” a private rather than a public change in the girl’s status and role.1

INTRODUCTION Judaism is a religion that accentuates the prominence of tradition. Jacob Katz correctly argues that the Jewish forefathers have bequeathed to their children the belief of the observant Jew.2 They have faith that their understanding and interpretation of God’s law is all that is necessary to function in life and society, whether in the realm of the intellectual or the practical, whether as a function

  1 Nissan Rubin, New Rituals Old Societies: Invented Rituals in Comtemporary Israel (Boston: Academic Studies Press, 2009), 136.   2 Jacob Katz, “Hevrah Mesoratit v. Hevra Modernit” [“Traditional Society and Modern Society”], Megamot, 10.4 (1960), 304–11.

No “Right” of Passage?    Part One

of religion, technology, science, or economics.3 Ravitzky inquires, “If religion is indeed the classical thesis, the paradigm of the old, permanent, and external, innovation and change, does not revolution represent its very antithesis?”4 Ravitzky goes on to answer his query by discussing the traditionalist Jew “who in many senses was unable to flee from the all-encompassing presence of the modern milieu.”5 In other words, change and its vicissitudes were an inescapable part of traditional Jewish society.6 Shils argues that even though we cannot avoid the vicissitudes of actual change in traditional societies, incremental change is not perceived as genuine change.7 In the rabbinic society, in contrast to something to be considered “unchanged,” alteration requires authorization from a master of traditional texts. This phenomenon, whereby the illusion is that the texts speak through a rabbinic authority rather than having the rabbi speak on his own, allows for subtle changes to occur as part of a chain of tradition from the past to the present. The rabbinic process includes two variables, the rabbi who represents an unbroken chain to the past as well as the right to claim his decision derives from early rabbinic texts, usually dating back to the Talmud. Shils suggests that literature is, in fact, a linkage of early, past generations and their traditions to the present generation.8 Therefore, the introduction of the new—through the rabbinic use of the previous written texts—becomes sanctioned and is seen as neither break nor rupture.   3 Lichtenstein relates a pious story that will emphasize this point. “Rav Schakh—without question, the personification of da’at Torah—sought to prove the value of Torah as the self-sufficient repository of all knowledge by asking theoretically, ‘Whence did Hazal know that the earth was forty-two times larger than the moon, and the earth (as explained in the Maimonides’ Hilkhot Yesodei Hatorah 3:8), if not from the power of the Torah?’” Aharon Lichtenstein, “Legitimization of Modernity: Classical and Contemporary,” in Engaging Modernity: Rabbinic Leaders and the Challenge of the Twentieth Century, eds. Moshe Z. Sokol and Robert S. Hirt (Plymouth, UK: Rowan & Littlefield Publishers Inc., 1997), 21.   4 Aviezer Ravitzky, “Hadash Min HaTorah? Modernist versus Traditionalist Orientations in Contemporary Orthodoxy,” in Engaging Modernity: Rabbinic Leaders and the Challenge of the Twentieth Century, eds. Moshe Z. Sokol and Robert S. Hirt (Plymouth, UK: Rowan & Littlefield Publishers Inc., 1997), 35–56, 41.   5 Ibid.   6 For a discussion and multiple examples of change in rabbinic history, see Louis Jacobs, A Tree of Life: Diversity, Flexibility and Creativity in Jewish Law (Portland, OR: The Littman Library of Jewish Civilization, 2007), 110–51; Israel M. Ta-Shma, “Halakhah, Reality, and the Concept of Historical Change,” in Creativity and Tradition (Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Center for Jewish Studies, 2006), 102–10.   7 Edward Albert Shils, Tradition (Chicago: The University of Chicago Press, 1981), 14.   8 Ibid., 24.

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Cultural Impact An examination of rabbinic legal literature reveals that traditional society based upon Jewish law (halakhah) at various times incorporated sanctioned change, innovations, or new rituals and ideas into Jewish lives. For the most part, rabbinic authorities have attempted to reject and discourage the introduction of new rituals as being blatantly incompatible with the mind-set of established custom. They supported and defended an isolationist religious social structure. Although they created strong barriers between their world and alien influences, the surrounding cultures nonetheless had a definite impact. Inevitably, there was considerable seepage between Jewish and non-Jewish cultures. Rabbinic leadership thus had to deal with popular novelties that slipped through the cracks of the barriers. The ensuing challenges, for the rabbis, revolved around the decision to either contest or legitimate the new. Katz adds an additional consideration, noting that it is a universal truism that new generations develop new cultural and technological realities, resulting in tensions that arise as the group’s older members are often required to conform to new realities.9 This truism, says Katz, holds true even in traditional societies. It is important to point out that, in contrast to the social realm, the challenge presented by new innovations in science, medicine, and economics was less problematic for the rabbis.10 Gutal suggests that as new procedures and medicines became available the early rabbinic authorities rejected the Talmudic remedies.11 Different reasons are offered for this bold stance; for example, Rabbi Yaacov ben Moshe Levi Moelin (the Maharil) attributes the decision for change to our lack of understanding of the basic procedures required for the Talmudic medical remedies.12 Rabbi Shlomo Luria (the Maharshal) argues that we cannot use these early remedies so as not to embarrass the early rabbis should they fail.13 I would suggest, however, that health issues were an urgent area that could not be relegated to tradition since they demanded immediate attention from current practitioners; one would guard one’s health even if that meant ignoring past practices. Rabbinic authority might have been ­jeopardized   9 Katz, “Hevrah Mesoratit v. Hevra Modernit,” 394. 10 For a general discussion of change and for a specific discussion of medicine, see Neryah Moshe Gutal, Hishtanut Hativim Bahalakhah ( Jerusalem: Machon Yachdav, 1998), 43–52. 11 Gutal, Hishtanut Hativim Bahalakhah, 43. See also Tosafot to BT Moed Katan 11b, kevarah. 12 Born c. 1365, Germany; died 1427, Germany. 13 Born 1510, Lithuania; died 1573, Poland.

No “Right” of Passage?    Part One

had they not permitted updated medicinal practices, and they wisely incorporated them. As a rule, the same considerations applied to concerns regarding innovations in technology and occupations.14 “Science in the service of Torah” was easily tolerated while movies, televisions, and the like, were banned since they generally impact negatively upon the values of age-old tradition. Modern technologies, such as the Internet and smartphones, are still going through the first stages of the process of right-wing, ultra-Orthodox (haredi) rejection, although this might eventually change. Protests such as the one held at Citi Field in New York on May 20, 2012, condemn the use of the Internet. Nonetheless, there are signs of cracks within these areas within haredi circles, prompting various rabbinic attempts to find an acceptable form of the technology.15 Other technological advances have gained acceptance. Rabbi Yosef Mashash, a previous Chief Rabbi in the city of Haifa, was a proponent of recognizing the impact of modernity on tradition.16 In contrast to medical innovations, for which a relatively short period was necessary to accept universal innovations, the incorporation of new social rituals was slow, if it occurred at all. While the social impact on the members of the community had some bearing upon the process, the mechanisms of acceptance into the halakhic rubric could stretch over centuries.17 As noted at the outset, this essay discusses the process by which one particular new social ritual has made inroads into the de facto practice of the halakhic observant communities, including haredi—namely, the Bat Mitzvah, a coming of age celebration for girls at age twelve.18 The relevant sources and socio-anthropological theory 14 For a discussion of the changes in the law that would allow for safeguarding the Jews’ income in a gentile society, see Gutel, Hishtanut Hativim Bahalakhah, and Haym Soloveitchik, Wine in Ashkenaz in the Middle Ages (Jerusalem: The Zalman Shazar Center for Jewish History, 2008). 15 For a discussion of media technology and change in the haredi world, see Kimmy Caplan, “God’s Voice: Audiotaped Sermons in Israel’s Haredi Society,” Modern Judaism, 17.3 (1993), 253–79; and Kimmy Caplan, “Kli Hatikshoret Bchevra Hacharedit Byisrael,” Kesher, 30 (2001), 18–30. 16 See Louis Jacobs, Beyond Reasonable Doubt (London: Littman Library of Jewish Civilization, 1999), 216–17. 17 For example, the case of listening to music, a process that was not permitted for centuries. See Ezriel Gelbfish, “Secular Music,” Journal of Halakhah and Contemporary Society, LXI. Spring (2011), 82–92. 18 Numerous articles have been written on the topic of Bat Mitzvah, primarily from a halakhic perspective or a feminist approach. See, for example, Sara Friedland Ben Arza, ed. Bat Mitzvah: Collected Writings and Reflections ( Jerusalem: MaTan, 2002); Ora Wiskind Elper, ed., Traditions and Celebrations for the Bat Mitzvah ( Jerusalem: Urim Publications, 2003); Norma Baumel Joseph, “Ritual, Law, and Praxis: An American Response/a to Bat Mitsva Celebrations,” Modern Judaism 22.3 (2002); Aaron Ahrend, “Bat Mitzvah Celebration,” Bat

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will be applied in an attempt to create a model to understand this emerging religious celebration. Upon reaching her twelfth birthday, a girl is considered to be obligated by the Jewish laws incumbent on an adult woman. When reaching his thirteenth birthday, a boy celebrates this rite of passage with the “Bar Mitzvah” ceremony.19 Until recently, there has been no religious recognition for girls at the equivalent stage of the Jewish life cycle. There is no pubertal ceremony to mark the passage from childhood to adulthood when a girl acquires the responsibility to continue the group’s traditions and culture.20 Women in the past were simply of no importance in the public sphere, and therefore there was no formal ceremony for them. Some scholars have attempted to apply the Bar Mitzvah process, or the Jewish boy’s puberty celebrations, which have been categorized in the classical works on the topic by Arnold Van Gennep and Victor Turner as rites of passage.21 Three major stages are distinguished: separation, transition, and Mitzvah: Collected Writings and Reflections, ed. Sara Friedland Ben Azra (Jerusalem: MaTan, 2002), 109–15; Alfred S. Cohen, “Celebration of the Bat Mitzvah,” Journal of Halacha and Contemporary Society XII, Fall (1986), 7–16; Zev Eleff and Menachem Butler, “How Bat Mitzvah Became Orthodox,” Torah Musings, accessed 26 May, 2016, http://www.torahmusings.com/2016/05/bat-mitzvah-became-orthodox/; Beni Gesundheit, Celebrating Bat Mitzvah: Sources and Guided Study ( Jerusalem: Yisratzif Inc., 2004); Paula E. Hyman, “The Introduction of Bat Mitzvah in Conservative Judaism in Post War America,” Yivo Annual 19 (1990), 133–46; Avraham Rami Reiner, “Hayachas L’Tiksei Bat Mitzvah: Iyun Mashveh B’Psika Madernit,” Nituim Elul (2003), 55–77; Patricia Keer Munro, Coming of Age in Jewish America: Bar and Bat Mitzvah Reinterpreted (New Brunswick, NJ: Rutgers University Press, 2016); Stuart Schoenfeld, “Theoretical Approaches to the Study of Bar and Bat Mitzvah,” Proceedings of the World Jewish Congress of Jewish Studies 2 (1985), 119–26; Stuart Schoenfeld, “Ritual and Role Transition: Adult Bat Mitzvah as a Successful Rite of Passage,” in The Uses of Tradition: Jewish Continuity in the Modern Era, ed. Jack Wertheimer (New York: Jewish Theological Seminary, 1992), 349–76; Regina Stein, “The Road to Bat Mitzvah in America,” in Women and American Judaism: Historical Perspectives, eds. Pamela S. Nadell and Jonathan D. Sarna (Hanover, NH: Brandeis University Press of New England, 2001), 223–35; David Golinkin, “The Participation of Jewish Women in Public Rituals and Torah Study, 1845–2010,” Nashim: A Journal of Jewish Women’s Studies and Gernder Issues 21 (2011), 46–57. 19 For a discussion of the rite of passage as it applies to the Jewish tradition, see Rubin, New Rituals, Old Societies, 113–34; Shlomi Doron, Shuttling Between Two Worlds: Coming and Defecting from Ultra Orthodox Judaism in Israeli Society (Israel: Hakibbutz Hameuchad, 2013), 127–236; Jack D. Spiro, “The Educational Significance of the Bar Mitzvah Initiation,” Religious Education 72.4 (1977), 383–99; Schoenfeld, “Theoretical Approaches to the Study of Bar and Bat Mitzvah,” 119–26. 20 See Spiro, “The Educational Significance of the Bar Mitzvah Initiation,” 383. 21 Arnold Van Gennep, The Rites of Passage (Chicago, IL: University of Chicago Press, 1960) and Victor Turner, The Ritual Process: Structure and Anti-Structure (Ithaca, NY: Cornell University Press, 1977).

No “Right” of Passage?    Part One

incorporation. These stages, rites, and ceremonies are intended to moderate the trauma of profound change, thus permitting the continuity of the group without threat. Spiro continues to clarify this argument.22 He writes that rituals serve as an integrative mechanism that both maintains a society and integrates the new member into the culture in order to perpetuate the society’s life force. This, as Van Gennep says, is a celebration created for a societal need and is therefore celebrated and expressed collectively, and is not intended to conform to the individual’s needs.23 Spiro classifies the Bar Mitzvah rituals as rites of passage ceremonies.24 He writes of the wearing of the prayer shawl for the first time, instruction and preparation for the “initiation” by specialists, and the leaving of the benches to ascend to the bimah, or platform, where the boy will read from the Torah portion. “So the boy separates himself from his mother, from his childhood, as he walks to the altar of the synagogue. Once there, wrapped in his ‘tallit’ and surrounded by the males who will read with him, he is transferred and transformed into adulthood with all its responsibilities for obeying the ‘mitzvot.’ He is then incorporated into the Jewish community as ‘Bar Mitzvah’.”25 Spiro’s understanding of the purpose, symbolism, and ritual observance of the Bar Mitzvah would seem to be limited to a small representative group within the Jewish Orthodox community. For example, the ultra-Orthodox Jewish community does not mark puberty rites that could be pigeon-holed into Van Gennep’s three stages. Instead, this life cycle change is seen as no more than a change in role and status accompanied by various rituals and ceremonies. Since the boy’s role change includes taking on an active role in religious public rituals, such as leading the congregation in prayer, being invited to read from the Torah, and so on, his puberty ceremonies are public and reflect his new status. Spiro also writes that “the fact that the rituals and customs of the initiation ceremony reflect this cultural ethos of knowledge and intelligence is a phenomenon shared by all cultures of the world.”26 In the ultra-Orthodox community, where advancement in knowledge is placed upon the highest plateau throughout the entire educational experience of the boy, I find it difficult to argue that knowledge is related specifically to this change in role. Some boys do, in fact, 22 Spiro, “The Educational Significance of the Bar Mitzvah Initiation,” 386. 23 Van Gennep, The Rites of Passage, 67. 24 Spiro, “The Educational Significance of the Bar Mitzvah Initiation,” 398. 25 Ibid. 26 Ibid., 399.

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use this opportunity to celebrate their conclusion of learning the six orders of Mishnah or a Talmudic tractate. Public rituals play an important role for both the individual and society.27 As Mary Douglas states, “Public rituals, by establishing visible external forms, bring out all possible might-have-beens of a firm social reality.”28 If we use the functionalist model first offered by Durkheim, ritual serves to generate and enhance group solidarity and identity. For the Bat Mitzvah girl, in right-wing circles, this is at best a private change, a life cycle modification in status but not a transformation in her public role in the group. This private rite or ritual (such as a special birthday party) helps the young girl to establish her Jewish identity in her new status (rather than meeting the group’s needs). Myerhoff terms this concept a definitional ceremony celebrated by a subgroup that society ignores.29 This was how the girl was at most perceived and understood in Orthodox Judaism’s law, halakhah, until the mid-nineteenth century. In other words, until this period in history, rabbinic Judaism would not recognize the life cycle status change for the girl at the age of twelve. She could not participate in public ceremonies that were important for the community as a whole. The girl was to continue her domestic role, confined to the four walls of her home, devoid of public life and ritual.

The Historical Beginnings of the Bat Mitzvah Celebration30 At the beginning of the nineteenth century the Jewish Reform movement, imitating the rituals performed in the Christian churches, introduced a confirmation ceremony into their services. As Klaus writes, “The confirmation ceremony belongs to Protestant culture not to Jewish tradition.”31 Klaus continues, “Young boys and—later on—young girls were encouraged to envision a better future that would be free of the old hatred against Jews.”32 Moreover, confirmation, 27 For a discussion of the various theories of public ritual, see Doron, Shuttling Between Two Worlds, 127–35. 28 Mary Douglas, In the Active Voice (Boston: Routledge & Keegan Paul, 1982), 36. 29 B. G. Myerhoff, “Rites of Passage: Process and Paradox,” in Celebrations: Studies in Festivity and Ritual, ed. Victor Turner (Washington DC: Smithsonian Institution Press, 1982), 109–35. 30 A significant number of the sources I applied to this work are in an essay prepared by Avraham Steinman as a seminar paper for a course titled Nashim B’Mitzvot U’Vechevrah. The paper was posted online at http://tinyurl.com/oaujl45. 31 Herrmann Klaus, “Abraham Geiger in Breslau and the Controversy about Jewish Confirmation for Boys and Girls,” in Judische Existenz in der Moderne: Abraham Geiger und de Wissenschaft des Judentums, eds. Herausgegeben Von Christian Wiese, Walter Homolka, and Thomas Brechenmacher (Germany: De Gruyter, 2013), 133–60. 137. 32 Ibid., 140.

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as was the case for the Christians, was instituted as a mechanism for the young man or woman to confirm and declare their religious faith and loyalty to their country. Eliav reports that this confirmation, the celebration and recognition of the life cycle change for the Jewish girl, was first celebrated in Reform circles in Berlin, Germany, in the synagogue in 1817 and in Hamburg in 1818.33 Klaus, on the other hand, dates the first confirmation to the 17th of July, 1810, at a Reform Temple in Seesen, Germany.34 The descriptive term Bat Mitzvah was first coined in Italy before this, acknowledging a change in status for females regarding their obligations, but this conceptual recognition was never translated into the rituals of Jewish Orthodoxy. Today, there is some acknowledgment of the change of status and some changes in right-wing Orthodox attitudes, but a public religious ritual for the most part is still lacking. The Orthodox rabbinate would not accept the confirmation ritual for three major reasons. (1) It is forbidden to follow the ways of the gentiles (huqat hagoyim), in our case the Christians. (2) This ritual would entail an innovation, an “unwarranted” change, within Jewish practice, since it allowed the girl to assume a new role outside of the home. (3) This was a ritual practiced by Reform Jewry, something that could not be tolerated.

Rabbinical Prohibitions Rabbi Avraham Zutrah, Rabbi of Munster, and Rabbi Aharon Walkin, Rabbi of Pinsk, spoke out critically against the confirmation practices of the reformers. In 1854, Rabbi Zutrah published a responsum in the Hebrew periodical “Shomer Tzion Hane’eman,” a publication devoted to battling the Reform movement. Rabbi Zutrah wrote: In addition to ask if it is proper to imitate the custom of “confirmation” which was initiated by the reformers in order to imitate the Gentiles, it is clear from what I wrote and affirmed in the uplifting insights on the pages of ‘Shomer Tzion Hane’eman’ siman 153, that it is chutzpah and lewdness for a daughter of Israel to come to a gathering of men [in the synagogue] 33 Mordechai Eliav, Jewish Education in Germany in the Period of Enlightenment and Emancipation ( Jerusalem: Jewish Agency for Israel, 1960). 34 There are also reports of such celebrations in the early nineteenth century in a synagogue in Italy, where it was held in the synagogue after the Shabbat musaf prayer. Hermann Klaus, “Jewish Confirmation Sermons in the 19th-Century Germany,” in Preaching in Judaism and Christianity, eds. Alexander Dee, Walter Homolka, and Heinz-Gunther Schottler (Berlin: Walter De Gruyter, 2007), 91–112, 94.

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Part One    Continuity and Change: Explorations in Contemporary because “the honor of the daughter of Israel is to be private and modest.” Even if only the Bar Mitzvah boys had requested to practice this custom [confirmation] one is not to permit it, for it negates our holy Torah. It is a principle that we [ Jews] are sworn from the time of Mount Sinai with an ongoing oath [to keep the Torah commandments]. They [the reformers] ask the Jewish boys if they want to enter the covenant [of Israel]. Our holy forefathers that stood at Sinai and stated “we will do and hear,” and explicitly the Lord told our forefathers, “Not with you by yourselves do I make this covenant and this oath but with him that stands here with us this day, before the Eternal our Lord, and also with him that is not here with us this day.” From this we can conclude that the confirmation that the reformers practice is not an act of [religious] reinforcement but rather an act of religious devastation. According to their foolhardiness an intelligent thirteen year old boy who is not a fool and does not partake in their lies is not to be included within the Jewish nation.35

The three reasons articulated earlier are explicitly stated in Rabbi Zutrah’s remarks. He felt that the place of women was at home, and that there was no room for change and the recognition of the life cycle change. In 1926, Rabbi Walkin published a responsum in his book of responsa Zaken Aharon (Orah Hayyim, siman 6), originally prepared for the Va’ad Harabanim (Council of Rabbis) in London. He was asked about three instances of change in the synagogue practiced in the Reform Temples. The third of these queries dealt with the confirmation ceremony. He states: And the last thing is most grievous in that they wish to assemble large groups of men and women, boys and girls to celebrate the girls coming of age. In addition to all the aspects of licentiousness and repugnance that I explained above, it also involves a number of Torah prohibitions. Anyone who acts in this manner, his intention is certainly to liken himself to the gentiles and the wicked Reform Jews. We have already been warned about this with seven negative precepts and two positive precepts not to follow their practices. All the more so, to institute a new practice which we never heard about until this day. Nothing may be done to change the customs of our fathers, not even if there is no trace of anything that is forbidden. And even the more so is this case which involves a very grave prohibition: it being attached to 35 Rabbi Zutrah, Shomer Tzion Hane’eman (1854), 388–449.

No “Right” of Passage?    Part One a practice of idolatry comes under the rubric of “walking in their practices,” and also a pathway to licentious behavior. One who permits this is certainly to be regarded as a “rebellious elder,” and one who follows such a ruling is like one who casts a stone on a Mercolis pillar [a form of idol worship]: he is cursed and set apart from the community of God.36

The continuation of the responsum clarifies his position on the issue of change, the introduction of any new custom would be forbidden.

Rabbi Jacob Ettlinger Rabbi Jacob Ettlinger (1798–1871) was a recognized and revered rabbinic authority, and served as founder and head of a Yeshiva in Mannheim, Germany (1826–1836).37 The Rabbi was known to be a strong opponent of the Reform movement and he made known his opposition to the confirmation ceremony held in Baden, Germany in the summer of 1830. Although a strong opponent of the Reform movement, he was well aware of his new social realities, and therefore proposed a compromise. Rabbi Ettlingler ruled that if the confirmation ceremony would serve as an examination of a girl’s knowledge of tradition and if it would not encroach upon worship services, and men and women sit separately, he would not prohibit the girl’s ceremony.38 These qualifications and limitations, I believe, set the stage for his decision in 1866 while serving as the Rabbi in Altona, Germany to introduce a confirmation ceremony for girls in the synagogue. Rabbi Ettlinger was not the first Orthodox rabbi to allow a modified confirmation ceremony in Germany, but he was the most prestigious. Eliav writes that, in 1831, Orthodox rabbis were already introducing confirmation ceremonies.39 But it took the stand and decision of Rabbi Ettlinger, an uncontested rabbinic authority, to be seriously considered by the Orthodox Jewish world of that time and place. His position, in hindsight, is what started

36 Rabbi Walkin, Zaken Aharon (Orah Hayyim, siman 6, 1926). 37 See Y. Emanuel, “Perakim B’toldot Harav Yaakov Ettlinger Z’al,” HaMayan 12.2 (1972), 26; Eliav, Jewish Education in Germany, 268–69. 38 Rabbi Ettlinger preferred the examination to be held in the school rather than the synagogue, but if parents or others insisted upon the synagogue, it could be done under the ­circumstances stated. 39 Eliav, Jewish Education in Germany, 268–70. See also Klaus, “Jewish Confirmation Sermons in the 19th-Century Germany,” 91–112, 101–3.

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the ball rolling to reconsider the process of change and acceptance of Bat Mitzvah formally as a recognition of the religious maturity of the Jewish girl. So, in 1866, while serving as Rabbi of Altona, he introduced the confirmation ceremony in his synagogue. In his book of Responsa Binyan Tzion Ha-hadashot, volume II, no. 107, the rabbi’s position was formally recorded as, “A statement marking the public examination in religious studies for girls of the Great Synagogue of the Ashkenazic community in Altona on the tenth of Kislev 1867, delivered by the chief rabbi, Rabbi Yaakov Ettlinger.” The public examination in religious studies was opened by the Chief Rabbi with the following words: The outward form [of the examination] may look like the confirmation ceremony observed by the believers of a different religion [the Christians, which penetrated, as a result of our sins, in certain Reform groups among our people]. In its fundamental essence, however, it is very far from it. There, the purpose is that the children should accept their religion upon themselves as an obligation. Among Jews this is totally unnecessary. Our religion is closely connected to life, only death separates between man and Judaism. For Jews there is no need for a festive religious ceremony to mark the acceptance of belief, for a person is bound from birth by all the mitzvot of the Torah, and there is no way for one to be detached from that obligation. The activity in which we are engaged here is not a religious rite but rather an examination in religious studies. It should really not take place in the synagogue but in a school. The law, however, specifically requires that it take place in a synagogue. Nevertheless, it has an element of Mitzvah by Torah law: “sanctification of the name of God,” which we consider among the most important mitzvoth. In the heart of the Jew, the Holy One, blessed be He, and his Torah are two inseparable entities; without God we have no religion, and without religion we would not recognize God. Thus, one who denies the Torah denies God. From ancient times until the present day, the enemies of the Jews never ceased presenting the Jewish religion as foolish, God forbid, void of morality, and bereft of love for believers of another religion. We, therefore, very much desire the opportunity that permits us in a grand assembly to demonstrate that this slander is based on a lie, and to show the noble morality, the ethics and the principles of the love of humanity that are included in Torah study. Already in their youth, our sons and daughters learn these principles. When we declare them in public, it is a sanctification of the name of God. It falls upon you to sanctify Heaven’s name in public . . .

No “Right” of Passage?    Part One I turn especially to you, parents of these maturing youths, with an important admonition. Our Father in heaven entrusted you with precious safe-keepings. They were given to you, each one, with the pure soul of a child. Your role must be to watch over and protect them. You must see to it that only purity and modesty mark the lives of your children, that morality be evident in them, and the love of God and His Torah always burn in their hearts. You must see to it that the mitzvot binding upon the daughters of Israel be known to them and esteemed in their eyes so that they observe them to perfection . . . And one more word to you girls who are about to leave school and are surely happy to be relieved of the burden of your studies. Do not allow yourselves to be deceived! You may become free of classes for children, but instead you will enter the school of life itself. The worries and concerns that bothered you until now will fall upon you with greater force, as they do upon all students of the school of practical life. The tests which frightened you in school, will also come upon you with greater gravity in that school. But do not despair! Your Father in heaven will watch over you as long as you walk in His ways.40

Gesundheit, Reiner, and others have analyzed the import of these words.41 There is a need to understand the significance of this stance in the context of “change” in Orthodox Judaism, a religion that does not welcome change. While only published in print in 1989, it did have an impact on other communities during his lifetime.42 The Rabbi commences with the claim that what is being done is a legal requirement by the government, stipulating that every youth is required to partake in a confirmation ceremony in his house of worship. He presents his approach within a sermon rather than as the traditional written halakhic response; in this way, it could not be said to be an official legal halakhic ruling. Rabbi Ettlinger tells his listeners that the exercise in the synagogue is not similar to those of the gentiles, but rather an educational experience. While a semi-religious ceremony is clearly being celebrated, there is no halakhic discussion of any religious ritual for the girls. Rabbi Ettlinger is willing to recognize the life cycle change of the girl, but is not interested in arguing with others through a halakhic response. 40 Ettlinger, Responsa Binyan Tzion Ha-hadashot, volume II, no. 107. 41 Gesundheit, Celebrating Bat Mitzvah; Reiner, “Hayachas L’Tiksei Bat Mitzvah.” 42 See Reiner, “Hayachas L’Tiksei Bat Mitzvah,” 61 and ff. 17.

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It is sufficient and acceptable to place the ceremony in a moral and ethical framework, sanctifying God’s name. A strong opponent of the Reform movement, Rabbi Ettlinger resisted any change that would threaten traditional Judaism. The Rabbi was, nonetheless, highly aware of the political and social reality of his culture. He was also sensitive to the needs of his followers. Thus, the opening statements of his sermon. The ceremony held was not similar to the Reform confirmation but rather an educational experience. What seemed to be a growing demand by the Jews of Germany could now be addressed without compromising the boundaries of Jewish law and tradition. Furthermore, the reason the ritual was being practiced, according to the view of Rabbi Ettlinger, was to maintain the law of the land requiring such a ceremony to be in official places of worship. For the halakhic process, this step, emanating from someone of the stature of Rabbi Ettlinger, would suffice for much later halakhic adjudicators to build upon this first step towards recognition of Bat Mitzvah. There are records of other rabbinic authorities who did take a more affirmative stance on this issue. For example, in 1909, Rabbi Petachya Horenblass— the Rabbi of Warsaw, Poland—wrote, “A girl, 12 years old and one day is [religiously] an adult for all [mitzvot]. It is puzzling to me why a mitzvah meal (seudat mitzvah) is not practiced for a woman when she becomes twelve years old and is obligated in all mitzvot as is a man.”43 The Rabbi continues to clarify his stance with a halakhic discourse on the aspect of seudat mitzvah. The process was not only a moral and ethical issue coming from the pen of a leading rabbinic authority but also concerned halakhic considerations. What is clear from the Rabbi’s words is that when a girl reaches her twelfth birthday, her Jewish status has changed (similar to the boy at thirteen years of age), and some ceremonial recognition of this change might or might not be warranted.

Developments in Post-Shoah Europe Following the Shoah, the centers of Jewish life migrated to North America and Israel, with only a small number of leading authorities remaining in Europe. One such rabbinic authority in Europe was Rabbi Yehiel Yaakov Weinberg (1885–1966), the author of the four volumes of responsa, Seridei Esh.44 Three 43 Petachya Horenblass, Pitchei Shearim (Warsaw: Edelstein, 1910), 27. For a short biography of the Rabbi, see the introduction. 44 Rabbi Weinberg’s biography is presented in Judith Bleich, “Between East and West: Modernity and Traditionalism in the Writings of Rabbi Yehi’el Ya’akov Weinberg,” in

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of the four volumes were published during his lifetime, between 1961 and 1966 (the fourth appeared in 1969). Before World War II, Rabbi Weinberg served as rector of the Rabbinical Seminary in Berlin and was considered a major halakhic authority.45 After the war, he lived in Montreux, Switzerland, where he continued to remain in contact with the international rabbinic establishment. The Rabbi was aware of the concerns expressed by the earlier European rabbinic authorities concerning confirmation and therefore commences his response with a lengthy and detailed halakhic discourse on hukat hagoyim (the prohibition against imitating non-Jewish customs).46 At the end of this discourse, he turns directly to the discussion of Bat Mitzvah: Now let us see regarding the matter under discussion whether it is permissible to celebrate a Bat Mitzvah. There are those who wish to prohibit [the practice] on account of the prohibition of imitating gentile customs [see Responsa Zekan Aharon no. 6]. It seems to me that it depends upon the following: If we say that the gentile confirmation rite is performed for the sake of idolatry, then [celebrating a Bat Mitzvah] should be forbidden on account of the prohibition against imitating gentile customs. According to this, however, we should also prohibit Bar Mitzvah celebrations, for surely they [non-Jews] do the confirmation ceremonies for boys as well. We should also forbid prayer, for they also pray to their idols. Rather [the confirmation rite] does not involve idolatry, for they merely celebrate the coming of age of their children. The Reformers from among our people also do not act as they do in order to imitate them, but rather to celebrate the family’s joy that their child has come of age. Our brothers who have recently introduced the practice of celebrating a Bat Mitzvah say that they have done so in order to strengthen in the heart of the girl who has reached [the age of] mitzvoth her love for Judaism and its commandments, and to arouse a feeling of pride in her Judaism and in her being the daughter of a great and holy people. It is of no concern to us that the gentiles also celebrate confirmation whether for boys or for girls, they conduct Engaging Modernity: Rabbinic Leaders and the Challenge of the Twentieth Century, ed. Moshe Z. Sokol (Northvale, NJ: Jason Aronson, 1977), 169–274; and Marc B. Shapiro, Between the Yeshiva World and Modern Orthodoxy: the Life and Works of Rabbi J. J. Weinberg (London: Littman Library of Jewish Civilization, 1999). 45 See Bleich, “Between East and West,” 169–70. 46 Rabbi Weinberg, Seridei Esh III: 93. Although in Israel and America this was less of a concern, living in Europe, Rabbi Weinberg chose to focus on these earlier concerns while taking into consideration the status and role of the woman of his time.

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Part One    Continuity and Change: Explorations in Contemporary their ceremony and we ours; they pray and bow down in their churches and we bow down and prostrate ourselves and give thanks to the King of kings, the Holy One blessed be He.

In this response to the argument that Bat Mitzvah (or its forerunner—confirmation) is hukat hagoyim, Rabbi Weinberg challenges the view that Bat Mitzvah celebrations should be prohibited, stating that it was opposed as an innovation never practiced by earlier generations of halakhic observant Jews. He writes: There are those who argue against allowing a Bat Mitzvah celebration because it runs counter to the custom of previous generations who did not follow this practice. In truth, however, this is not an argument, for in earlier generations it was unnecessary to engage in girls’ education, for every Jew was full of Torah and fear of God, and the air of every community in Israel was filled with the smell and the spirit of Judaism. Girls growing up in a Jewish home breathed in the spirit of Judaism without having to do anything and absorbed Judaism at their mother’s breast. Now, however, the generations have drastically changed, influences from the street uproot from the heart of every boy and girl any tie to Judaism, the girls study in non-Jewish schools or in secular schools which do not work at instilling in the hearts of their students a love for the Torah of Israel and the holy customs of perfect Judaism. Now it falls upon us to focus all of our efforts upon girls’ education. It pains the heart that with regard to general education—the teaching of languages, secular literature, natural sciences and humanities—people are concerned about girls in the same way that they are concerned about boys. But religious education—the study of Scripture and the ethical literature of the Sages, and training in the practical mitzvot that are binding upon women—they totally neglect. Fortunately, the leading authorities of the previous generation saw the problem and established institutions of Torah and religious strengthening for Jewish girls. The establishment of the great and comprehensive network of Bet Ya’akov schools is the noblest demonstration of our generation. Common sense and pedagogical principle almost demand of us to celebrate a girl’s reaching the obligation of mitzvot. The distinction made between boys and girls regarding the celebration of their maturity seriously offends the sensitivities of the girl who comes of age, who in other areas has already achieved emancipation as it were.

Rabbi Weinberg has responded to the two major arguments opposing the celebration of Bat Mitzvah by stressing that at the celebration the rabbi must

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deliver a talk before the Bat Mitzvah girl that included her requirements as a religiously mature woman. He implores her to further strengthen her commitment to Judaism and to seek marriage with a God-fearing and learned husband. Addressing an additional concern of the opponents of Bat Mitzvah, the Rabbi emphasizes that the celebration is not intended to emulate the Reform movement and therefore is not held in the synagogue.47

The United States Post-World War II, the centers of Jewish life shifted from Europe to North America and Israel. In the United States, the Reform and Conservative movements represented major threats to American Orthodoxy. Rabbi Moshe Feinstein (1895–1986), the leading Orthodox rabbinic authority in North America, saw Bat Mitzvah as a threat to the stability of Orthodoxy that had to be neutralized. In his books of responsa, Iggerot Moshe, Rabbi Feinstein dedicates four responsa to the topic of Bat Mitzvah: Orah Hayyim 1:104 (1956), Orah Hayyim 2:97 (1959), Orah Hayyim 4:36 (1951), Orah Hayyim 2:30 (1961), and Yoreh De’ah 3:14 (1977).48 Rabbi Feinstein is apparently the first Orthodox rabbinic authority to utilize the term Bat Mitzvah, referring to the age of a girl’s majority status, an expression already adopted by the Reform and Conservative movements in America. In his first reponsum dealing with Bat Mitzvah, Iggerot Moshe (1959) Orah Hayyim I, no. 104, Rabbi Feinstein writes: Concerning a Bat Mitzvah, (11 Shevat 5716 [1956]), my venerable friend . . . Rabbi Baruch Aharon Poupko, shelita . . . Regarding those who wish to institute a ceremony or celebration for girls reaching Bat Mitzvah, under no circumstances should this be done in a synagogue—not even at night. For a synagogue is not the place to engage in optional activities even if it was built on condition that it might be used for religious festivities. And a Bat Mitzvah ceremony is certainly an optional matter, indeed sheer frivolity, and so there is no possibility to allow it in a synagogue. And all the more so here where the practice originated among Reform and Conservative Jews. If a father wishes to make a celebration in his house, he is permitted to do so, but it cannot be regarded as a mitzvah or as a seudat mitzvah. 47 For a discussion of Rabbi Weinberg’s “feminist concerns,” see Bleich, “Between East and West,” 199–217. 48 This fifth response I do not believe is relevant to our discussion.

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Part One    Continuity and Change: Explorations in Contemporary For it is merely a birthday celebration. Were it in my power, I would also abolish the Bar Mitzvah celebrations conducted in this country for boys. As we all know, such (parties) never brought anyone closer to Torah and ­mitzvot, not even the Bar Mitzvah boy for a single minute. On the contrary, they lead in many places to Sabbath desecration and the violation of other prohibitions. In any case, that which has already become entrenched here and derives from traditional religious practice is difficult to abolish. But to establish this for girls where it does not derive from an established religious practice, would be best to avoid doing so even in the house. This is so, even though there is no prohibition. Celebrating in the synagogue, even at night—at a time when there are no services—is however forbidden.

Rabbi Feinstein is setting the stage for his overall negative view towards Bat Mitzvah celebrations as a religious ritual, feeling that these are basically unnecessary and should be avoided. There is no religious basis for this (it does not derive from a mitzvah) and therefore, has no place in the synagogue (the emphasis of his discussion is primarily a synagogue-centered issue). The recognition of this occasion is “sheer frivolity” and should be no more than a birthday party, and therefore may be celebrated as any birthday party. It cannot be characterized as a seudat mitzvah. One should not forget that the issue is not whether the young boy or girl is obligated in mitzvoth (which they are) but rather the introduction of religiously focused celebrations associated with this status change.49 Rabbi Feinstein adds, as did earlier colleagues who opposed such rituals, “It is preferable to refrain from any new religious innovations that have no basis in rabbinic sources.” Rabbi Feinstein’s opposition to the Bat Mitzvah religious ceremony and ritual would seem to result from his fierce opposition to the influence of the Conservative and Reform movements.50 In this case, it was not the halakhic discourse that mattered but rather the need to protect the traditional boundaries of Orthodox Judaism in America. Academics such as Joseph, Lau, Tuito, Gesundheit, and Reiner all attempt to analyze the development of the additional three responsa to show Rabbi Feinstein’s progressive and more lenient view of Bat Mitzvah.51 49 For a brief description of Bar Mitzvah celebrations, see Joseph, “Ritual, Law, and Praxis,” 237–39. 50 Rabbi Feinstein addressed the issue of Conservative Jewry in close to 130 of his responsa. 51 Even though Joseph states “R. Feinstein consistently demonstrates . . . while maintaining his dislike for the Bat Mitsva ceremony, . . .” her essay presents a different picture from mine. Joseph, “Ritual, Law, and Praxis,” 239. See also Benny Lau, “Community-Designed Bat Mitzvah

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Turning to an analysis of the second responsum Orah Hayyim (2:97 from 1959): a query is presented concerning recognition of the Bat Mitzvah celebration as a seudat mitzvah. The inquirer based his question on similar sources discussed by Rabbi Horenblass. In his response, Rabbi Feinstein ignores the majority of these sources, adding an original reasoned opinion (svara) based on the concept of “nikar” (literally translated “acknowledged”).52 This refers to established public ritual recognition, which entitles the boy of thirteen to a synagogue celebration.53 With the attainment of legal age to join public rituals such as minyan (quorum of ten required for public prayer) and zimun (three required to say the opening prayer for grace after the meal) and other rites in which the boy will “stand up and be counted,” a seudat mitzvah marks the occasion. The girl lacks this communal status, and therefore her coming of age does not warrant the same religious rituals for the boy, such as seudat mitzvah. The third response in Orah Hayyim 4:36 was also written in 1959, but published later. Rabbi Feinstein is faced with the quandary where on one side, he feels condescension towards the Bat Mitzvah ceremony (especially in the synagogue) and on the other side, a situation that could involve another rabbi in halakhic controversy. Responding to the rabbi’s situation, Rabbi Feinstein offers a ruling that avoids the issue of Bat Mitzvah as a religious rite. The synagogue building has rooms that are not dedicated for prayer (e.g., a social hall). Since all kinds of events are celebrated in these rooms, the girl’s celebration is no different from any other one.54 Rabbi Feinstein even permits the young woman to say “a few words” in honor of the joyous occasion. While on the surface this may seem to be a lenient ruling in terms of official halakhic views, his decision is only one of de facto, making the best of an existing situation, and not the desired and proper de jure behavior. In 1961, Rabbi Feinstein wrote an additional response (Orah Hayyim 2:30) supporting his previous decision to hold the Bat Mitzvah party in rooms not Celebrations,” in Traditions and Celebrations for the Bat Mitzvah, ed. Ora Wiskind Elper ( Jerusalem: MaTan, 2003), 15–54; Daniel Tuito, “The Bat Mitzvah Celebrations: A Study of the Opinions of Contemporary Poskim,” in Bat Mitzvah: Collected Writings and Reflections, ed. Sara Friedlander Ben Arza (Israel: MaTan, 2002), 31–39; Gesundheit, Celebrating Bat Mitzvah; and Reiner, “Hayachas L’Tiksei Bat Mitzvah.” 52 He does refer to the Talmudic story (BT B. Kamma 87a) of Rabbi Yosef who was blind and wanted to make a party for anyone who could find a basis for him to claim more of a reward since he did positive mitzvot voluntarily, but no one could find any basis for this. Then Rabbi Feinstein discusses the concept of when one who is obligated in mitzvot may celebrate this event. 53 Explanation from Joseph, “Ritual, Law, and Praxis,” 246. 54 Often, birthday parties are recognized at the “kiddush” held after the prayer services in such rooms.

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d­ edicated to prayer, such as the social hall, where non-religious rituals and secular parties can be celebrated. Rabbi Feinstein commences this response by reiterating his ruling in Orah Hayyim 1:104. This—it might be argued—is in fact a de jure ruling, one that discounts the celebration as having any religious significance. Rabbi Feinstein’s final response, Yoreh De’ah 3:14, is dated 1977 (nine years prior to his demise). The issue discussed is the requirement to make the “sheheheyanu” blessing when one becomes obligated in mitzvot. Rabbi Feinstein writes that, in this case, both the thirteen-year-old boy and the twelve-year-old girl do not recite the sheheheyanu, and he follows this with a discussion of the proper place for such a blessing. I do not believe that this responsum has any bearing upon our issue of Bat Mitzvah celebrations as a religious rite, for this is nothing more than a halakhic clarification concerning a blessing. Although in the case of Bat Mitzvah, Rabbi Moshe Feinstein opposed introducing any religious innovation, this does not mean he opposed change in how halakhah might be affected by new circumstances and new considerations. An examination of the multi-volume Iggerot Moshe validates this claim. Rabbi Feinstein was highly aware of his social and religious environment, including the growing role of women in both secular and religious life. When he felt this reality was a threat to the boundaries of halakhic Orthodoxy, however, he did not hesitate to voice his opinion and take whatever steps he could to strengthen these boundaries. Bat Mitzvah, a ritual stemming from the Conservative and Reform movements, would not be tolerated even if de facto concessions could be made. His position was to discourage it categorically within the synagogue proper, the place where the other streams of Judaism celebrated the Bat Mitzvah.55 Other leading rabbinical authorities in the United States also responded to the growing demand for a Bat Mitzvah celebration. These included Rabbi Menachem Mendel Schneerson (1902–1994), the revered Hassidic leader of Habad (the rebbe). Rabbi Schneerson did not write a responsum concerning Bat Mitzvah per se but often referred to the topic throughout his many recorded talks and letters. The majority of his comments refer to the spiritual and halakhic aspects of reaching religious maturity. The Rabbi does not permit a festive meal, as he also discourages Bar Mitzvah parties. Rabbi Schneerson does permit “having something modest in the school, similar to a birthday party.56

55 During a recent discussion with the son of Rabbi Feinstein, Rabbi Reuven Feinstein, I asked him if prior to his death his father had changed his approach to his rulings on Bat Mitzvah. He responded that he had not, and adhered to what he wrote in the Iggerot Moshe. 56 In another letter from the 13th of Tamuz 1958, he writes of a Shabbat or Melave Malka party.

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Her parents should purchase for her a nice present. . . .”57 While recognizing the right to celebrate the Bat Mitzvah, he also sees it as devoid of any religious meaning that would demand a synagogue ritual. Rabbi Moshe Stern, a respected rabbinical adjudicator in the United States, wrote a responsum on celebrating Bat Mitzvah that was published in 1971 in his books of responsa Be’er Moshe.58 The questioner from Boro Park, New York wanted to know if he could attend a family Bat Mitzvah celebration according to the “spirit of the times.” His response (vol. 1:10) opposes any type of Bat Mitzvah celebration. He does not refer to any of the other rabbis of his generation who wrote on the topic but rather cites earlier rabbis who discussed related issues as support for his approach. His point of departure is that the introduction of “new” is prohibited. He opens his halakhic analysis with a discussion of both seudat mitzvah and the barukh sheptarani blessing. He argues that it is permitted for a boy, since the Bar Mitzvah has a public role, while the Bat Mitzvah has no such role. Rabbi Stern notes that since these rituals have never been practiced in haredi communities, we cannot introduce them. He forbids having a festive meal since the entire concept of a festive meal for a girl is an imitation of non-Jewish behavior and thus is prohibited. The modern Orthodox Jew in America was less concerned with rulings of the above American-based rabbis. Organizations such as the Rabbinical Council of America (RCA) and their leaders served as the halakhic mentors of Modern Orthodox Jewry. In the RCA manual for rabbis (prepared by Rabbi Reuven Bulka in 1995), a section is devoted to how the rabbi should conduct the Bat Mitzvah ceremony. In his introduction, when describing the need for the manual, he writes, “Times have changed, and new realities have made for new needs to be addressed, such as having a celebration to name a girl, Bat Mitzvah. . . .”59 He writes concerning the Bat Mitzvah: “When a Jewish girl reaches the stage of Bat-Mitzvah, at the age of twelve years and one day, there are many who celebrate this entry into Judaic responsibility with a meaningful ceremony reinforcing the significance of the Bat-Mitzvah.”60 He instructs the rabbi to offer appropriate 57 Menachem Mendel Schneerson, Shaarei Halacha Uminhag ( Jerusalem: Heichal Menachem, 1992), siman 3001. 58 Although he was a leader in the ultra-Orthodox Hungarian Hasidic community, the ultra-­ Orthodox community accepted his responsa literature. The right-wing Hungarian Jews as a rule represented a less tolerant approach to Jewish law and any type of change. Their approach is also seen in Israel within the Eidah Haredit. 59 Rabbi Bulka, The RCA Lifecycle Madrikh (New York: Rabbinical Council of America, 1995). 60 Ibid., 63.

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opening remarks, after which the Bat-Mitzvah reads Psalms 121, 122, and 126. He continues with instructions to the rabbi: “The congregation is led in a song of joy. The Bat-Mitzvah then delivers a meaningful devar torah on the significance of her entry into responsibility.”61 The Rabbi follows with fitting remarks for the occasion: “Presentation of appropriate sefarim is then made to the Bat-Mitzvah, by the parents together with the rabbi. The Bat-Mitzvah, through her recitation of the Shema, affirms her undertaking to live in accordance with the Torah.” The girl then publicly recites the Shema prayer only through the first paragraph. The instructions continue, “The parents then bestow the traditional parental blessing upon their Bat-Mitzvah daughter.” A second prayer is added—not from the traditional liturgy—speaking to the responsibilities of the girl as an Orthodox Jewish woman. Rabbi Bulka continues, “The ceremony concludes as the assembled join in singing . . . It is fitting to follow the Bat-Mitzvah ceremony with a celebrative meal.62 A significant number of Modern Orthodox communities did not seem concerned about potential accusations that they were following Reform or Conservative practices, and were not influenced by Rabbi Feinstein’s views. Their concern was the changing impact upon women in society, and thus religion was their concern. The Bat Mitzvah celebrations were to be a public affair with a religious ritual. Although not stated, the manual suggests the ceremony might be celebrated in the synagogue sanctuary. 63

ISRAEL64 Ashkenazic Rabbinic Authorities In 1954, the issue of Bat Mitzvah was becoming popular and therefore an issue of concern for the Orthodox community in Israel. Rabbi Dr. Kahana, the Director General of the Ministry of Religion, invited various rabbinical 61 Ibid., 64–66. 62 Ibid. 63 It is interesting to note that there is no reported information on the view of Rabbi Joseph B. Soloveitchik, the leading rabbinical authority of Modern Orthodox Judaism. There is a brief (hearsay) reference to Rabbi Soloveitchik’s opinion in Ahrend, “Bat Mitzvah Celebration,” 109 ff. On August 12, 2015, I had a telephone conversation with Rabbi Bulka. He informed me that whatever was included in the manual, including the Bat Mitzvah ceremony, was vetted by Rabbi Gedalia Schwartz, the head of the RCA’s rabbinical court. He also told me that his suggestion for the location of the Bat Mitzvah ceremony was optional and that it could take place anywhere, including the synagogue’s sanctuary. 64 I will examine the Bat Mitzvah celebration in Israeli culture by looking separately at the Ashkenazic and Sephardic groups.

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authorities in the country to offer their opinions on the matter. One of the rabbis, Rabbi Meshullam Rath (1875–1963), a member of the Chief Rabbinate, and serving as an advisor to Rabbi Isaac Herzog, the Ashkenazi Chief Rabbi of Israel, published his response (first published in 1958) in his book of responsa, Kol Mevaser. The Rabbi viewed the Bat Mitzvah celebration as an educational experience rather than a religious ritual. After opposing the introduction of new religious rituals, such as a woman reciting the kaddish prayer for her father, he writes: “It is possible to mark the event as a day of happiness and rejoicing within the circle of [the girl’s] family and friends at home and in the school she attends. The teacher (man or woman) may deliver a lesson on a timely topic in order to clarify the obligations of a Jewish girl who has reached the age of mitzvoth.”65 Rabbi Rath (in contrast to Rabbi Feinstein) does not view the Bat Mitzvah celebration as a birthday party with no religious significance. He encourages this celebration in the form of an educational experience similar to Rabbi Schneerson, marking intellectual growth, a day of happiness, and rejoicing. Rabbi Rath feared any form of change in Jewish ritual or practice, but, in fact, by encouraging this celebration as a religious educational experience, his opposition to formal religious ritual still retained the recognition of “change.” Also joining the opposing group of rabbis in Israel was Rabbi Eliezer Waldenberg (Rabbi and judge on the Supreme Rabbinical Court in Jerusalem, considered an eminent authority on medical halakhah). In his book of responsa Tzitz Eliezer, responding to a request for his approbation of a book, he writes that the author only presented the positive opinions concerning Bat Mitzvah and that he would propose opposing views. He commences his responsa with a survey of rabbis who rejected any form of a Bat Mitzvah ceremony. The Rabbi then cites the Zaken Aharon’s opinion, Rabbi Rath, Rabbi Waltz, and Rabbi Feinstein, and offers his ruling. To tell the truth, I also am in agreement with those great [scholars] cited above who prohibit [a Bat Mitzvah celebration] whether it be held in a hall or publicly at home. The reason is that any public celebration for the girl one cannot escape the pitfalls related to sexual immorality for a variety of facets and it is sufficient to take note of this. Even more so, anyone who recognized the heavens [God] would not come and say that this ­constitutes a mitzvah, or its meal should be termed a seudat mitzvah . . .66 65 Rabbi Rath, Kol Mevaser, vol. II ( Jerusalem: publisher unknown, 1973), 44. 66 Rabbi Waldenberg, Shelot u-Teshuvot Tzitz Eliezer, vol. 18:33 ( Jerusalem: publisher unknown, 1985).

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He continues to write that in the ultra-Orthodox community (haredim) a Bat Mitzvah celebration is unheard of and should not be considered. Another respected and leading rabbinic adjudicator living in Jerusalem was Rabbi Moshe Sternbuch, Vice-President of the rabbinical court and the Edah Haredit in Jerusalem. His opposition was based on the grounds that the Bat Mitzvah celebration and festive meal was initiated by the Reform to demonstrate equality between men and women. He ruled that it is absolutely prohibited since it “deviates from the path of our forefathers.” The Rabbi does not object to a small private family party as long as it does not reflect the Bat Mitzvah festivity. He encourages the girl to become aware of her new Jewish responsibilities and rejects the recital of the barukh sheptarani blessing since it would require the presence of the girl, and a girl cannot appear in a public activity. Rabbi Shlomo Zalman Auerbach (1910–1995) was accepted in the Orthodox world as one of the preeminent rabbinical adjudicators. Rabbi Auerbach never published on the topic of Bat Mitzvah, but one of the students, Tovia Fraind, in his book Shelamei Simhah, dedicated to the teachings of Rabbi Auerbach, addresses this topic.67 Rabbi Fraind reports that Rabbi Auerbach permitted a modest Bat Mitzvah party, on condition that there was to be no male presence even if men and women sat separately. Rabbi Fraind also printed a moving letter from Rabbi Auerbach to his granddaughter in honor of her Bat Mitzvah: My Dear Granddaughter, I would like to relate to you some words in honor of the day that you enter to pleasantness of Torah and mitzvoth. On the same day a boy or girl becomes Bar or Bat Mitzvah they must feel and see this day as the holiday of Shavuot, when the Torah was given to Israel. The Talmud states therefore, one must celebrate on this day. So it is on the day a child become an adult and has the privilege to be obligated in mitzvoth of the Torah as all other Jews. For this for him is parallel to the day the Torah was given [to Israel]. In addition, it should be known that halakhically that only from the day that the child matures [halakhically] is he considered intellectually mature (bar da’at) and not before this time. Therefore one should celebrate on this day that he has the privilege to be intellectually mature. For this is the purpose of man, as hazal have said: If intellect you have—what are you lacking? If you are lacking intellect—what do you have? I thank God that 67 Tovia Fraind, Shelamei Simhah ( Jerusalem: Modiin Illit, 2011), 673–78.

No “Right” of Passage?    Part One you, my dear granddaughter, have grown and become a Bat Mitzvah. From the depth of my heart I bless you with the blessing of mazal tov, that you be productive and the Lord assist you and us. Continue to grow in health and joy. [You should] succeed in your studies with the good traits that you have. You should be a source of pride and blessing to your dear parents and us. . . .68

Rabbi Auerbach is careful in what and how he permits the celebration of a Bat Mitzvah, but he clearly recognizes this change of status in the girl’s religious life. The respected rabbinic adjudicator, Rabbi Chanoch Zundell Grossberg, a major contributor to the prestigious Otzar Hadinim and Talmudic Encyclopedia, in 1972 published a two-page letter in the periodical Hama’ayan. This was a letter he wrote to his granddaughter in honor of her Bat-Mitzvah. Rabbi Grossberg discusses both seudat mitzvah and the barukh sheptarani blessing. He permits (de facto) the blessing to be recited, but without mentioning God’s name. Regarding the festive meal, he permits a family event. The Rabbi adds: “It is proper that at this time, they should discuss the mitzvah observance and education of the girl who is destined to raise a Jewish family . . . Then, certainly it can be considered a seudat mitzvah through the accepting of the responsibilities of mitzvot.”69 Rabbi David Ben Zion Klein, Rabbi of the Poalei Agudath Yisrael settlement Yesodat, responded to Rabbi Grossberg in Hama’ayan. His disagreement was straightforward; he argued this practice appears nowhere in rabbinic literature, was not observed by haredi Jews, and was introduced by the Reform. He concludes, “Why should we seek new things and customs that were not practiced by our forefathers and holy rabbis, for ‘new is biblically prohibited,’ as stated by our teacher the Hatam Sofer.”70 A second and more sophisticated response was published in the journal of the ultra-Orthodox Otzrot Yerushalayim. The article was authored by Rabbi Alter Kahana, under the supervision of Rabbi Yisroel Waltz (1887–1974), a member of the supreme rabbinic court of the Eida Haredit. Rabbi Waltz emigrated from Budapest to Jerusalem. In Hungary he served as the chief judge of the rabbinic court.71 Rabbi Kahana commences his reaction with an explicit statement of his opposition to any form of celebration or recognition of the Bat Mitzvah. Not satisfied with this statement of rejection, he presents a survey of the literature 68 Ibid. 69 Rabbi Grossberg, Hama’ayan (13:1), 42–43. 70 Rabbi Klein, Hama’ayan (1972, 13:2) 69. 71 Rabbi Zutrah, Shomer Tzion Hane’eman (1854), 388–449.

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on the topic. Rabbi Kahana first quotes in full the strong opposition of Rabbi Walken, going so far as to reinterpret the words of the author of Seridei Esh, arguing that his real intention was to be stringent and prohibit all celebrations.72

Sefaradic and Eidot Hamizrah Authorities As can be inferred from the discussion, until now, rabbinic considerations and decisions have not been separate from the surrounding social environment, and are often directly influenced by it. In Western Europe, the rabbis were confronted by the Christian culture, which was inputted through the Reform movement. In the United States, it was primarily the Conservative movement that became the major challenge and concern for the Orthodox rabbinic leadership. In the Muslim countries, as well as Israel, it was the secular Jew who challenged the rabbis. In Israel, whether the cultural behavior came from North America or Europe was not relevant; it was the behavioral demands of secular Israeli society that had an impact upon the religious Jew in Israel, a particular concern for the Sephardic Jews. The Sephardic Rabbi, either living in or originating from a Muslim society, could not avoid cultural influences. On one hand, the extreme degradation of women was common in Muslim culture, but, on the other hand, there were certain areas where women enjoyed rights equal to males. The Sephardic Rabbi looked at the issue of Bat Mitzvah celebrations purely as a halakhic question rather than as a social issue with halakhic implications. Rabbi Yitzchak Nissin, the Sephardic Chief Rabbi of the State of Israel, noted that it was common in France for Sephardim to celebrate a seudat mitzvah for girls. Thus, the celebration of Bat Mitzvah as a religious ritual in Sephardic communities can be dated to the late 1800s. Rabbi Nissin (1896–1981), as Sephardic Chief Rabbi of Israel (1955–1973), in his final ruling on the matter of Bat Mitzvah wrote that the blessing baruch sheptarani should be recited by the father but without including the name of God.73 He also suggests how to celebrate the event, including a party at home, a derasha (homily) by the rabbi on the topic of the importance of fulfilling the mitzvoth, and the b­ lessing of s­ hehecheyanu by the girl. The Rabbi also cites Rabbi Avraham Mosiafa, an earlier Sephardic source who views the celebration party as a seudat mitzvah. 72 Rabbi Kahana, Otzrot Yerushalayim (no. 129), 1973. 73 For a discussion of Rabbi Nissin’s view on Bat Mitzvah and relevant bibliographical sources, see Ahrend, “Bat Mitzvah Celebration,” 202.

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The concern of Ashkenazic rabbis that such rituals represent the introduction of a new custom was likewise expressed by Rabbi Moshe Malka (1911–1996), the Sephardic Rabbi of Petach Tikva.74 However, the majority of the Sephardic rabbis had no issue with the concept of celebrating a Bat Mitzvah as long as it was done in a suitable fashion for a religious Jewish girl. Nevertheless, they dealt again with issues such as the recitation of the barukh sheptarani blessing and the question of whether the “party” was a seudat mitzvah.75 Rabbi Obadia Hadaya (1889–1969), a leading rabbinic authority in Israel, also wrote a responsum (in his collection Yaskil Avdi) recognizing Bat Mitzvah. Bat Mitzvah was already being celebrated in Israel; thus, the demand by girls for equal recognition (as an equivalent to Bar Mitzvah) warranted having a festive meal and considering the event as comparable to the Bar Mitzvah celebration. The Sephardic Rabbi of Haifa, Rabbi Yosef Mashash (1892–1974), published his homily in honor of a Bat Mitzvah celebration in his work Ner Mitzvah. This sermon affirms the propriety of celebrating a Bat Mitzvah. He is cognizant of its German origins in Christian confirmation, which was then imitated by the Reform, but he finds value in it for Orthodox girls, then making this statement: “and we have the conviction to convert this [foreign] practice to bring it within the fold of the Shekhina.”76 The most influential, and even iconic, of the Sephardic rabbinic adjudicators in the past 50 years was Rabbi Obadia Yosef (1921–2013), author of many books. These included Responsa Yabia Omer (11 volumes) and Responsa Yechave Da’at. Rabbi Yosef served as the Sephardic Chief Rabbi of Israel from 1972 to 1983. His halakhic decisions were not only accepted in the Sephardic world but often by non-haredi Ashkenazim identified with the Religious Zionist community.77 Even in the haredi world, his responsa were frequently quoted while discussing a halakhic issue. His responsa, Yabia Omer, is detailed and presents a large knowledge of rabbinic authorities, both Ashkenazic and Sephardic, who wrote on various halakhic issues. In Yabia Omer (vol. 6:29) he 74 It is interesting to note that not only did he refer to modern influences but also to influences from the Christians and Reform Jews. 75 The first reference to the recognition of the religious maturity of the girl was by Rabbi Yosef Hayyim, the author of the Ben Ish Hai. While cited by many of the Sephardic poskim, it is actually unclear and not definitive in its opinion. His student Rabbi Yaakov Eliyahu Sofer, in his code Kaf Hahayyim (Orah Hayyim 225:12), does not permit the seudah but recognizes her coming of age. 76 Rabbi Mashash, Ner Mitzvah (1939), 202. 77 Rabbi Yosef ’s lenient rulings are not always accepted by the Religious Zionists, but there is no question that many of his halakhic decisions are accepted.

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discusses the barukh sheptarani blessing. There is no clear decision ­regarding the blessing, but he emphasizes the opinion to permit such a celebration (without reciting God’s name). In Yechave Da’at II:29, he deals with the matter of the meal having the force of a seudat mitzvah: Rabbi Shelomo Luria, the Maharshal, in Yam Shel Shlomo (Baba Kama 7:7) understood that a Bar Mitzvah meal and celebration for a boy is certainly warranted at the age of thirteen years and one day. “There is no seudat mitzvah greater than this. It is the meal of thanksgiving to God who allowed the boy to reach the age of mitzvot, for greater is he who is commanded to observe the mitzvot and does so, than one who performs the mitzvot without being commanded . . . And in a similar fashion the author of Magen Avraham wrote (225:4) . . . that there is a mitzvah to make a [celebratory] meal on the day that one’s son enters under the yoke of the mitzvot, as on the day he enters under the huppa . . .” According to this, it would appear that also for a girl who reaches the age of twelve years and a day and becomes obligated in all the mitzvot that fall upon a woman . . . it is fitting to celebrate her entry into mitzvot with a meal of thanksgiving and joy. In this respect there is no difference between a boy and a girl when they reach the obligation of mitzvot . . . And it would seem from his words that if a celebratory meal is held in her honor as is done for a Bar Mitzvah boy when he reaches the age of mitzvot, it is proper and fitting, that it be considered a seudat mitzvah. With a proviso that they behave in accordance with the rules of modesty required by the Torah. (See responsa Zaken Aharon Orah Hayyim no. 6). And in similar fashion, Rabb Avraham Musafiya wrote: “And so it is customary in the cities of France and in other cities to make a day of rejoicing and seudat mitzvah for a boy when he reaches Bar Mitzvah, and so, too, for a girl when she reaches Bat Mitzvah. And this is a correct practice, the ramification being that if one is invited to participate in such a celebration, one is required to attend.” However, Rabbi Moshe Feinstein was asked about this in his responsa Iggerot Moshe (Orah Hayyim 104), and wrote that there is no basis or foundation for considering the celebration and party made for a Bat Mitzvah girl as a seudat mitzvah, it being merely a birthday celebration. His words are indeed astonishing. The very reason the author of Yam shel Shelomo provided regarding a Bar Mitzvah meal should apply equally

No “Right” of Passage?    Part One to a Bat Mitzvah celebration. And then I saw in responsa Iggerot Moshe II (Orah Hayyim 97) someone questioned him about this, and he wrote in his response that this same law of a Bar Mitzvah boy does not apply . . . But his words are halakhically incorrect, for why should we make such distinctions without firm foundation. The matter depends upon [the boy’s] becoming commanded to perform the mitzvot, and so the same thing applies to a girl who reaches the age of mitzvot. Therefore, it is as we have written above, that even with regard to a Bat Mitzvah girl, there is room to make a meal of rejoicing and thanksgiving to God for her having reached the obligation of mitzvot . . . In truth, opposing Bat Mitzvah celebrations allows sinners to accuse sages of Israel of depriving the daughters of Israel and discriminating between boys and girls. So is the position of Rabbi Yehiel Yaakov Weinberg in his responsa, Seridei Esh III [93 p. 288ff]. He proves regarding those who wish to make a celebration and party for a Bat Mitzvah girl that there is no violation here of the prohibition against imitating gentile customs, for the intention is not to be like the gentiles. In summary, the practice of making a celebration and a meal of joy and thanksgiving in honor of a Bat Mitzvah girl on the day she reaches twelve years and a day is a good and fitting practice. And it is preferable that they speak their words of Torah as well as praises of God. One must be meticulously careful to observe the rules of modesty according to our holy Torah, as it says . . .78

Rabbi Yosef was not concerned with other opinions such as those offered by Rabbi Feinstein. He permitted the barukh sheptarani, considered the party a seudat mitzvah, and suggested it be celebrated with words of Torah and praise of the Lord. This was a halakhic issue, and therefore had to be approached in that way. While he did not hesitate to argue with other rabbinic authorities, he offered his proof texts to support his view. While other leading Sephardic rabbinic authorities wrote on Bat Mitzvah, Rabbi Yosef’s opinion overshadowed them and became the guiding view for most Sephardim and many Religious Zionists.

Summary and Concluding Remarks Rosen correctly points out that, “Legal systems must have some way of attending to concepts, values, and remedies which, even if they are not explicitly included 78 Rabbi Obadya Yosef, Yechave Da’at II:29

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in the law’s design, are indispensable to the law’s legitimacy and its capacity to respond to change.”79 On the other hand, since the basis of our discussion is Jewish law, I prefer Englander’s definition: “Halakah is a generic name for a normative system, and a statement is halakhic only if it ends with a deontological instruction—forbidden, mandatory, or permitted. The status of halakhic ruling is affected by its deontological formulation and by the standing of the person issuing it. Halakhah is the believer’s normative organizing system. . . .”80 In addition, I have used, with others, the term halakhic process in discussing change or an innovation within Jewish law. But a process is defined when predetermined goals are set to achieve a specific goal, and this is not the case in halakhah, for a predetermined goal should not be established and the rabbi’s decision should not be based upon such objectives. Rather, I prefer the term “evolvement of halakhah.” This suggests a natural progression, as in the case of evolution. Such evolution, we have shown, is clearly evident in the innovation of Bat Mitzvah, which includes the recognition or lack of recognition of the Bat Mitzvah girl and related ritual behavior. If we flesh out Rosen’s statement, we can say that change in the legal system is also a direct outcome of the social reality of the culture or cultures it reflects. Waxman suggests that the rabbis that offer pesak (rabbinic adjudication) as a rule do not want to recognize that their decisions incorporate social forces: “The more carefully one considers the issue the more it is apparent that poskim are not simply computers and that, indeed, there are many social forces which enter into pesak, both in terms of specific rulings made for individual cases and in terms of who is recognized at any given time as a reputable posek.”81 Or, as Jacobs states: More frequently, however, the other than purely halakhic motivation is implicit rather than explicit. In such cases, whatever a halakhist may appear to be saying, the historian of halakhah is often able to demonstrate—­by ­uncovering the attitudes of the particular halakhist and the background of the times in which particular decisions were rendered—that, given the circumstances, the halakhist could have done no other, at the end of what appears to be a purely halakhic argument, than to arrive at the conclusion he recorded.82

79 Lawrence Rosen, Law as Culture: An Invitation (Princeton, NJ: Princeton University Press, 2006), 30. 80 Yakir Englander and Avi Sagi, Sexuality and the Body in the Religious Zionist Discourse (Boston: Academic Studies Press, 2015), 18–19. 81 Chaim I. Waxman, “Towards a Sociology of Pesak,” in Rabbinic Authority and Personal Autonomy, ed. Moshe Sokol (Northvale, NJ: Jason Aronson Inc., 1992), 217–37, 218–220. 82 Jacobs, A Tree of Life, 11.

No “Right” of Passage?    Part One

Jacobs continues: The halakhic literature contains many instances of legal theory being used not only for the purpose of determining the law but also to justify contemporary practice where this in conflict with earlier law as laid down in the Talmud. Legal casuistry then seeks to demonstrate that the practice in question, despite appearances to the contrary, is not, in fact, in opposition to the law . . . The device that is most frequently resorted to is to note that the older rule is based on conditions which no longer obtain.83

The same approach can be employed in the case of an innovation in halakhah. Not all pesak is dictated by its social reality but rather it is a variable that plays a significant role in many instances and in the deliberation of the posek. For example, in the case of Bat Mitzvah, Joseph points this out by showing that the attitude by different rabbinic adjudicators toward Bat Mitzvah is directly connected to their understanding of their cultural-religious needs.84 The European, American, and Israeli rabbis all ruled differently in response to the social and political pressures of their cultures. In the case of Bat Mitzvah, an additional variable needs to be considered, namely, that a basic principle was present in all western cultures. That is, the status and role of women in society in general has unquestionably changed. Whether this is a result of the feminist movement or of their greater participation in economic and public affairs, or simply better education, the pressure to recognize women in the religious sphere reached the religious leadership, the rabbis. In the case of the ultra-religious society, Englander argues that haredi halakhah respondents must take into account their social reality, even if it challenges the tradition.85 Sectors in the haredi community specifically see Jewish law as the means to oppose any type of change. In the words of Moses Sofer (known as the Hatam Sofer), “new is forbidden by the Torah.”86 Thus, when approaching change, or a new innovation, the justification must be camouflaged in the “old.” This is accomplished by the halakhic system of analysis; namely, all decisions are deduced, supported, and concluded through the eyes and writings of earlier rabbinic authorities, and ruled upon by an a­ uthority who 83 Ibid., 110. 84 Joseph, “Ritual, Law, and Praxis,” 252–53. 85 Englander, Sexuality and the Body, 237. 86 Although the author of Hatam Sofer made this declaration, he is not consistent in this belief. See Englander, Sexuality and the Body, 237, fn. 14 and the reference cited.

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is the representative of these “old” writings.87 Katz also includes the traditions of local ethnic communities as a means for absorbing the new into the old.88 Moreover, Neusner correctly argues that the chain of authority for the authoritative dates back to the revelation of God at Sinai with the giving of the Torah and the authority given to Moses to perpetuate God’s will through the authority of the Torah. This canon contains and constitutes the will of God. Anyone, any rabbinic authority who masters the Torah, continues to be the representative of God and his Torah. Neusner classifies this evolution as revelation, and authority and this “chain of command” has a direct effect upon our next consideration.89 An additional variable in the rulings of the haredi halakhist is a relatively new phenomenon, what is referred to as daat torah (the view of Torah).90 According to Brown, while this doctrine began before the Second World War in Eastern Europe, its primary influence in Israel and America (as Kaplan argues) began after the Holocaust. Daat torah promulgates the notion that a specific Rabbi or at times Rabbis are considered the leading rabbinic authorities of the generation (gadol hador). His authority goes far beyond halakhic rulings. His opinion and his instructions in all facets of one’s life—whether political, social, economic and religious, even without explanation or halakhic discussion—must be adhered to. Brown argues that one can almost compare their status to that of a Hassidic leader.91 An example of a Rabbi with this ascribed status was Rabbi 87 See Katz, “Hevrah Mesoratit v. Hevra Modernit,” 304–6. 88 Ibid., 306. 89 Jacob Neusner, “Religious Authority in Judaism: Modern and Classical Modes,” Interpretation 39 (1985), 373–87. 90 For a discussion and analysis of this topic, see Lawrence Kaplan, “Daas Torah: A Modern Conception of Rabbinic Authority,” in Rabbinic Authority and Personal Autonomy, ed. Moshe Z. Sokol (Northvale, NJ: Jason Aronson, 1992), 1–60; Benjamin Brown, “The Da’at Torah Doctrine: Three Stages,” in The Path of the Spirit: The Eliezer Schweid Jubilee Book, ed. Yehoyada Amir ( Jerusalem: publisher unknown, 2005), 537–600; Benjamin Brown, “Jewish Political Theology: The Doctrine of Daat Torah as a Case Study,” Harvard Theological Review 107.03 ( July 2014): 255–89; Benjamin Brown, Towards Democratization in the Haredi Leadership: The Doctrine of Da’at Torah at the Turn of the Twentieth and TwentyFirst Centuries ( Jerusalem: The Israel Democracy Institute, 2011). There are additional works on this topic—see Brown, who surveys them in his works. 91 In addition to the sources quoted from Brown, in a recent discussion with me, Brown argued that daat torah is only in the non-halakhic sphere. This includes rulings without proof texts. Daat torah would, for example, relate to political issues such as the recognition of the state of Israel. I, however, suggest that daat torah is all encompassing of all facets of the Jew’s life, both halakhic and non-halakhic. The authority given to the rabbi recognized as the embodiment of daat torah is almost that of a Hassidic holy man—to guide the individual in all areas of life.

No “Right” of Passage?    Part One

Moses Feinstein, whose decision concerning Bat Mitzvah offered little halakhic explanation, but nevertheless his ruling was blindly accepted by the Lithuanian (Litvish) Orthodox community.92 This had a direct effect upon the evolution of Bat Mitzvah in the ultra-Orthodox community, as clarified in a review of the different rabbinic views discussed in this essay. Rabbi Ettlinger is described by Leiman as of  “. . . great renown as the author of Arukh la-Ner, a celebrated commentary on several tractates of the Talmud, and Shelot u-Teshuvot Binyan Ziyon, a classic compendium of responsa.”93 This status in the Orthodox world demanded serious consideration by the rabbinic adjudicators and leaders. Thus, his recognition of the “Bat Mitzvah” girl created the opportunity for a new and different approach to this issue. Rabbi Ettlinger was, moreover, a strong and active opponent of the ritual and practices of the Reform movement. Though this is particularly manifested in the periodicals he published, he also was a community Rabbi who understood the social and religious needs of his community and the society in which its members lived: that of a liberal, dominant culture amidst a growing religious stream in Germany and Prussia. This sensitivity is demonstrated in many of Rabbi Ettlinger’s responsa. While still the Rabbi in Mannheim, he offered his congregants a compromise as to how to celebrate the Bat Mitzvah. He offered an educational experience to be held in the synagogue. While serving as the Rabbi in Altona, he proposed the same suggestion (even though it would seem that the government there did not require the ceremony to be held in the synagogue). Although frills such as the choir singing passages from the psalms were included, the ceremony was part of an educational experience and not a religious ceremony. The major contribution of Rabbi Ettlinger was the public recognition of the religious maturity of the girl, an issue frowned upon by many rabbinic authorities, especially in Eastern Europe. 92 Berger and Sagi identify this authority as possibly being epistemic, that is, authority that derives its legitimation from the possession of knowledge in a certain realm. Sagi adds a deontic model stating that a person’s authority is based on the power invested in the person in authority to determine binding norms. Consequently, adds Sagi, deontic authority implies an obligation of unconditional obedience, meaning that an authority must always be obeyed, even when apparently wrong. Daat torah contains elements of both these models, a discussion for another essay. Michael S. Berger, “Rabbinic Authority: A Philosophical Analysis,” Tradition 27.4 (Summer, 1993) 61–79; Avi Sagi, “Models of Authority and the Duty of Obedience in Halakhic Literature,” AJS Review 20.1 (1995), 1–24. 93 Shnayer Z. Leiman, Rabbinic Responses to Modernity (New York: publisher unknown, 2007), 50.

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Approximately a century later in America, Rabbi Moshe Feinstein was confronted with a new milieu and challenges different from those of his European colleagues. Most threatening was the rising Conservative movement, which emphasized the role of the woman in the synagogue service. Although his response reveals an understanding of the Jewish woman living in mid-twentieth-century America, since the Conservative synagogues placed a strong emphasis upon the Bat Mitzvah ritual in the synagogue as part of the prayer services, he was unwilling to recognize the girl’s religious maturity.94 Rabbi Feinstein took a strong stance on this issue and not only forbade such a ceremony in the synagogue but also refused to recognize the entire event as more than a birthday party. Even without offering the traditional legal sources and discussion, Rabbi Feinstein as the personification of American daat torah blocked any possibility for this innovation to be accepted.95 Although living in Europe, Rabbi Weinberg recognized Rabbi Feinstein’s authority. His approach was to accept Rabbi Feinstein’s prohibitions, such as no Bat Mitzvah celebration in the synagogue or seudat mitzvah, but not his philosophical approach. Rabbi Weinberg recognized the reality of life in his ­generation, one in which women’s status and role had changed to the extent that he felt it imperative to acknowledge the Bat Mitzvah girl. After Rabbi Moshe Feinstein’s death, this approach was adopted in the United States and Canada. The Beis Yaacov schools, serving primarily the ­educational needs of the ultra-Orthodox girls, have made the Bat Mitzvah into an educational experience.96 Some of these schools dedicate an entire year to the Bat Mitzvah girl’s preparation for her role in Judaism. The administration of a Beis Yaacov school in Toronto, Canada wrote guidelines for the students on how to celebrate a Bat Mitzvah.97 The document states:

The School Guidelines for Bas Mitzvah Bas Mitzvah is approaching. Some of our girls will become Bas Mitzvah this school year. Marking this occasion in a reserved low-key manner with 94 Joseph argues this case. She has examined this topic in detail in her PhD thesis. Joseph, “Ritual, Law, and Praxis.” 95 While it is argued that in his later responsa he is more accepting, I do not believe he actually changed his view. 96 See Eleff, “How Bat Mitzvah Became Orthodox.” 97 I believe them to be representative of the Beis Yaacov movement and the Haredei community.

No “Right” of Passage?    Part One family is commendable. Please follow the guidelines if you are planning a seudas Bas Mitzvah for your daughter’s classmates. *Plan to mark this special occasion at a time when it is a mitzvah to have a seudah—i.e., shalosh seudot, melaveh malkah, rosh chodesh . . . *Please reserve the date immediately with [the principal]. There are only a certain amount of rosh chodesh days or early motzei shabbatot for a melaveh malkah. We don’t want any conflicting Bas mitzvos—so our girls won’t be put into a situation to have to choose one seudas Bas Mitzvah over another. *Please discuss your plans for the seudah in advance with [the principal]. *The seudah should take place in your home. *It is appropriate that a devar Torah [words of Torah] and diverei berakhah [greetings] be part of the seudah. *Any activity planned for the gathering should be directed by a Bais Yaakov parent or former Bais Yaakov student. PS. Bais Yaakov does not take care of Bas Mitzvah gifts. In the past, parents from each class got together and decided on a sum of money which every girl submitted and then each girl got to choose her gift (from a list of choices) from her class. Sample letters are available in the office for any parent that is interested.98

The language of these guidelines shows respect for Rabbi Feinstein’s rulings. The party is to be celebrated in the home. The words seudat mitzvah are carefully avoided but instead it is called seudat Bat Mitzvah even though words of Torah are offered which, according to some rabbinic authorities, would classify the meal as a seudat mitzvah. The requirement is to have the meal coincide with another meal that is halakhically seudat mitzvah. While these guidelines follow the rulings of Rabbi Feinstein, the theological approach has evolved. The Bat Mitzvah celebration is obviously not simply a birthday party, and there is clear recognition of the girl’s new status in Judaism. There are also leanings towards religious ritual, as it is now designated seudat Bat Mitzvah. In addition to the Modern Orthodox movement in America, another major Orthodox stream is prevalent in Israel: the Religious Zionists.99 As 98 I thank Dr. Reena Basser for sending me these guidelines. 99 The author is certainly cognizant of new ritual practices and halakhic writings emanating from the Modern Orthodox camp on the issue of Bat Mitzvah. While these developments are of scholarly and communal importance, they lie outside the immediate scope of the present essay.

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compared to the haredi community, these streams are liberal in their halakhic stance on Bat Mitzvah. Religious rituals similar to the ruling of Rabbi Yosef are practiced in many communities. The seudat mitzvah in many cases reflects that of the Bar Mitzvah for the boy. In the synagogue, the boundaries are not crossed, but as stated in the rulings of the Religious Zionist organization Bet Hillel: “Bat Mitzvah: A Bat Mitzvah event should be designed for the synagogue. The lack of such an event is hurtful to girls and to their place in the congregation.”100 The girl is not called to the Torah or permitted to lead the prayers, but the Rabbi might announce the girl’s celebration from the bimah and even invite the girl and her parents to receive a synagogue gift, such as a Bible. This approach is reflected in the many publications by both rabbis and scholars of this community, as in the numerous articles published in Ben Arza and Elper.101 The Lithuanian haredi community in Israel has also evolved from discounting the status and role of the twelve-year-old girl to engaging in the practice of religious ritual. The following story provides a clear demonstration of this; recently, I was told by the head of a haredi yeshiva in Jerusalem and his wife that they celebrated their granddaughter’s Bat Mitzvah with a seudat ­mitzvah to which family and one or two girlfriends were invited, including the men of the family (but not a large public party or meal in the synagogue). Words of Torah were spoken both by the Bat Mitzvah girl and her father. Seeing my astonishment, the Rabbi explained that since he was aware of the late Rabbi Feinstein’s ruling and realized the need to consult with a leading rabbinic authority in Israel, he turned to Rabbi Dov Schwartzman (recently deceased) a Rosh Yeshiva at Yeshivat Beit Hatalmud and a renowned rabbinic authority in the haredi community. Rabbi Dov Schwartzman argued that Rabbi Feinstein was addressing a religious–political issue in America, namely, the threat to the Orthodox community posed by the non-halakhic practices of the Conservative and Reform movements. In Israel, there is little threat from these groups and therefore should be little difference between a boy and a girl upon reaching their respective ages of religious maturity.102 100 See www.beithillel.org.il for the publication in English. 101 Ben Arza, Bat Mitzvah; Elper, Traditions and Celebrations for the Bat Mitzvah. 102 It is important to point out that, even with the ruling of Rabbi Schwartzman, the Bat Mitzvah still remains primarily an educational experience, as there is a great emphasis placed by these girl-schools on the Bat Mitzvah year. One school on the twelfth day of every month arranged a special event for the Bat Mitzvah girl. Furthermore, the girls spent a large portion of the year preparing a special Bat Mitzvah celebration for all the girls together.

No “Right” of Passage?    Part One

While not all of the Lithuanian haredi community will allow for any religious ritual within the Bat Mitzvah celebration, some have begun to mark in a formal way the girl’s new status and role upon the reaching of twelve years and one day, whether through the educational experience or the practice of some religious ritual, such as a seudat mitzvah. We have seen a clear evolution in a new social religious initiative that has spanned over 200 years. While the social pressure to accept this initiative stemmed from the laymen, the ritualization of Bat Mitzvah required the rulings of rabbinic authorities to legitimate it, to package it in the framework of the “old.” This essay is dedicated to my beautiful and kind-hearted granddaughter, Shachar Rachel Fishbane, who was recently Bat Mitzvah and inspired me to write this paper. May she continue to grow in the path of Torah and follow the ways of her parents and her ancestors.

WORKS CITED Ahrend, Aaron. “Bat Mitzvah Celebration.” In Bat Mitzva: Collected Writings and Reflections, edited by Sara Friedland Ben Arza, 109–15, Hebrew. Jerusalem: MaTan, 2002. Ben Arza, Sara Friedland, ed. Bat Mitzvah: Collected Writings and Reflections. Jerusalem: MaTan, 2002. Hebrew. Berger, Michael S. “Rabbinic Authority: A Philosophical Analysis.” Tradition 27.4 (Summer 1993): 61–79. Bleich, Judith. “Between East and West: Modernity and Traditionalism in the Writings of Rabbi Yehi’el Ya’akov Weinberg.” In Engaging Modernity: Rabbinic Leaders and the Challenge of the Twentieth Century, edited by Moshe Z. Sokol, 169–274. Northvale, NJ: Jason Aronson, 1977. . “Jacob Ettlinger, His Life and Works: The Emergence of Modern Orthodoxy in Germany.” PhD. diss. New York University, 1974. . “Rabbi Jacob Ettlinger and the Movement for Counter-Reform.” Proceedings of the World Congress of Jewish Studies B (1981): 85–89. Brown, Benjamin. “The Da’at Torah Doctrine: Three Stages.” In The Path of the Spirit: The Eliezer Schweid Jubilee Book, edited by Yehoyada Amir, 537–600. Jerusalem Studies in Jewish Thought XIX. Hebrew. Jerusalem: publisher unknown, 2005. .“Jewish Political Theology: The Doctrine of Daat Torah as a Case Study.” Harvard Theological Review 107.03 ( July 2014): 255–89. . Towards Democratization in the Haredi Leadership: The Doctrine of Da’at Torah at the Turn of the Twentieth and Twenty-First Centuries. Policy Paper. Hebrew. Jerusalem: The Israel Democracy Institute, 2011. Bulka, Reuven P. The RCA Lifecycle Madrikh. New York: Rabbinical Council of America, 1995. Caplan, Kimmy. “God’s Voice: Audiotaped Sermons in Israel’s Haredi Society.” Modern Judaism 17.3 (1993): 253–79.

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Part One    Continuity and Change: Explorations in Contemporary . “Kli Hatikshoret Bchevra Hacharedit Byisrael.” Hebrew. Kesher 30 (2001): 18–30. Cohen, Alfred S. “Celebration of the Bat Mitzvah.” Journal of Halacha and Contemporary Society XII. Fall (1986): 7–16. Doron, Shlomi. Shuttling Between Two Worlds: Coming and Defecting from Ultra Orthodox Judaism in Israeli Society. Hebrew. Israel: Hakibbutz Hameuchad, 2013. Douglas, Mary. In the Active Voice. London: Routledge & Keegan Paul, 1982. Eleff, Zev, and Menachem Butler. “How Bat Mitzvah Became Orthodox.” Torah Musings. 26 May 2016. Accessed May 27, 2017. http://www.torahmusings.com/2016/05/bat-mitzvah-­ became-orthodox. Eliav, Mordechai. Jewish Education in Germany in the Period of Enlightenment and Emancipation. Hebrew. Jerusalem: Jewish Agency For Israel, 1960. Elper, Ora Wiskind, ed. Traditions and Celebrations for the Bat Mitzvah. Jerusalem: Urim Publications, 2003. Emanuel, Y. “Perakim B’toldot Harav Yaakov Ettlinger Z’al.” Hebrew. HaMayan 12.2 (1972): 79–107. Englander, Yakir, and Avi Sagi. Sexuality and the Body in the Religious Zionist Discourse. Boston: Academic Studies Press, 2015. Ettlinger, Yaakov. Responsa Binyan Tzion HaShalem. 2 vols. Hebrew with introduction by I. Horowitz. Jerusalem: publisher unknown, 1989. Feinstein, Moshe. Orah Hayim. Vols. 1, 2, 4 of Iggerot Moshe. Hebrew. New York: publisher unknown, 1959, 1963, 1982. Fishbane, Simcha. Impact of Culture and Cultures Upon Jewish Custom and Ritual. Boston: Academic Studies Press, 2015. Fraind, Tovia, comp. Shelami Simcha. Hebrew. Jerusalem: Modiin Illit, 2011. Gelbfish, Ezriel. “Secular Music.” Journal of Halakhah and Contemporary Society LXI. Spring (2011): 82–92. Gesundheit, Beni. Celebrating Bat Mitzvah: Sources and Guided Study. Jerusalem: Yisratzif Inc., 2004. Golinkin, David. “The Participation of Jewish Women in Public Rituals and Torah Study 1845– 2010.” Nashim: A Journal of Jewish Women’s Studies and Gender Issues 21 (2011): 46–57. Gutal, Neryah Moshe. Hishtanut Hativim Bahalakhah. Hebrew. Jerusalem: Machon Yachdav, 1998. Hadia, Ovadiah. Yaskil Avdi. Hebrew. Jerusalem: Midrash Ovadiah, 1931. Heilman, Samuel C. “The Many Faces of Orthodoxy Part II.” Modern Judaism 2 no. 2. May (1982): 171–98. Horenblass, Patchya. Pitchei Shearim. Hebrew. Warsaw: Edelstein, 1909. Hyman, Paula E. “The Introduction of Bat Mitzvah in Conservative Judaism in Post War America.” Yivo Annual 19 (1990): 133–46. Jacobs, Louis. Beyond Reasonable Doubt. London: Littman Library of Jewish Civilization, 1999. . A Tree of Life: Diversity, Flexibility and Creativity in Jewish Law. Portland, OR: The Littman Library of Jewish Civilization, 2007.

No “Right” of Passage?    Part One Joseph, Norma Baumel. “Ritual, Law, and Praxis: An American Response/a to Bat Mitsva Celebrations.” Modern Judaism 22.3 (2002): 234–60. Kaplan, Lawrence. “Daas Torah: A Modern Conception of Rabbinic Authority.” In Rabbinic Authority and Personal Autonomy, edited, by Moshe Z. Sokol. The Orthodox Forum Series. Northvale, NJ: Jason Aronson, 1992. 1–60. Katz, Jacob. “Hevrah Mesoratit v’Hevra Modernit” [“Traditional Society and Modern Society”]. Hebrew. Megamot 10.4 (1960): 304–11. Klaus, Herrmann. “Abraham Geiger in Breslau and the Controversy about Jewish Confirmation for Boys and Girls.” In Judische Existenz in der Moderne: Abraham Geiger und de Wissenschaft des Judentums, edited by Herausgegeben Von Christian Wiese, Walter Homolka, and Thomas Brechenmacher. Germany: DE Gruyter, 2013. 133–60. . “Jewish Confirmation Sermons in the 19th-Century Germany.” In Preaching in Judaism and Christianity, edited by Alexander Dee, Walter Homolka, and Heinz- Gunther Schottler, 91–112. Studia Judaica XLI. Berlin: Walter De Gruyter, 2007. Lau, Benny. “Community-Designed Bat Mitzvah Celebrations.” In Traditions and Celebrations for the Bat Mitzvah, edited by Ora Wiskind Elper, 15-54. Jerusalem: MaTan, 2003. Leiman, Shnayer Z. Rabbinic Responses to Modernity. New York: publisher unknown, 2007. Lichtenstein, Aharon. “Legitimization of Modernity: Classical and Contemporary.” In Engaging Modernity: Rabbinic Leaders and the Challenge of the Twentieth Century, edited by Moshe Z. Sokol and Robert S. Hirt, 3-34. Plymouth, UK: Rowan & Littlefield Publishers Inc., 1997. Meshash, Yosef. Ner Mitzvah. Hebrew. Pas: publisher unknown, 1939. Munro, Patricia Keer. Coming of Age in Jewish America: Bar and Bat Mitzvah Reinterpreted. New Brunswick, NJ: Rutgers University Press, 2016. Myerhoff, B. G. “Rites of Passage: Process and Paradox.” In Celebrations: Studies in Festivity and Ritual, edited by Victor Turner. Washington DC: Smithsonian Institution Press, 1982. 109–35. Neusner, Jacob. “Religious Authority in Judaism: Modern and Classical Modes.” Interpretation 39 (1985): 373–87. Rath, Meshulam. Kol Mevaser. Jerusalem: publisher unknown, 1973. Ravitzky, Aviezer. “Hadash Min Hatorah? Modernist versus Traditionalist Orientations in Contemporary Orthodoxy.” In Engaging Modernity: Rabbinic Leaders and the Challenge of the Twentieth Century, edited by Moshe Z. Sokol and Robert S. Hirt, 35–56. Plymouth, UK: Rowman & Littlefield Publishers Inc., 1997. Reiner, Avraham Rami. “Hayachas L’Tiksei Bat Mitzvah: Iyun Mashveh B’Psika Madernit.” Hebrew. Nituim Elul (2003): 55–77. Rosen, Lawrence. Law as Culture: An Invitation. Princeton and Oxford: Princeton University Press, 2006. Rubin, Nissan. New Rituals Old Societies: Invented Rituals in Contemporary Israel. Boston: Academic Studies Press, 2009. Sagi, Avi. “Models of Authority and the Duty of Obedience in Halakhic Literature.” AJS Review 20.1 (1995): 1–24.

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Part One    Continuity and Change: Explorations in Contemporary Schneerson, Menachem Mendel. Shaarei Halacha Uminhag. Hebrew. Jerusalem: Heichal Menachem, 1992. Schoenfeld, Stuart. “Ritual and Role Transition: Adult Bat Mitzvah as a Successful Rite of Passage.” In The Uses of Tradition: Jewish Continuity in the Modern Era, edited by Jack Wertheimer, 349–76. New York: Jewish Theological Seminary, 1992. . “Theoretical Approaches to the Study of Bar and Bat Mitzvah.” Proceedings of the World Jewish Congress of Jewish Studies 2 (1985): 119–26. Shapiro, Marc B. Between the Yeshiva World and Modern Orthodoxy, the Life and Works of Rabbi J. J. Weinberg. London: Littman Library of Jewish Civilization, 1999. Shils, Edward Albert. Tradition. Chicago: The University of Chicago Press, 1981. Soloveitchik, Haym. Wine in Ashkenaz in the Middle Ages. Jerusalem: The Zalman Shazar Center for Jewish History, 2008. Spiro, Jack D. “The Educational Significance of the Bar Mitzvah Initiation.” Religious Education 72.4 (1977): 383–99. Stein, Regina. “The Road to Bat Mitzvah in America.” In Women and American Judaism: Historical Perspectives, edited by Pamela S. Nadell and Jonathan D. Sarna, 223–35. Hanover: Brandeis University Press of New England, n.d. Stern, Moshe. Be’er Moshe. Vol. 1. Hebrew. Brooklyn: Grossman, 1971. Ta-Shma, Israel M. “Halakhah, Reality, and the Concept of Historical Change.” In Creativity and Tradition. Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Center for Jewish Studies, 2006. 102–10. Tuito, Daniel. “The Bat Mitzvah Celebrations: A Study of the Opinions of Contemporary Poskim.” In Bat Mitzvah: Collected Writings and Reflections, edited by Sara Friedlander Ben Arza, Hebrew. Israel: MaTan, 2002. 31–39. Turner, Victor. The Ritual Process: Structure and Anti-Structure. Ithaca, NY: Cornell University Press, 1977. Van Gennep, Arnold. The Rites of Passage. Chicago, IL: University of Chicago Press, 1960. Waldenberg, Eliezer Yehudah. Shelot u-Teshuvot Tzits Eliezer. Hebrew. Jerusalem: publisher unknown, 1985. Walkin, Aharon. Responsa Zekan Aharon. Hebrew. Pinsk: publisher unknown, 1932. Waxman, Chaim I. “Towards a Sociology of Pesak.” In Rabbinic Authority and Personal Autonomy, edited by Moshe Sokol, 217–37. The Orthodox Forum Series. Northvale, NJ: Jason Aronson Inc., 1992. Weinberg, Yecheil Yaakov. Seridei Esh. Vol. 3. Hebrew. Jerusalem: Mosad Harav Kook, 1966. Yosef, Obadia. Sheelot Uteshuvot Yabia Omer. Hebrew. Jerusalem: publisher unknown, 1985– 1995. . Sheelot Uteshuvot Yechave Daat. Hebrew. Jerusalem: publisher unknown, 1977.

Globalization and Judaism CALVIN GOLDSCHEIDER

J

ews, their communities, and their Judaism have all undergone major ­transformations in the decades since the end of World War II.1 The migration and settlement of Jews in dozens of countries around the world have made them the quintessential ethnic and religious minority characterized by globalization. Their population dispersal among many countries, the development of local institutions, and their cultural and social assimilation are legacies of the past but have been radically reshaped beginning in the nineteenth and continuing in the twentieth and twenty-first centuries. An outline of these changes includes population shifts within Europe in the aftermath of the Holocaust; the establishment and growth of the State of Israel; the end of most Jewish communities in North Africa and the Middle East outside of Israel; major waves of emigration from the former Soviet Union; and the ascendancy of the United States as a powerful center of Jewish demography, culture, and institutions. From the middle of the nineteenth century and increasingly into the twenty-first century, Jews have responded to a broad range of social, cultural, and technological innovations as they have become increasingly integrated into the societies in which they reside. In addition to their conspicuous educational and occupational achievements, new forms of acculturation, family patterns, and religious practices have emerged in changed contexts. These processes have raised questions about the resilience of Jews as an ethnic and religious minority in an open, pluralistic society where individualism and the freedom to choose and shape one’s own identity are salient   1 An earlier version of this paper appeared as “Globalization and Judaism: Jewish Communities from the End of World War II to the First Decade of the 21st Century,” in The Wiley-Blackwell Encyclopedia of Globalization, ed. George Ritzer, Volume III (Oxford: Wiley-Blackwell, 2012), 1225–34.

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features. Combined with institutional and political developments, the global expansion of Jews and their communities have had major cultural and social consequences. In the process, new challenges confront Jewish communities in North America (the United States and Canada), Europe, and Israel in the twenty-first century.2 As a basis for exploring the transformation of the Jews, their communities, and the impact of globalization, we outline several frameworks that have been used in studying the Jews. These theoretical narratives, based in part on social science theories, have gained legitimacy in Jewish communities and have served as a basis for policy formation, research agendas, and strategic planning. Each of these approaches contributes to an understanding of emergent Jewish communities.3 The first perspective argues that in the past one hundred years, Jewish communities have moved away from a religious orientation and the centrality of Judaism toward an increasingly dominant secular direction. Whatever religious commitments previous generations had, contemporary Jews have fewer of them. According to this view, Judaism itself has been liberalized so that most of those who practice it do so in a more casual way. As for all groups and most societies, secularization has characterized Jewish communities in every national and international context and challenges the continuity of their religious basis. The second approach focuses on the ethnic dimension of Jewish identity. In the past, Jewish communities had a distinctive sense of being a people apart from the Christian and Muslim societies in which they lived. In other words, Jews were a social minority as well as a religious one. Their minority status reduced access to social and economic opportunities, and involved political constraints and discrimination in everyday life, at times to extreme levels. However, with the increasing openness of societies, the expansion of political rights and economic opportunities, and the acceptance of Jews as fellow ­citizens, many argue that their distinct ethnic identity has diminished. In turn, declines in Jewish ethnicity threaten group continuity. The third perspective follows directly from the first two. It assumes that as religious and ethnic identities weaken, the cohesiveness of Jewish communities weakens as well. Therefore, external stimuli are needed to sustain   2 C. Goldscheider and A. Zuckerman, The Transformation of the Jews (Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 1984).   3 C. Goldscheider, Studying the Jewish Future (Seattle: University of Washington Press, 2004).

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Jewishness. At times, these come from attachment to or pride in the State of Israel (their national homeland) or from some recognition of ­vulnerability to external forces that are believed to threaten Jewish survival. This view maintains that as secularization diminishes Jewish religious identity and assimilation decreases Jewish ethnicity, few internally generated Jewish values or features of Jewish culture remain to sustain continuity with the past or cross-nationally. In part, the globalization of ethnic Jewishness and Judaism neutralizes local Jewish identity. Each of these accounts reflects particular sets of assumptions and biases. The first of these is Zionism, which assumes that Jewish existence outside a national home is untenable. The second bias is religious rather than political. It argues that because a common set of religious practices held Jewish communities together in the past, Judaism is the only factor that can sustain Jews together in the future. A third assumption posits that there are no ways to maintain group identity without oppression from the outside; in this view, when anti-Semitism is reduced, group identity is weakened. None of these arguments reflects an accurate assessment of contemporary Jewish life. While Jews have clearly assimilated into larger cultures in a variety of ways, their communities have not always weakened. In fact, many have strengthened. Moreover, as a minority in a globalized world, Jews are unique. Because they are an ethnic group, they are not like Protestants and Catholics, Mormons and Muslims. Because they have a distinct religious heritage, they are not like Italian Americans, Asian Americans, or Hispanic Americans. Finally, Judaism itself incorporates the secular. Religious institutions have diversified their activities to incorporate ethnic components of Jewish life and secular Jewish institutions have often stressed sacred themes. So, arguments that are based on dichotomies such as ethnic and religious or minority and majority are limiting and do not reflect the complex realities of globalized Jewish communities at the beginning of the twenty-first century. In a world where international communication is instant and interaction transcends the limitations of space, Jews have formed new types of communities. One way to study contemporary Jewish communities in America, Europe, and Israel is to focus on what Jews do, the families they form, the networks that define their communities, and the institutions that they build and sustain. The values that Jews share are part of the cement that links Jews to each other and to Jewish culture in general. Whatever is meant by the values that characterize Jewish communities are always anchored in institutions and social networks. In the early twenty-first century, there is an increasing

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i­nterrelationship among Jewish communities across geographical distances that have been generated by Jewish relocations and migrations and strengthened by diverse exchanges among independent communities within an interrelated, global community. As Jews have moved to a community that is equally religious and ethnic, new networks and institutions have emerged to maintain communal cohesion. These are likely to be the basis for Jewish continuity and cultural transmission. Three facts stand out in a broad description of the growth and geographic distribution of Jews in the world. First, Jews have been a small population wherever they lived for as long as there is empirical documentation, that is, they have been a demographic minority. Second, there have been sharp Jewish population declines in several countries and sharp gains in other countries, driven in large part by international migrations and the Holocaust in Europe. The result of these shifts in population has been a new Jewish population concentration in the twenty-first century. In 2010, over 85 percent of the total world Jewish population (13.4 million) lived either in North America (estimated at 6 million) or in Israel (5.7 million). In sharp contrast, in 1939, there were 16.6 million Jews in the world, most (57 percent) living in Europe, less than one-third living in North America (5 million) and less than half a million living in Palestine (pre-State Israel). The changing demographic configurations redefine the ways in which Jewish populations interact internationally in the era of globalization. Ethnic origin, regional location, and social class (often combined with religiosity) define social interactions within and between countries. Visiting, temporary, permanent, and repeat migrations—as well as connections using modern technologies—are the new forms of interaction among Jewish families and communities.4

American Jewish Communities The Jewish community in North America is the largest in the world. In 2010, an estimated six million people in the United States identified as Jews or were the children of Jewish parents. An additional 375,000 Jews live in Canada, where patterns of Jewish life and community are similar to those in the United States. Contemporary North American Jewish communities have resources,   4 S. DellaPergola, World Jewish Population, 2010, Current Jewish Population Reports, Number 2, accessed May 28, 2017, http://www.jewishdatabank.org/Studies/downloadFile.cfm?­ FileID=3031.

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money, education, health, talent, organizations, and institutions on a scale unprecedented in historical memory. Moreover, North American Jews are less threatened by external forces than ever before. Most Jews in the United States and Canada enjoy unparalleled freedom of choice in forming their own identities. And the amazing fact of the twenty-first century is that most American Jews choose to be Jewish rather than something else. In the immediate post–World War II period, few thought that American Jews would become the most organized and economically successful ethnic-­ religious group in the United States or the most educated cohort in Jewish history. Then it would have been difficult to imagine that tens of thousands of Jewish students would be enrolled in regular courses in Jewish studies in hundreds of North American colleges and universities. Almost no one predicted that in the early twenty-first century, virtually all American Jewish children would be exposed to some form of Jewish education. Nor did it seem likely that tens of thousands of Jewish students would be studying in a wide range of all-day Hebrew day schools or that more American students would be studying in yeshivot (religious academies) with American-educated rabbis and teachers than at any previous time in Jewish history. In the early 1960s, few social scientists predicted that American Jews would share an almost universal consensus about the importance of Israel or that concerns for the American Jewish continuity would play such an important role in shaping the communal agenda. Shared lifestyles, common background, similar educational levels, common culture, and diverse institutions have proven to be crucial elements in cementing the religious and ethnic distinctiveness of American Jews. At the beginning of the twentieth century, the threats of pogroms and disenfranchisement, of blocked economic opportunities and discrimination, of anti-Semitism and racial hatred, of poverty and financial uncertainty were central concerns of most Jewish communities. Scattered, disorganized, stateless, and powerless, many Jews of the early 1900s thought they would be the last surviving generation. They were not. The notion that contemporary Jewish communities are in the process of decline and disintegration remains a powerful myth, but it is inconsistent with the vibrant reality of American Jewish life. Jews have often been portrayed as the ever-dying Jewish people.5 Each generation, from the ancient prophets to some contemporary social scientists   5 Rawidowicz, Simon, Israel: the Ever-Dying People and Other Essays, edited by B. Ravid (Cranbury, NJ: Associated University Presses, 1986).

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and historians, has imagined itself as the last. Such doomsday visions about the future of the American Jewish community may motivate individuals and institutions to support communal activities to save the dying remnants. However, the erosion theory of American Jewish life is a poor description of American Judaism and Jewishness in the twenty-first century. The destruction of six million Jews of Europe and the founding of the State of Israel in 1948 are defining factors in the identity of most Jews at the beginning of the twenty-first century. In addition, the future of American Jewish communities is tied to social and cultural strengths within the community itself and reinforced by connections to other Jewish communities around the world. Many reports and studies have stressed the assimilation of American Jews, the erosion of Jewish communities, and the high intermarriage rates that seem to threaten American Jewish survival. Many have also focused on the apparent ignorance of Jewish culture among American Jews, evidenced by reports showing declining religious ritual observances and poor synagogue attendance. However, other empirical evidence demonstrates that Jewish communities in North America are not about to collapse and disintegrate in either this or the next generation. On the contrary, there are significant indicators of vibrancy and vitality among diverse communities. The evidence reveals that some communities are thriving as never before, even as others are diminishing. Some Jewish communities are using their resources to enhance the Jewishness of the next generation, while others are not. Some segments of the Jewish community are more Jewish than ever before, even though others have disappeared into the majority culture. Even as some Jews are undoubtedly lost to the Jewish community through assimilation, others are entering the community through marriage and renewed Jewish identification. As a result of these contradictory and clashing tendencies, new sources of continuity may be emerging from what is often viewed as weakness.6 In particular, intermarriages not infrequently result in Jewish commitments among those not born into Jewish families. Changes in Jewish religious activities are better viewed as indicators of a transformed Judaism rather than as a sign of erosion. Views about decline and renewal are both correct since they are referring to different parts of the community and to different indicators of group cohesion.   6 C. Goldscheider, “Boundary Maintenance and Jewish Identity,” in Boundaries of Jewish Identities, eds. S. Glenn and N. Sokoloff, 110–31 (Seattle: University of Washington Press, 2010).

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Jewish Distinctiveness What factors sustain the ethnic and religious distinctiveness of American Jews in the absence of overt discrimination and what forces sustain continuity in the face of pressures toward assimilation? The short answer is that family and social relationships along with communal institutions are the core elements sustaining continuity and distinctiveness. These have been enhanced through globalization. There are a variety of structural and institutional features that link Jews to one another in complex networks and mark them off as a community. Evidence of generational declines in organizational participation or synagogue attendance does not necessarily mean the decline of other forms of communal activities such as Jewish schools, summer camps, youth movements, recreational facilities, tourism, study and book groups, retirement homes, and the use of Jewish funeral homes and cemeteries. Low levels of communal commitments at some stages of life (e.g., among young adults) do not necessarily imply continuing low levels at other stages (e.g., among married couples with children). Family connections and shared educational and occupational experiences among American Jews provide an impetus for generational continuity; services provided by Jewish institutions play a significant role in maintaining aspects of Jewish distinctiveness. Educational attainment is one of the crucial structural indicators of the quality of Jewish communal life. The upward educational trajectory of the American Jewish community in the past one hundred years is well known. Jews in the United States have become the most educated of all American ethnic and religious groups, of all Jewish communities around the world, and, indeed, of all Jewish communities in Jewish history. This is especially noteworthy given the low level of education of most American Jews in the first quarter of the twentieth century; it reflects both the value that Jews place on education and the educational opportunities available. Over ninety percent of young American Jewish men and women go on to college and they are often the children of mothers and fathers who also had higher education. Many have grandparents who have had exposure to some college education.7 Education is a core value of contemporary American Jewish culture. As a result, a large percentage of the Jewish community has become concentrated at the upper end of the educational scale. These educational patterns have led to   7 Goldscheider, Studying the Jewish Future.

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occupational changes and the concentration of Jews in jobs and locations that are consistent with their social class. The reduction in educational heterogeneity among Jews has also created a new basis of commonality between generations and cross-nationally among Jews in various countries. These stratification changes imply greater interaction with “others” who are not Jewish. These new contexts of interaction between Jews and non-Jews challenge the earlier segregation patterns among Jews and the basis of cohesion in earlier Jewish communities. The contexts of schooling and the workplace expose American Jews to new networks and alternative values, and these could diminish community distinctiveness over time. However, the emerging commonality of social class among Jews and the distinctiveness of Jews relative to others are themselves important sources of cohesion of the Jewish community. Jews are both marked off from others and linked with other Jews by their resources, networks, and lifestyles. To the extent that community is based on shared interactions among members and a common set of values and lifestyles, occupational and educational transformations among American Jews suggest significantly stronger bases of communal cohesion than in the past. The movement of Jews away from occupations characteristic of the immigrant generation has been a dominant theme in research but new forms of educational and occupational concentration have emerged. In the early twenty-first century, there is no evidence that the changed stratification profile of the American Jewish community has resulted in the abandonment of the Jewish community. The relative commonality of social class among American Jews and their high levels of educational and occupational re-concentration clearly mark Jews off from others and connect Jews to one another. The connections among persons who share history and experience, together with their separation from others of different backgrounds, are what social scientists refer to as community. While this stratification may result in the disaffection of some individual Jews from the community, it also appears to result in greater incorporation within the Jewish community of some who were not born Jewish. When stratification changes are added to the residential concentrations of American Jews, the community features become even sharper. Many have noted the move away from areas of immigrant settlement and the residential dispersal of American Jews. But few have emphasized the new forms of residential concentration for the third and fourth generations of American Jews. When combined with educational and occupational information, the new forms of residential concentration tell the story of community interaction that has resulted in the formation of new Jewish networks and institutions.

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The geographic concentration of American Jews in major metropolitan areas on the East and West coasts and the Midwest is remarkable for a voluntary ethnic white group several generations removed from immigration and not facing the discrimination still directed at other American minorities. Educational, residential, and occupational concentration implies not only cohesion among Jews, but also their exposure to numerous options for integration and assimilation. Jewish identification and the intensity of Jewish expression are increasingly voluntary in twenty-first century America. Studies of the values Jews associate with educational attainment point to the continued power of family ties, an increase in family resources available for education, and an enhancement of the lifestyles that bind parents and children into a common network. Unlike in the past, when interaction and marriage between Jews and non-Jews were most often a means of escape from the Jewish community, the Jewish community has now become attractive to others. Like educational success, intermarriage no longer signifies a form of rejection and flight from Jewish ethnicity or the otherness of immigrant or working class parents. And these networks and interactions are increasingly cross-national.

The Content/Culture of Jewishness: Religion What about the changing context of Judaism? Diverse indicators of synagogue attendance, Jewish literacy, and the observance of public and family rituals reveal far more active religious involvement than in most Jewish communities one hundred or even fifty years ago. A broad range of synagogues and Jewish educational and communal institutions throughout North America allow a larger number of Jews greater access to rituals such as Bar and Bat Mitzvah, participation in Torah study, and observance of various holidays than ever before. The inclusion of women in Jewish education and in synagogue and ritual activities has added enormously to the total number of individuals and families participating in Jewish religious life. And new communal events—such as Jewish craft fairs, film festivals, national and international Jewish organizational meetings, celebrations of Israel Independence Day, Holocaust Memorial Day, scholar-in-residence weekends at synagogues and Jewish community centers, and lectures on Jewish themes in universities—are marked on the American Jewish calendar as never before. In the past, being Jewish was often an unexamined part of everyday life; it was the focal point of family and community. The major distinguishing feature of Judaism in previous generations was its intensive connection to the

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totality of Jewish life, the family–economic networks, and the shared l­ifestyle and values that constituted Jewish life. Religious observance and formal Jewish education were only a small part of experienced Jewishness. Then, the work Jews did, the institutions they created, and their cultural frames of reference reinforced a sense of distinctiveness. In part, that is the case in America today: most Jews in the twenty-first century share Jewish holidays and ritual occasions with other Jews (Passover, Chanukah, and the High Holidays are the most popular), share commitments to Israel, and make financial contributions to Jewish causes. Most North American Jews see other Jews as their closest friends; many work with other Jews, attend Jewish institutions, and want to provide some Jewish education to their children. In general, Jews consider being Jewish one of the important things in their lives even when it is conceived in such abstract terms as “tradition” and “family values.” Indeed, in the minds of American Jews, being Jewish in some form is one of the most expressed and deeply felt values. Just as educational similarities between the generations are sources of family bonds and communal cohesion, so too the commonality of Jewish religious expression provides a link of continuity. To be sure, their Judaism is secularized and transformed, but it is not a source of generational conflict. Institutions are the visible symbols of Jewish culture and the basis of Jewish collective activities in North America. Jewish schools and Jewish libraries, Jewish homes for the aged, Jewish Community Centers, and diverse religious institutions are important elements of American Jewish communities competing with one another for loyalty and commitments. On the surface, playing golf with other Jews in a mostly Jewish country club, playing softball at the Jewish Community Center, or using daycare or senior care facilities in a Jewish institutional setting may not seem to be very Jewish. However, such choices are part of that total round of activity that makes for a community of intertwined networks. These “secular” activities within Jewish institutions enhance the values of Jewish life, intensify shared commitments, and increase the social, family, and economic networks that sustain the Jewish community. All of these activities form what we mean by community. Institutions are central in North American Jewish identity because they provide a basis for cultural and religious continuity by selectively constructing Jewish history and cultural memory. It is the community, the networks, the shared lifestyle, the values, and the concerns of American Jews that bind them together. The form and content of American Jewish life are radically different today from those of the past but so, too, is virtually every aspect of the larger

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social and cultural setting. In turn, these structural features are reinforced by the new networks formed by globalization of Judaism and Jewishness.

European Jewish Communities The switch from a European-centered Jewish culture to the cultures of America and Israel was due to more than the destruction of European Jewry. An equally significant factor was the role of immigration. In the period between 1880 and 1920, some two and a half million Jews left Eastern Europe; two to three million more emigrated between 1920 and 1948 and an additional two and a half million moved elsewhere in the last three decades of the twentieth century. Thus, the loss of six million Jews during the Holocaust was less than the transfer of Jews out of Europe through immigration. Immigration relates the European demographic decline to the growth of Jewish communities in North America, Australia, France, Argentina, and Israel. The decline of one Jewish center and its replacement by multiple centers elsewhere is less a case of erosion and decline than a transformation in contemporary Jewish life and its relationship to global patterns. The communities of Eastern Europe had the largest Jewish population in the past century but suffered the heaviest tolls in the Holocaust and experienced the greatest emigration. Few of these communities have been able to recover. As a result of heavy emigration to Israel, North America, and Western Europe, the size of the Jewish population of the former Soviet Union declined from 1.5 million in 1989 to 500,000 in 2000 and to 330,000 in 2010. Russia had about half of the Jewish population of the former Soviet Union in 2000, with significantly larger numbers in the European than in the Asian regions. Despite some cultural renewal in Russian Jewish communities, most of which is generated and funded by Jews from Israel and North America, the Jews in Russia are likely to decline further in the next decade in both numbers and expressions of Jewish identity. Europe’s Jewish population is declining. However, new forms of commitment to Jewishness, a broad secular Jewish cultural renaissance, may be underway in Europe. The continuing presence of anti-Semitism in Europe seems likely to ensure some ethnic consciousness in the younger generation. The migration of a significant number of Muslims to major European centers may also reinforce Jewish cultural distinctiveness along with the Jewish connections to Israel. The recognition of patterns of Jewish identity beyond the Holocaust indicates a new era of relationships among European Jewish communities and the present centers of world Jewish life in America and in Israel.

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Israel: Jewish Demographic Survival The Jewish community of Israel is a powerful anchor of the Jewish future in a globalized world. Due to the migration of millions of European and Middle Eastern Jews (over a million Jews from the former Soviet Union moved to Israel in the fifteen years ending in 2005), the Jewish population in Israel has increased dramatically over the last several decades. Demographically, the story of the Israeli Jewish community is one of growth and a relatively young age distribution compared to the very slow growth of the American Jewish population and population declines among major communities in Europe. Combined with the aging of the European community, the prospects of Israel becoming the demographic center of world Jewry in the future seems likely. Since the losses in Israel due to assimilation are minimal, the future growth of Israel’s Jewish community appears incontrovertible.8 Israel is the quintessential contemporary Jewish community, with high levels of national cohesion. Even the perpetuation of ethnic Jewish communities within Israel and the divisions by social class, immigrant status, gender, region, and religious activities do not conflict with the demographic and social viability of Israeli Jewish society. In Israel, group identity is maintained by the idea of Jewish peoplehood. Israeli Jews marry other Jews, celebrate Jewish holidays, and are committed to Jewish nationalism. They observe Saturday as the Sabbath, speak a Jewish language, and are close to Jewish cultural forms. Marriages, Jewish networks, Jewish public ritual observances, and other manifestations of ethnic/national Jewish identity flourish in a country where over eighty percent of the population is Jewish. Social interactions among Jewish families, Jewish political control, and socialization in Jewish schools and the military are powerful forms of communal cohesion. Jewishness as a national/ cultural identity in Israel competes with the influence of worldwide mass media and the drift toward a universal culture loosely described as “Western.” The connections to Jewish communities and families outside of Israel reinforce the Jewishness of both communities.9 The strength of Israeli Jewish communities is not primarily in their Judaism; indeed, religion is often divisive in Israel. Rather, Israel’s cohesion as a community lies in the diverse institutions it has created, in the quality of everyday life,   8 C. Goldscheider, Israel’s Changing Society: Population, Ethnicity and Development (Boulder, CO: Westview Press, Second Revised Edition, 2002).   9 C. Goldscheider, Israeli Society in the 21st Century: Immigration, Inequality and Religious Conflict (Waltham, MA: Brandeis University Press, 2015).

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and because of importance of families. Nationalism and Jewish culture are able to sustain families even when religious identification and practice is weak. Jews interacting extensively and intensively with other Jews in jobs, schools, the military, and in neighborhoods is the basis for Jewish cohesion in Israel. New forms of Judaism (similar to Reform, Conservative, and Reconstruc­ tionist Judaisms in North America) have not flourished among the younger generation in Israel. Israeli Judaism manifests itself largely in the reactionary elements of Haredi (Ultra-Orthodox) Judaism and in the role of religiously oriented political parties among Sephardim (Jews of Middle East origins). Unlike communities outside of Israel, where religion marks Jews off from non-Jews, Israeli Judaism tends to separate Jews from each other. Religious and secular Jews are often separated both residentially and institutionally and there are increasing anti-religious feelings among the majority of the Israeli secular public. Three critical points about Jewish life in the twenty-first century need to be stressed. One is the diversity of Jewish communities. This means that what results in communal cohesion for one community may not work for others. Diversity is important in understanding North American Jews and distinguishing North American Jewish communities from Jewish communities in other countries. Since historical forces shape social, political, cultural, and economic patterns, then when circumstances change and when contexts vary, Judaism and Jewishness is likely to change and vary as well. A second point is that Jews in the twenty-first century are different from previous generations. While nostalgia for an imagined Jewish past enriches the present, the conditions of contemporary Jewish existence everywhere are very different from at any previous time in Jewish history. Significant change is likely to characterize Jewish life in the decades to come as well. The challenge for contemporary Jewish communities everywhere is to draw on the rich legacies of the past to respond creatively to the challenges of the present and to prepare for the unknowns of the future. Finally, diversity and change among Jews and their communities cannot be understood without attention to the interaction among Jewish communities cross-nationally. The process of globalization increases the ways in which Jewish networks, families, and institutions influence each other. The relative isolation of countries and of groups within countries no longer characterizes Jewish communities in the twenty-first century. New forms of Jewishness and Judaism are likely to emerge in the era of globalization. New developments in the twenty-first century link Judaism with the process of globalization. We have noted the extensive international flow of Jews

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from Europe to America and from multiple countries of origin to the State of Israel. There have also been massive flows of Jews starting in the 1960s from the former Soviet Union not only to North America and Israel but within Europe as well. These flows are not one way but involve multiple exchanges of people and resources. Networks based on common cultures and family connections have been established among Jews cross-nationally. In the era of globalization, transnationalism, return movements, and stage migrations have characterized Jews even when significant segments of the migratory flows are voluntary. While some forms of anti-Semitism have precipitated the flows of Jews, most of these flows have been the result of responses to differential economic opportunities, to networks of information flows, and to commitments to family ties. Many of the older political barriers of the twentieth century and earlier that have restricted the emigration of Jews from places and/or the immigration of Jews to new places have been lifted. And as new communities of Jews are established in new places and in connection with previous waves of immigration, increasing information and access to opportunities have developed. Information flows have been extraordinarily important as communication among family members in different countries has been enhanced by transportation changes, the Internet, and telecommunication. Thus, modern technologies have provided new opportunities for Jewish communities to remain integrated in various countries of residence and at the same time be linked through extended families to places of national origin. Powerful institutions facilitate the flow and exchanges of Jews among places, linking Jews internationally. Some institutions have been created to bring Jews to the State of Israel from places around the world. Other institutions in Israel and in North America have continued their role in identifying Jewish communities in distress or faced with acts of anti-Semitism and in bringing support, both politically and communally. Other institutions have themselves become global, with ideological messages not only of Zionism but of some forms of Judaism. The extension of some religious Jewish organizations, particularly Habad (a religious Hasidic community whose primary center is in Brooklyn, New York) to all corners of the globe to promote religious and Jewish community, as well as religious schools, is the most conspicuous example. The Holocaust has been marked not only in the main centers of Jewish communities with museums and exhibits but also in the communities where many Jews no longer live but had resided before their destruction. The spread

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of Jewish art and religious ritual objects from around the world is testimony to the global reach of Jewish culture. Even the availability of kosher and “Jewish style” foods globally has extended the reach of Jewish material culture. The globalization of Judaism and Jewishness has had an impact on non-Jews as well as on Jews around the world. Thus, the global flows in contemporary Judaism of people, ideas (positive like Zionism, but also including anti-Semitism), cultural exchanges, and museum exhibitions add to the dramatic transformation of Jews that has resulted in greater globalization among Jews in the twenty-first century than ever before.

REFERENCES DellaPergola, S. (2010) World Jewish Population, 2010, Current Jewish Population Reports, Number 2. Accessed May 28, 2017. http://www.jewishdatabank.org/Studies/downloadFile.cfm?FileID=3031 Gitelman, Z., ed. Religion or Ethnicity? Jewish Identities in Evolution. Rutgers University Press, 2009. Goldscheider, C. “Are American Jews Vanishing, Again?” Contexts (Winter, 2003): 18–24. . “Boundary Maintenance and Jewish Identity.” In Boundaries of Jewish Identities, edited by S. Glenn and N. Sokoloff, 110–31. Seattle: University of Washington Press, 2010. . Israel’s Changing Society: Population, Ethnicity and Development. Boulder, CO: Westview Press, Second Revised Edition, 2002. . Israeli Society in the 21st Century: Immigration, Inequality and Religious Conflict. Waltham, MA: Brandeis University Press, 2015. . Studying the Jewish Future. Seattle: University of Washington Press, 2004. Goldscheider, C. and Zuckerman, A. The Transformation of the Jews. Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 1984. Goldstein, S. and Goldstein, A. Jews on the Move. Albany, NY: State University of New York Press, 1996. Rawidowicz, Simon, Israel: the Ever-Dying People and Other Essays, edited by B. Ravid. Cranbury, NJ: Associated University Presses, 1986.

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The Comeback of “Simple Faith”: The Ultra-Orthodox Concept of Faith and Its Development in the Nineteenth Century BENJAMIN BROWN “How good could it be To become a playful child again With a true faith, with a child’s heart” Ady Endre

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n the following lines, I would like to present two archetypes of believers, each of which represents a type of belief system.1 On the one side stands the simple believer who receives his faith by virtue of tradition and transmission—one who does not attempt to develop, refine, or “elevate” that faith or frame it into a systematized worldview.2 The simple believer is fully satisfied   1 This article first appeared in Hebrew: Benjamin Brown, “Shuvah shel haemunah hatemimah: tefisat haemunah haharedit utzemihata bameah hatesha’ esre,” in Al Haemunah: ‘Iyunim bemusag haemunah uvetoldotav bamasoret hayehudit [On Faith: Studies in the Concept of Faith and its History in the Jewish Tradition], eds. Moshe Halbertal et al. ( Jerusalem: Keter Publishers, 2005), 403–43. Since that paper was written, new studies were added on some of the topics addressed in it, some strengthening its findings and some at odds with them. In order to avoid length, I did not update the bibliography or cope with the differing opinions expressed in them. The bibliography is therefore updated approximately until 2004, save a few places where I replaced Hebrew works with their English translations. I also used this opportunity to put in a few minor corrections.   2 I am alluding here to the Hegelian Aufhebung.

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with what was passed down to him, and he does not hesitate to describe God in “childish” terms, including obviously anthropomorphic expressions. He reads Biblical texts and rabbinic tales on their plain meaning level only, uninterested in seeking to “translate” the descriptions found therein. We may call this believer’s unquestioning system of belief “simple faith.” On another end of the spectrum is the theological believer, he who is not content with simple faith alone, but wishes to strengthen and enhance his faith through a systematic body of thought. Usually, though not always, this believer utilizes a metaphysical system that explains the relationship between God, man, and the world by attempting to examine the first principles of existence. This type of belief will henceforth be termed “intellectual faith” or “theological faith.” Note that, for the present discussion, I do not differentiate between intellectual faith of a rational nature and that of a mystical or otherwise non-­ rational nature. All such belief systems attempt to base faith on knowledge, be it rational, mystical, or other. This knowledge, even if it gains a good deal from simple faith, creates a new and different type of faith, sometimes even striving to overcome or transcend simple faith. By placing faith into a systematic and comprehensive framework, however, its content is inevitably changed, particularly when that framework sets forth different descriptions and definitions of basic religious concepts, such as the creation of the world, prophecy, miracles, and redemption. According to the classifications outlined above, the faith of the Bible and the Talmudic sources may be thought of as forms of simple faith (though they do not present it as an ideal but take it for granted, no alternative being present). On the other hand, for a period of approximately nine hundred years, two systematic theological systems, representing intellectual faith, ruled in the realm of Jewish thought. One is Jewish philosophy, which expressed a rationalistic intellectual faith, and the other is Kabbalah, which usually gave expression to a mystical intellectual faith. These two traditions struggled against each other in a mighty battle, at the end of which Kabbalah triumphed—even if its victory was not complete. However, for the purpose of our present discussion, it is important to emphasize that this battle took place between two types of intellectual faith. Interestingly, in the fundamental writings of both traditions, we find many expressions of appreciation and positive assessments of the simple believer. Nonetheless, this approval and positive appraisal should in no way be confused with admiration and idealization. These two great systems of intellectual faith held the simple believer in esteem for representing the starting point of intellectual faith; in the final analysis, both these systems preferred

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non-intellectual belief to intellectual disbelief. Nevertheless, it is clear that in the eyes of these thinkers, this starting point is a point of departure rather than a destination and that the sought after ideal of religious perfection is an ideal that can be achieved only through intellectual faith. Even if the simple believer is thought to be better than the heretic, that still does not turn him into one who has obtained the ultimate good but rather as one who has at most achieved a desirable level of partial good, or as an unavoidable compromise. The fact that most of the public is comprised of simple believers did nothing to damage this outlook. On the contrary, it was strengthened by this circumstance, for both of these systems assumed as a given that the ideal of religious perfection, relating to faith as well as to other areas, must inevitably be the possession of a small elite group that rises above the masses. In fact, in all of the generations in which intellectual faith prevailed in the realm of Jewish thought, simple faith continued to simmer quietly within the wider Jewish public in its various places of exile. This notwithstanding, it seems that in places where the power of intellectual faith gained strength, only an insignificant minority desired to present the “faith of the multitudes” as the ultimate ideal of religious perfection.3 At the end of the eighteenth century, and especially in the nineteenth century, a swift and astounding process took place, wherein a shift occurred in the belief values of Central and Eastern European Jewry. In rapid succession, Kabbalah lost its centuries-old hegemony over the Jewish spiritual world, and its vacated place was occupied by simple faith. Note that from this stage onward, simple faith became a religious ideal of Judaism and no longer a compromise— not a point of departure, but a lofty goal. Intellectual faith was forced to the margins and involvement in theology became the interest of a small group of individuals, many of whom were often viewed with open or veiled suspicion. As for religious-rationalist philosophy, there was very little change, as even during the hundreds of years of kabbalist hegemony, rationalist ­philosophy   3 During the Middle Ages, Rabbi Moshe Tako and Rabbi Joseph Ya’avetz stood out as the great proponents of simple faith. On them, see Ephraim Elimelekh Urbach, “Helkam shel hakhmei Ashkenaz veTzarfat bavikuah al haRambam usefarav,” Zion 12 (1957): 152–54; Joseph Dan, introduction to R. Moshe Tako’s Ketav Tamim ( Jerusalem: Dinur Center of the Hebrew University, 1984), 7–27, and further references there, a footnote 4; Gedaliah Nigal, “Deotav shel Rabbi Yosef Ya’vetz al philosophia umitpalsefim, Torah umitzvot,” Eshel Beer Sheva 1 (1976): 258–87. In fact, Rabbi Ya’avetz was a supporter of Kabbalah and his criticism was leveled primarily at Jewish philosophy, but his teachings are not based on the foundations of Kabbalah, and it appears that he actually valued it from a distance. In any case, his commentaries and discourses were in the spirit of “simple faith.” See R. Yosef Ya’avetz , Or Hahayim (Lublin, publisher unknown, 1910), 22a, 47a.

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was considered almost a dirty word, and those who were involved in it were frequently suspected of heresy. The more significant change was the manner in which Kabbalah was viewed. While it continued to hold a position of respect and admiration, Kabbalah was distanced from active theological discourse. This is the point at which to differentiate between two methods of neutralizing the authority base in traditional systems—regardless of whether in relation to a theological approach, a halakhic norm, a particular personage, or any other authority base. The first method is by way of direct negation, in which criticism is aimed directly at the authority base, or there is at least a clear trend to minimize the strength of its influence by restricting its authority or claiming that it relates only to a specific reality. The second method, which is somewhat more sophisticated, may be termed “elevation beyond the range.” In this method, the authority base is portrayed as something great and cherishable, but so lofty and grand that it is accessible only to the virtuous few who have reached a level similar to that of the great men of the golden ages, and is therefore unobtainable by ordinary mortals. It should be noted that this claim is usually put forward in good faith, and not with the intent to be manipulative or deceitful. Still, in practice, it reflects uneasiness with the influence of the authority base in the existing reality. This method of “elevation beyond the range” is a common technique applied in traditional cultures as a way of neutralizing the active influence of elements sanctified by past generations, towards which there is a certain feeling of obligation, but which have been deemed undesirable under current circumstances for any number of reasons.4 In effect, both methods of neutralization were launched in the struggle against the dominant intellectual faith systems: religious-rationalist philosophy and Kabbalah, which had both held the status of authority bases in the Jewish spiritual world. However, whereas direct negation was the main   4 Such a phenomenon is well known in the area of management theory. At times, a particular body (e.g., company, political party) finds itself in a perplexing situation when one of its senior members who contributed greatly to its success is no longer productive, and is even destructive. It is difficult to remove the person because of a sense of commitment toward him, but it is also difficult to leave him in an active role because of the damage that he might cause. The solution is often found in an honorary appointment, in which the person is elevated to a position that is presented as an advancement (e.g., president, honorary director) and has all of the outward signs of prestige and honor (e.g., increased salary, company car, beautiful office, secretaries), but which lacks authority. In the management slang, this is often called “kicking up.” Were I not apprehensive, I would apply this very accurate expression to the context of theology, but because of my concerns, I have used the more refined “elevation beyond the range.”

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weapon used to neutralize philosophy, elevation beyond the range was used almost exclusively in neutralizing Kabbalah. Before expanding upon this in greater detail, let us preface the discussion with a number of important points. Jewish philosophy, whose power stemmed mainly from the fact that impressive personages like Maimonides took part in its development, was not sanctified by the masses. This resulted in the tendency of its attackers to exclude and delegitimize philosophy and its followers, who were portrayed many times as suspect of heresy. Only a relatively small group with an apologetic approach sought to protect the honor of philosophy—especially the honor of Maimonides and those who continued in his path—and thus used the method of elevation beyond the range. On the other hand, Kabbalah did achieve a sanctified status among the broad public, and thus a direct attack would likely have harmed the stability of the tradition. Therefore, in dethroning Kabbalah, it was clearly the method of elevation that was principally utilized. Only a relatively few Torah personalities, found especially among the learned Lithuanian Misnagdim, allowed themselves to directly criticize Kabbalah. Yet, even when they did so, they used concise and refined language, as I will demonstrate later in detail. Simple faith did not rise up from the rubble of Kabbalah in every locale. Its main power base rested in the Orthodox world of Eastern Europe and Hungary. In Germany, a new type of theology developed, neo-rationalist with a romantic hue, as perceived in the approach of Rabbi Samson Raphael Hirsch (1808–1888) and his followers. It seems that Lithuanian Jewry also developed a number of interesting but short-lived theological phenomena before the victory of simple faith was attained. Moreover, at a certain stage, counter-­reactions to the rise of simple faith may be identified. These sought to reestablish intellectual faith, and we will touch upon them briefly at the end of this paper. However, these phenomena do not refute the fundamental assertion that was presented earlier. Even if there were alternatives and reactions to the adoption of simple faith, they do not change the fact that in the final analysis, and arguably for the first time in the history of the Jewish spiritual world, a significant power of thought portrayed simple faith as the ideal of perfect faith and intellectual faith as an ex post facto compromise—or worse, as completely invalid. Even in the Bible and the Talmud, where simple faith was the only type of faith known, we do not find any expression presenting it as an ideal and, of course, neither one negating the alternative types of faith that did not exist at that time. It is clear that within twentieth-century ultra-Orthodox Judaism, simple faith secured an overwhelming victory and, even within the religious Zionist camp,

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it seems that simple faith acquired a formidable hold, most d­ efinitely by the end of the twentieth century. This turning point is worthy of a precise historical examination, and most of the present paper will be devoted to such an analysis. Yet, even at this point, it seems fitting to raise two questions: What were the reasons for the rise of simple faith, and what were its theological fruits? In terms of the reasons for the sudden rise of simple faith, it seems that the obvious answer, given almost automatically, would pin the shift on the crisis of modernity. As for the results of the shift, the almost evident conclusion would surmise that simple faith brought about the virtually total eradication of theology in every region that it vanquished and the place of theology was replaced by halakhic analysis or, at most, rabbinic exegesis lacking innovation or novelty. However, in the coming sections of this paper, alongside the historical analysis, I will question these two assumptions. In the first sections of the paper, I will propose that, in certain places, simple faith appears to have begun its renewed rise before the crisis of modernity as a result of other factors. This is true even if modernity did, in fact, bring about the strengthening and final victory of simple faith in the places where it triumphed. In parallel, I will examine the theological motivators for the preference of simple faith, as presented by different thinkers. Towards the end of the paper, I will suggest that even if simple faith did not give rise to a new theology in the accepted and systematic sense of the word, there are implied theological assumptions at its core, a type of “indeliberate theology,” which is just as significant as an ordered theological doctrine. As such, it produced a number of noteworthy theological products. Thus, I assert that the discussion of Jewish theology must be expanded to include the realm of “indeliberate theology”—that of simple faith and others of its kind.

Central European Jewry: The Noda’ B’Yehudah and the Hatam Sofer Even before the Patent of Toleration of 1781, Central European Jewry had begun moderate processes of modernization. A number of scholars have pointed to the fact that religious delinquency had already begun to increase from the middle of the eighteenth century, demanding a response from the halakhic authorities.5 At the same time, interest in philosophy and contemporary   5 Asriel Schochat, Im Hillufei Tekufot ( Jerusalem: Bialik Institute, 1961); Adam Ferziger, “Hierarchical Judaism in Formation: The Development of Central European Orthodoxy’s Approach towards Non-Observant Jews (1700–1918),” PhD diss., Bar Ilan University, 2001, 75–160.

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sciences began to grow as well. This interest did not elude the rabbinic elite. For example, Rabbi Yehonatan Eibeschutz (1694–1764) and Rabbi Ya’akov Emden (1698–1776) had a curious interest in the sciences of their time, while simultaneously exploring kabbalist doctrines.6 The theological writings of both men were clearly influenced by the Kabbalah, each in his own way. Even Rabbi Ya’akov Emden, who viewed the eradication of Sabbateanism as the most important social-religious priority of his time and was very cognizant of the movement’s kabbalist roots, was nevertheless deterred from negating the validity of Jewish mysticism in general.7 Even when he was involved in critical study of the Zohar, Emden maintained the belief that kabbalist teachings represented an ancient and authentic doctrine.8 Kabbalah was the prevailing Jewish worldview of the time, and no social crisis—even one as severe as Sabbateanism— could suddenly undermine a system of thought so deep and entrenched. Indeed, it is hard to find a derogatory expression relating to the kabbalist worldview in the writings of Rabbis Emden and Eibeschutz, or a representation of simple faith as a preferred religious ideal. Apparently, we can learn from their writings that Kabbalah-based intellectual faith was still in full force at this stage. Nevertheless, among some prominent personalities of this generation and the subsequent generation, one can sense signs of change. It appears that even at this stage there were some individuals, even if only a few, who felt that Jewish belief was on the verge of a crisis. The Rabbi of Prague, Rabbi Yehezkel Landau (1713–1793), better known as the “Noda’ B’Yehudah,” was drawn to address this topic a surprising number of times, primarily in his homilies, and at least once in his commentary on the Talmud.9 It seems that his talks were delivered against the backdrop of the revival of Sabbateanism in Prague as a result of the Frankist cell that was forming in the city in his time.10 Particularly fascinating in this context is his discourse for the first day of the selihot penitential prayers (year unknown) in which the Noda’ B’Yehudah distinguished between two types of sins—sins in which the person transgresses because of a ­weakness 6 Schochat, Im Hillufei Tekufot, 210–35. 7 Isaiah Tishby, Mishnat HaZohar ( Jerusalem: Bialik Institute, 1957), 54–55. 8 Jacob Emden, Mitpahat Sefarim (Altona, publisher unknown, 1868). 9 For a comprehensive collection of his comments on this issue, see Israel Nathan Heschel, “Devarav shel Hagaon Ba’al Noda’ B’Yehudah odot Kat Haphilosophim bedoro,” Kovetz Beit Aharon V’Yisrael 11:2 (62) (Kislev-Tevet 5756): 101–7. 10 On the Noda’ B’Yehudah’s struggle against Sabbateanism, see Yekutiel Yehudah Kamelhaar, Mofet Hador: Toldot Rabenu Yehezkel Halevi Landau (Piotrków, publisher unknown, 1934), 60–61; Shmuel Verses, Haskalah Veshabtaut: Toldotav Shel Maavak, ( Jerusalem: Shazar Center, 1988), 77 footnote 50.        

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in his faith in Divine providence, and sins in which the transgressor “confuses good with evil and evil with good, and claims that the transgressions are actually commandments that reflect God’s will.”11 In the first type, he claimed, there is a chance for the perpetrator to improve his ways, while in the second, the perpetrator “will never repent.” The Noda’ B’Yehudah did not confine himself to abstract typologies, but directed his remarks to real-life issues: And these two groups are not similar to each other [. . .] and they are two groups that are widespread in our times. One group—the sect of Shabbtai Tzvi, may their bones turn to dust—claims that good is evil and that all of their transgressions are commandments. They are steeped in the depths of impurity. The second group—the contemporary philosophers—claims that God acts in the higher spheres, exalted and uplifted above, but does not oversee the lower spheres in which everything functions according to the laws of nature, [. . .] may God save us from this opinion. [. . .] These two groups are not at all alike. The Sabbatean sect lacks faith and denies belief in the Sovereign of the World. The philosophical group accepts the unity of God, but has fallen into an unfathomable pit of saying that God is too exalted to intervene in the lower spheres, thus trying to negate divine activity that they find difficult to explain. In so doing, they have falsified the Torah and [ Jewish] belief. Their [answers] lead to other questions, and each time that they overcome one, they fall into several traps of strong difficulties and great doubts. Blast them, for they inquire in realms that are beyond their comprehension, things that they will never grasp. [. . .] These two groups differ on the issue of [Divine] unity. Nevertheless, the group of philosophers is preferable to the Sabbatean sect, which mars belief in Divine unity. However, with regard to Torah and commandments, both groups are the same, as they have completely uprooted commitment to the Torah and its precepts.12

The Noda’ B’Yehudah presents the Sabbateans and the philosophers as the two greatest enemies of Jewish tradition at the end of the eighteenth century. From a historical perspective, it is doubtful that his judgment can be defended, for Sabbateanism, even if it was experiencing a revival of sorts, had already passed its peak, and was by now a mere problematic result of the traditional period 11 R. Yehezkel Landau, Derushei HaTZLAH (Warsaw, 1886), homily no. 25, 40a. 12 Ibid.

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facing its end. The “philosophers,” on the other hand, were the spokesmen of the Enlightenment period—an important component of modernity, representing the coming trend that was about to take its place on the stage of Jewish history and to change it to the point that it would be almost unrecognizable. From the perspective of the Noda’ B’Yehudah, not only did he judge these two groups with one stroke but he even showed a limited preference for the philosophers over the Sabbateans, which he viewed in the final analysis as the more dangerous of the two. The Sabbateans and the philosophers based themselves on two radically different systems of belief—the Sabbateans on the Kabbalah and the philosophers on reason. Yet, in the citation above, the Noda’ B’Yehudah ironically expressed his reservations only about reason, which he believed does not answer man’s questions but rather intensifies them. In a different section of this homily, he explains that man’s intellect is unable to perceive the truth, as the soul of man cannot even understand itself much less things that are in a higher realm.13 In contrast, he did not express explicit negation of Kabbalah. It is easy to understand why since, in his time, Kabbalah was still the prevailing theology in the traditional Jewish world, the community that he was struggling so hard to maintain and to save from turmoil. Yet, it seems that he also had some reservations about the Kabbalah. In one of his responsa, he expressed opposition to an attempt to derive Jewish law from the Zohar, and noted that “in our generation, since the heretics from the Sabbatean sect have increased, may their bones become dust, it is advisable to limit the study of the Zohar and kabbalist works.”14 On a personal note, he added: “I do not involve myself with esoteric (mystical) learning, but study that which is permitted to me.”15 This statement is very difficult to understand, especially given the fact that we are talking about an individual who was a graduate of the famous kloiz in Brody, one of the main institutions of Kabbalah studies of that time. Yet, it does stand out that the Noda’ B’Yehudah almost completely refrained from utilizing kabbalist sources in sharp contrast to the rabbis of his time, and kabbalist concepts that appear sporadically in his writings are very few and very basic, and appear to be like a delicate spice added to enhance his primary message. Even in the short c­ itation above, he briefly expressed discomfort with any investigation of “Divine ­activity,” and suggested that truth be received “from the mouths of those who 13 Ibid. 14 R. Yehezkel Landau, Responsa Noda’ B’Yehudah, Vol. 1 ( Jerusalem: publisher unknown, 1992), 74. 15 Ibid.

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receive it generation after generation, from Moses our teacher directly from the Divine presence.”16 In other words, he was apparently suggesting the adoption of traditional simple faith.17 I have found at least in one source an explicit tone of reservation with involvement in esoteric learning. In a long and important homily on the issue of faith, the Noda’ B’Yehudah repeated his criticism of the aforementioned groups, instructed that we must believe in the Divine origins of the Oral Law and its unequivocal authority, and then added: And if these sects deride us, that doesn’t bother us, for we will go in the paths of God, trodden by R. Yitzhak Alfasi, Maimonides, Rabbeinu Asher, and Tosafot, who followed the path of the Talmud and its glow, and who did not deal with esoteric learning, and were rewarded with eternal life. The essence of everything is faith.18

In the continuation of his speech, he returned to this idea and sharpened it with a nice Hebrew word play: And these words should always be before your eyes and on your hearts, and by doing so, we will merit to behold the graciousness of God, even if we learn no esoteric teachings. If only we could merit to understand the revealed [parts of the Torah, i.e., the Talmud and the Halakhah], and to fulfill the commandments of God in their simple meaning. And I say about this generation: “Man is the tree of the field” [following Deut. 20, 19], and we are wooden vessels [the Hebrew “etz” means both “tree” and “wooden”]. On wooden vessels it was said that those that are flat [also: simple] are pure (“pshuteihen tehorin”) while those that form receptacles [close to: kabbalists] are impure (“mekubaleihen temein”) by inappropriate thoughts. And due to our great transgressions, we have among us the cult of Shabbtai Tzvi, whose members transgress all the laws of the Torah.19 16 Landau, Derushaei HaTZLAH, homily no. 25, 40a, as understood from the context there. 17 Ibid. 18 Ibid, homily no. 39, 53b. 19 Ibid. In the continuation of his comments, the Noda’ B’Yehudah mentions another sect: “A sect of people that make every day into a holiday and constantly fill their bellies with all kinds of treats.” This sect is not directly related to the main concern of his homily, and it was only mentioned there in order to explain a particular verse. Regarding the identity of this sect, there is a great temptation to identify it as Hasidism, since they were often accused of such things by mitnagdim, but it seems to me that given the time and place in which the Noda’ B’Yehudah functioned, it makes more sense that he was referring to the newly

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It is difficult to miss the Noda’ B’Yehudah’s reservations of becoming involved in esoteric mystical learning and his call to limit oneself to studying the revealed parts of the Torah. In a not-too-subtle play on words, the Noda’ B’Yehudah hints to his position: “their simple ones are pure while their kabbalists are impure.”20 In other words, those who have simple faith are pure, while those who engage in the study of mysticism—or at least some of them—are impure in that they are suspect of Sabbateanism. Thus, Rabbi Yehezkel Landau expressed dissatisfaction with the then two dominant theologies of Jewish thought in his time, and became an advocate of simple, naïve faith. A similar but less explicit approach was expressed by a disciple of the Noda’ B’Yehudah, Rabbi El’azar Flekeles (1754–1826), who also stood on the front line in the twofold struggle against both Frankism and the Jewish Enlightenment. His position regarding the Enlightenment, which has been analyzed in depth by Shmuel Verses, apparently underwent an interesting change. While Flekeles demonstrated firm opposition to the Enlightenment at the end of the eighteenth century, it seems that his position moderated at the beginning of the nineteenth century, and that he was even prepared at that point to rely on Enlightenment literature in his battle against Frankism. It seems that he, like his mentor, favored the rationalist heresy to the competing Sabbatean heresy. He, too, tended to distinguish between the original Kabbalah and its interpretation by the Sabbateans, but in the final analysis, he also saw the study of Kabbalah to be a “malignant leprosy” because of the inherent concern that it might lead to Sabbateanism. He stated that “one should distance himself very, very much from this study,” and he praised the Habsburg government for ­prohibiting the study of Jewish mysticism within all of its borders.21 In one wealthy Jews that had integrated into the general bourgeoisie and denigrated the halakhic precepts. Mordechai Vilensky, Hasidim Umitnagdim, Vol. 1 ( Jerusalem: Bialik Institute, 1990), 53, 59, 63; Schochat, Im Hillufei Tekufot, 139–73; Jacob Katz, Out of the Ghetto: the Social Background of Jewish Emancipation, 177–1870 (New York: Schocken, 1978); Ferziger, “Hierarchical Judaism in Formation,” 75–160. 20 The reference is to Mishnah, Kelim 2:1 and 15:1, which states: “Vessels of wood [. . .] when they are flat [pshuteihen, also: simple]—they are clean [i.e. pure], and they form receptacles [mekableihen]—they (are susceptible of becoming) unclean.” [Mishnah Kelim 2:1, translated by J. Neusner, (New Haven, CT: Yale University Press, 1988), 895; round brackets are square in the original; see also ibid, 15:1, at 920]. The Noda’ B’Yehudah changed the word “mekableihen” to “mekubaleihen” to refer to proponents of Kabbalah (mekubalim) and, of course, removed them from their original halakhic context. 21 Regarding all of these, see Verses, Haskalah Veshabtaut, 66–73; Tishby, Mishnat HaZohar, 53; Rachel Manekin, “Galician Haskalah and the Discourse of Schwärmerei,” in Secularism in Question: Jews and Judaism in Modern Times, eds. A. Joskovick and E. B. Katz (Philadelphia:

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of his responsa, Rabbi Flekeles even wrote: “I swear by God’s Torah that the Zohar includes a number of forgeries and corruptions that they added, and that one page of the Babylonian Talmud with the casuistries of Abaye and Rava has more sanctity than the entire book of the Zohar.”22 On this issue, he relied on the well-known criticism of Rabbi Ya’akov Emden in the book Mitpahat Sefarim.23 Rabbi Flekeles did not suggest a theological alternative to Kabbalah and did not explicitly mention simple faith, but it seems that this was his intention, as his extant commentaries and discourses are written in that spirit.24 He even praised those who “sit and spend their days studying the Talmud and the laws of the Torah, upon whom a heavenly spirit is poured down.”25 Indeed, the problem presented by Rabbi Yehezkel Landau expresses very well the basic foundation of the transition to simple faith. Kabbalah-based belief had become dangerous in light of the Shabbtai Tzvi crisis, remnants of which still remained. While this might have been a historic opportunity to return to the competing philosophical, reason-based belief system, it was specifically at this juncture that philosophy was becoming a source of disbelief in the tradition. While it would have been possible to develop a new system of theology,

22

23 24

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University of Pennsylvania Press, 2015), 189-207; and Rachel Manekin, “Hasidism and the Habsburg Empire,” Jewish History 27 (2013): 271–97. In another place, Rabbi Flekeles discussed the study of Kabbalah in a respectful manner, but stipulated it on traditional conditions—for example, study of the revealed Torah to perfection before entering the study of mysticism. R. El’azar Flekeles, Hazon Lamo’ed (Prague, 1824), homily no. 2, 34a-b. R. El’azar Flekeles, Responsa Teshuvah Meahavah, vol. 1, 26. As for R. Ya’akov Emden’s critique— see Emden, Mitpahat Sefarim. Indeed, the word “swear” is used here ornamentally, as the responsum deals with laws of oath, but it does reveal R. Flekeles’s excited tone on this matter. Flekeles, Responsa Teshuvah Meahavah, vol. 1, 26. Even when discussing the kavvanot of the shofar blowing, he refrained from discussing the mystical intent and hinted that the simple intent is preferable: “Blow the shofar on Rosh Hashanah because it is the law and judgment of the King, even if you don’t know the inner meaning, the esoteric mysteries, because intent does not disqualify [the halakhic validity of] the act of blowing, particularly since the wisdom of our wise men perished, and the understanding of our prudent men has been hid [following Isaiah 29, 14] on account of our sins. So too with the sounds of the teru’ah, even though great import was attached to it, and lovely esoteric mysteries were said about it, we do not deal with these wonderful secrets, for our eyes have been darkened by our sins [. . .] and it is enough for us if we have the intent [to fulfill the will] of our Father in Heaven, may He be blessed and exalted, for he spoke and created the [commandment of] shofar.” R. El’azar Flekeles, Hazon Lamo’ed, homily no. 2, 31a, 33a, 34a-b. Flekeles writes in praise of those who deal with Halakhah and not with exegesis of Aggadah and of esoteric lore. R. El’azar Flekeles, ’Olat Hodesh Harevi’i (Brooklyn: Goldenberg Press, 1992), Introduction, 18a–19a, 31a.

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as was done in other places (which we will discuss further on), this would have required a lengthy process and was not the predilection of Rabbis Landau and Flekeles, who were first and foremost halakhists. As such, they preferred to express reservations about theology in general and to turn to simple faith. In the works of Rabbi Moshe Sofer (the Hatam Sofer, 1762–1839), we find a similar approach to that of Rabbis Landau and Flekeles, but different from a number of perspectives. The Hatam Sofer was part of the struggle against Reform in the generation after the Noda’ B’Yehudah and, in a sense, represented a new prototype of reaction to modernity. The Noda’ B’Yehudah dealt with the early stages of the Jewish Enlightenment, a period in which the movement had not yet formulated a systematic platform of halakhic change and in which the number of its proponents who had cast off the tradition was limited. Accordingly, his response was pointed, as was characteristic of the halakhic authorities of the traditional, pre-modern period. In contrast, the Hatam Sofer already perceived that the forces he faced were mounting a comprehensive front, which, he concluded, had to be met with a similarly comprehensive counter-strategy. As such, he disagreed with some of the lenient halakhic rulings of the Noda’ B’Yehudah that were related to problems posed by modernity, such as the permission to shave on hol hamo’ed (the intermediate days of the festivals), the permission to hire a non-Jew to work in one’s store on the Sabbath, and others.26 It seems that the Hatam Sofer adopted a fundamentally negative attitude toward philosophy. Although he was more open to the sciences, attempts to explain the foundations of being by means of human reason were illegitimate in his eyes.27 Nevertheless, in a completely unexpected statement, he permitted the study of “the discipline of philosophy” in order to “know what to answer to a heretic,” on condition that the learner be immune from the start to being harmed (“that he be protected from any bad consequences”) and that his study be “from those books in which for every argument there is an adjacent refutation.”28 Thus, it is very clear that this permit only allows the 26 See his well-known responsum, cited by R. Tzvi Hirsh Chajes, Darkhei Horaah (Zolkiew, 1843), 6. The fact that differences in rulings on these questions touch on the different approaches to deviation from religion is well demonstrated in the words of the Hatam Sofer there. 27 Meir Hildesheimer, “The German Language and Secular Studies: Attitudes towards Them in the Thought of the Hatam Sofer and His Disciples,” PAAJR 60 (1994), 129–63; Eliezer Katz, HeHatam Sofer ( Jerusalem: Mosad Harav Kook, 1960), 101–12; Jacob Katz, Halakhah VeKabbalah ( Jerusalem: Magnes, 1986), 379; Moshe Samet, Hehadash Asur Min HaTorah ( Jerusalem: Dinur Center, 2005), 311–13. 28 R. Moshe Sofer, Hatam Sofer al HaTorah (Bnei Brak, publisher unknown, 1882), Ki Tetze, 97.

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study of ­philosophy for apologetic purposes and includes no recognition of philosophy as a source of religious truth. On the other hand, the question of the Hatam Sofer’s attitude toward Kabbalah requires clarification. Eliezer Katz wrote that he was “an enthusiastic student of kabbalist wisdom” and that its metaphysical outlook influenced him “to the extent that he often abandoned rational thought and reason in order to submit to the power of esoteric wisdom.”29 Jacob Katz, however, was more ambivalent on this issue. On one hand, he argued that the Hatam Sofer was definitely influenced by his mystic teacher, Rabbi Natan Adler (1741–1800). On the other hand, he claimed that the Hatam Sofer’s articulated religious consciousness was formulated primarily from other sources and “did not include conceptual content that would be characterized as kabbalist.”30 Although he had knowledge of the doctrines of Kabbalah (which he tried to conceal), one cannot conclude from this that he studied it on a regular basis. In any case, Jacob Katz argued, it is clear that the Hatam Sofer believed in the truth and sanctity of the kabbalist doctrine and that he always espoused the concept of the theurgical influence of properly performed commandments on the upper worlds.31 Nevertheless, it is important to note that he almost completely refrained from incorporating kabbalist sources in his halakhic and exegetical writings, and even expressed reservations about doing so whenever the possibility arose.32

29 E. Katz, HeHatam Sofer, 63. 30 Jacob Katz, Halakhah VeKabbalah, 372–74. Eliezer Katz’s opinion is different on this matter as well. He holds that “the Hatam Sofer never hesitated to use kabbalistic sources in his homiletic and halakhic works.” E. Katz, HeHatam Sofer, 63. 31 Jacob Katz, Halakhah VeKabbalah, 372–74. 32 Jacob Katz’s assessment is strengthened by sources of which he was not aware. Recently, Strasser and Perl collected statements of the Hatam Sofer from various sources and arranged them topically. From the chapter dealing with Kabbalah, it is clear that the Hatam Sofer refrained from integrating Kabbalah into Halakhah and that he frequently emphasized that “we do not deal with esoteric teachings.” Only seldom did he disclose a small measure of “that which was revealed to us from the secret of God to those who fear Him.” Yehudah Strasser and Aharon Perl, Rabbeinu HaHatam Sofer Mippi Ketavo ( Jerusalem: Shem MiShmuel Institute, 1993), 112-15. See also, R. Moshe Sofer, Derashot HaHatam Sofer, vol. 1 (Siret: Friedman Press, 1929), 1, 142d. There he establishes that “the Holy Torah is comprised completely of holy names, and the obscured and hidden elements within it are that the esoteric is more holy than the revealed.” In his words, the external acts described in the Torah reflect the “inner realm of the Torah,” and we should aspire to understand this, “and one’s eyes should not be heaven forbid blocked from seeing and be tempted to say that the outward dress is the essence, the simple meaning and not what is within it.” These are indeed surprising remarks from one who dedicated most of his efforts to the area of Halakhah.

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The Hatam Sofer expressed respect for Kabbalah and even belief in its content, but at the same time advocated avoidance of active involvement with it. I have not found that he offered an explanation of his reservations with the study of the obscure doctrines of the Kabbalah, but it seems that his concerns flowed from traditional apprehension for revealing esoteric teachings rather than a fear of Sabbateanism. It is also possible that he began to entertain critical thoughts about Kabbalah (that he was not anxious to reveal), as we find at least one instance that he raised doubts about a kabbalist argument of the venerated Rabbi Isaac Luria (HaARI, 1534–1572).33 In any case, his position constituted an additional layer of distancing from the Kabbalah as the prevailing theology, particularly coming as it did from the influential Hungarian “father of Orthodoxy.” Since Jewish philosophy was not an acceptable replacement for Kabbalah in the eyes of the Hatam Sofer, his path to simple faith was paved. Yet, here too, we find that his attitude was not unequivocal, and his writings include conflicting statements. For example, in one statement, he established the following: The Torah and faith have been transmitted to us. Nevertheless, if one wants to seek the truth of Divine unity and the rationales of the commandments—blessed be he, but only if he does not do it as a skeptic but rather as one who is commanded, and whose faith will not budge from its place in the face of a thousand questions.34

This statement is consistent with his previously cited comments that required the study of philosophy for apologetic purposes. Nevertheless, in another source, he demonstrated sweeping opposition to inquiry in the area of faith: A person is required to enquire and delve in depth to the Torah and its commandments—what, how, how many, and all other aspects—and to debate at length and put great effort into Torah study, but not in matters of faith. We may not investigate [faith] in depth, but rather just believe that it is true and accept what we have received from our fathers. Those who delve in this area reach disgraceful degrees . . . And this is the meaning of 33 Iris Brown (Hoizman), “Rabbi Hayim MiSanz: Darkhei Pesikato al Reka’ ’Olamo Hara’ayoni Veetgarei Zemano,” PhD diss., Bar Ilan University, 2004, 167–68. From this analysis, we learn that the Hatam Sofer actually disputes the ARI’s argument about the twelve gates that there are in Heaven, against the twelve tribes of Israel, through which the prayers of the Jews go up. 34 R. Moshe Sofer, Torat Moshe al HaTorah ( Jerusalem: Hatam Sofer Institute, 1972), Shemot, 9.

The Comeback of “Simple Faith”    Part Two “That ye seek not after your own heart” [Num. 15, 39], and this is what was stated: “And these words, which I command thee this day, shall be in thine heart” [Deut. 6, 6]. And you shall not turn after this, nor after your eyes—after the things that your eyes have seen. Do not turn after them, but believe and accept the yoke of the commandments of God, may His name be blessed.”35

Note that in the prior citation, the Hatam Sofer argued that inquiry into the foundations of the Torah is in itself a commandment (in contrast to the study of its distorted forms), while here he presented it as a prohibition! I cannot reconcile this contradiction other than by viewing it as a change that took place in his worldview on this issue. There is no way of knowing which teaching came first and which second. Nevertheless, it seems that in the source that expressed a greater degree of openness to inquiry, the Hatam Sofer tried to make it very clear that the purpose of the study is not to discover the truth, but rather to broaden and deepen the truth that was from the start undeniable. This truth itself is not obtained through inquiry, but seemingly through simple faith. The Hungarian ultra-Orthodox tradition that was handed down for generations in the name of the Hatam Sofer clearly emphasized the value of simple faith and manifested sweeping reservations about in-depth study of faith.36 Thus, three of the most prominent halakhic authorities in Central Europe during the transitional period from traditional Judaism to Orthodoxy adopted 35 Hatam Sofer al HaTorah, Bamidbar, 63. 36 It is important to note here that the disciple of the Hatam Sofer, R. Moshe (Maharam) Schick, did not express unequivocal positions on these matters even though his tendency toward simple faith is clear. On this point, I rely primarily on the manner in which he related to the issue in his commentary on the Ethics of the Fathers, a work that includes pearls of interesting thought, and that has not received the attention due it. On the one hand, Maharam Schick recognized that “it is very good for a person to recognize God through his own intellect, as did Abraham our Forefather.” Yet, “the loss is greater than the gain, for the inquiry at times leads to heresy.” He reached the conclusion that it is incumbent on a person to learn Torah through perfect and simple faith, by which “he will be a sin-fearing individual,” and will then be able to engage in inquiry without it leading to heresy, and will thus easily find the truth though his inquiry and will verify that the words of the Prophets are forthright and correct.” Nevertheless, in another place, he adopted the argument characteristic of the middle ages (primarily associated with Rav Sa’adia (Gaon)) that the Torah is essentially a shortcut to the truth—“and therefore whoever toils on [philosophical] inquiry toils in vain, since the Torah will lead him easily to his desired outcome.” In a third place, he expressed doubts whether a person is capable of delving to a deep understanding of the Torah on theological matters. Furthermore, he asserted that the best corrective means against the evil inclination is “belief without any rationalization.” R. Moshe Schick, Maharam Schick al Masekhet Avot ( Jerusalem: Bnei Moshe Institute, 1993), 2:5, 2:14, 3:7.

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essentially cautious positions not only regarding rationalist study but also regarding the study of Kabbalah, and recommended—to differing degrees— simple faith, devoid of inquiry and analysis.

Russian and Polish Jewry: The Hasidic Camp While Central European Jewry contended with the “out of the ghetto” process, Eastern European Jewry dealt with the rise of Hasidism and its implications. Hasidism was generally perceived as a movement that raised the banner of simple faith, and rightfully so. Yet, it seems that this trend was a relatively late development in the history of the movement and that it was not self-evident. In later Hasidic literature as well as in popular Hasidic literature, the Ba’al Shem Tov was portrayed as the paradigm of common simplicity. A number of scholars have already questioned these characterizations,37 and it seems that there are grounds to examine them anew from the perspective of the issue of faith. The Ba’al Shem Tov, consistent with his accepted image, is described as the exemplar of simple faith. The most profound expression of this is found in the tradition of R. Avraham of Slonim (1803–1883), who recounted statements that he heard in the name of the Ba’al Shem Tov from R. Mordecai of Lekhovitch and his son, R. Noah of Lekhovitch: And I heard from the tzaddik R. Noah [. . .], that the Ba’al Shem Tov said as follows to his disciples: “After all of my understandings of the roots of the Torah in the upper realm and after all of the enjoyment of my understandings, I leave aside all of my understandings38 and hold onto simple faith— I am a fool in faith.”39 [. . .] And my mentor and teacher, R. Mordechai [. . .] said that the Ba’al Shem Tov [. . .] also interpreted as ­follows: Even though Scripture says: “The simple believeth every word”—Scripture also says: “The Lord preserveth the simple.”40 37 Murray Jay (Moshe) Rosman, Founder of Hasidism: A Quest for the Historical Ba’al Shem Tov (Oxford: Littman Library of Jewish Civilization, 2013); Immanuel Etkes, The Besht: Magician, Mystic, and Leader (Waltham: Brandeis University Press, 2005). 38 The word “hashgahotai” [“my providences”] appears in the original source, but the editor justifiably amended it to “hasagotai” [“my understandings”]. 39 The more prevalent translation is “I am a fool and believe,” which is consistent with the Yiddish “un gloib.” However, if the reading is actually “in gloib,” then it should be translated as “I am a fool in faith.” 40 R. Avraham Weinberg of Slonim (the First), Yesod Ha’avodah ( Jerusalem: Yeshivat Beit Avraham, 1989; reprint of Warsaw, 1892), Part 2 (letters), letter no. 24, 50–51. The Hebrew word “‫ ”פתי‬should be better translated as “fool.”

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R. Avraham of Slonim (whose interesting approach to faith and that of his aforementioned teachers will be discussed later) brought these comments as the basis of his position that faith must be “without inquiry, heaven forbid.”41 However, he lived five generations after the Ba’al Shem Tov, and it seems that this conclusion is not only inconsistent with the opinion of the founder of Hasidism, but also distorts the statement quoted in his name. Another source that is more credible and closer to the time of the Ba’al Shem Tov, written by his grandson, R. Moshe Hayim Ephraim of Sedilkov (c.1742–1800), cites the Ba’al Shem Tov differently: My master and grandfather [. . .] said regarding the statement in the Gemara [Midrash Eichah Petihta 2]: “Would that they would abandon Me and observe My Torah”—that there are two types of people: One decides: “Having heard that God is infinite, as it were, why should I inquire about Him?” He believes without study and inquiry, which is not the path in which light resides. Yet, there is a second type who only believes on the basis of study and inquiry—i.e. through study of the Torah—as was written by King David of blessed memory (Chronicles I 28:9): “Know the God of your father, and serve Him”—first know Him and then serve Him. After one learns the Torah and recognizes through the Torah the greatness of the Creator, [. . . and] that He is infinite, then he should abandon further study and inquiry to understand the matter of divinity altogether, because of fear of the loftiness of the infinite being [. . .]. For [now] he has comprehended that He is infinite, and who can [stand in] the place of the infinite?!, etc. This is the meaning of their statement: “Would that they would abandon Me and observe My Torah”—that they should abandon efforts to understand the divine, and “observe My Torah”—i.e., by means of Torah study they should initially comprehend a bit of the greatness of the Creator, may He be blessed, and then abandon any further inquiry out of fear of His loftiness. However, he should not believe immediately, for about this it is written: “The simple believeth [every word].”42

R. Moshe Hayim Ephraim goes on to describe three typologies reflected in the personalities of the forefathers, Abraham, Isaac, and Jacob. Abraham 41 Ibid, 50. 42 R. Moshe Hayim Ephraim of Sedilkov, Degel Mahane Ephraim ( Jerusalem, unknown publisher, 1986), Lekh Lekha, 8a–8b.

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represents the aspiration to know God through unlimited inquiry, which is a dangerous approach “because the expansive inquiry may lead to a forbidden place”43; Isaac represents a person “who does not want to study or inquire at all,” which, in his opinion, “is also not good.”44; Jacob represents the “middle road, as was written in the name of my master and grandfather, may his soul be in Eden and his memory ensure life in the world to come, who investigates the Creator and from that understands what places are forbidden to investigate and what places are permitted.”45 It is needless to point out that this tradition brings down the words of the Ba’al Shem Tov differently than did R. Avraham of Slonim and derives from them a categorically contradictory conclusion. While R. Avraham of Slonim cited the words of the Ba’al Shem Tov as a proof that faith “without inquiry, heaven forbid” is preferable, R. Moshe Hayim Ephraim contended that his grandfather established that “this [faith without inquiry] is not the path in which light will reside.” It is plausible to assume that these two traditions are two alternative readings of the same original source, for not only do they deal with exactly the same topic, but they also make use of the same verse—“The simple believeth every word” (Proverbs 14:15). Note, however, that while R. Moshe Hayim Ephraim of Sedilkov understands this verse in its plain, derogatory sense, R. Avraham of Slonim interprets it in a positive light, since “the Lord preserveth the simple.” The greater credibility of the tradition of R. Moshe Hayim Ephraim of Sedilkov relative to that of R. Avraham of Slonim is supported not only by its closer proximity to the time of the Ba’al Shem Tov and the family relationship of its author to the founder of Hasidism but also by other similar accounts in Hasidic literature, particularly in the works of R. Ya’akov Yosef of Polna (c.1710–1781). At the beginning of his book, Ben Porat Yosef, R. Ya’akov Yosef also cites the opinion of the Ba’al Shem Tov regarding his understanding of the aforementioned rabbinic statement—“Would that they would abandon Me and observe My Torah”: I heard in the name of my teacher an explanation of the midrash “Would that they would abandon Me and observe My Torah.” [. . .] He further explained that the ultimate knowledge is that we will not know. Yet, there are two types of “not knowing”: One is immediate—not trying to inquire 43 Ibid. 44 Ibid., 8b. 45 Ibid.

The Comeback of “Simple Faith”    Part Two and to know since it is impossible to know. The second is inquiring and investigating up to the point that one understands that it is impossible to know. And the difference between the two is that although both want to know the King, one enters the rooms of the King and enjoys the treasures and halls of the King even though he subsequently cannot know the King, while the second presumes that since he cannot know the King, he does not enter the rooms of the King. Through this, we can certainly understand the two aforementioned types: “Would that they would abandon Me”—i.e., abandon [the path of] knowing [Me], for it is impossible; nevertheless, would that they would abandon Me through inquiry and knowledge, after they have “observed My Torah.” These are the words of the kabbalist.46

The argument of some thinkers that this approach was fine for earlier generations but not applicable to the inferior more contemporary generations is contradicted by the teachings of the Ba’al Shem Tov as recorded by R. Ya’akov Yosef. According to him, the Ba’al Shem Tov asked “why in earlier generations religious thinkers believed in the eternity a parte ante of the world, while now, they believe that God, may He be blessed, is one, unique and unified?”47 In his answer, which stands in stark contradiction to the traditional idea of “the decline of generations,” he established that our generations are particularly more capable of inquiring into the Divine realm than were previous generations, because in the days of the early thinkers, “the murkiness of earthy matter [. . .] was much greater than today.”48 The Ba’al Shem Tov did not clarify the nature of this “inquiry” that he advocated, but it is clear that he referred not to a rationalist inquiry but rather to a study of the Jewish mystical works of Kabbalah. It is very likely that the Ba’al Shem Tov was not referring only to theoretical study but to study “with a sense of fear [of God] and love [of God]”—that is, study accompanied by a religious experience, mystical or quasi-mystical. This assumption is plausible based on 46 R. Ya’akov Yosef of Polna, Ben Porat Yosef (Koretz, publisher unknown, 1781), first page (unpaginated). The last phrase, which actually serves as “unquote,” is a word play based on Ecclesiastes 10:12. A perfunctory reading might lead to a more far-reaching and radical interpretation—as if God prefers one who abandons him as a result of inquiry over one who observes his Torah without inquiry. A more precise reading, however, teaches that one who “abandons me” refers to one who abandons the inquiry of the divine, and not one who abandons God himself. 47 R. Ya’akov Yosef of Polna, Toldot Ya’akov Yosef, vol. 1, Vayeshev 6 ( Jerusalem: Agudat Hasidei Vielipoli, 1973), 109. 48 Ibid.

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what we know about the Ba’al Shem Tov’s general approach to Torah study as learned both from hagiographic descriptions of his method of learning works of Kabbalah and from a long series of quotes attributed to him in which faith is associated with “devekut” (often translated as communion with God)—“faith in God, may He be blessed, is devekut.”49 These statements in actuality contribute less to our understanding, since the nature of the devekut to which the Ba’al Shem Tov refers is not clear—a subjective religious experience or an “objective” status in which the believer achieves a high level regardless of his state of consciousness.50 And in the final analysis, it also seems that the above quote from R. Avraham of Slonim that discusses the Ba’al Shem Tov’s achievements regarding “the roots of the Torah” hints at experiential mystical achievements. In any case, if my assessment is correct that we are indeed talking here about “inquiry” accompanied by a religious experience, then the intellectual faith of the Ba’al Shem Tov reflects an additional dimension (even if not altogether innovative). Regardless, in all of the quotes attributed to the Ba’al Shem Tov in the first and second generations of Hasidism, we find not a word of praise for naïve and simple faith. In addition to the Ba’al Shem Tov, we find that a similar approach was advocated by a number of his most prominent disciples. Rabbi Ya’akov Yosef of Polna himself promoted this approach, arguing explicitly that “faith is k­ nowledge and understanding.”51 In addition to his previously mentioned citation of the Ba’al Shem Tov, R. Ya’akov Yosef also quoted R. Moses Alshekh52 and R. Ephraim 49 For the Ba’al Shem Tov’s approach to Torah study, see Joseph Weiss, Studies in Eastern European Jewish Mysticism (Oxford: Littman Library of Jewish Civilization, 1985), 69–83; Weiss, “Talmud Torah Leshitat R. Yisrael Ba’al Shem Tov,” Tiferet Yisrael—Rabbi Israel Brody Jubilee Volume, eds. Z. J. Zimmeks et al. (London: Soncino Press, 1967), 151–69; and R. Dov Ber of Linitz, In Praise of the Ba’al Shem Tov, trans. & eds. D. Ben Amos and J. R. Mintz (Bloomington, IN: Indiana University Press, 1970), 83–84, 244. For his identification of faith and devekut, see Ya’akov Yosef of Polna, Toldot Ya’akov Yosef, vol. 1, Vayishlah, 97; Yitro, 186; vol. 2, Shelah, 489; Korah, 526; Ki Tavo, 711; Ya’akov Yosef of Polna, Ben Porat Yosef, 6c, 20c, 38a; R. Ya’akov Yosef of Polna, Ketonet Pasim, ed. G. Nigal ( Jerusalem: Peri Haaretz Institute, 1985), 208, 323. 50 Piekarz has already discussed the different meanings of the concept of devekut in early Hasidism. Mendel Piekarz, “Hasidism as a Social-Religious Movement on the Evidence of Devekut,” Hasidism Reappraised, ed. A. Rapoport-Albert (London: Littman Library, 1996), 229–30. We can add another meaning with roots in early Hasidism that became a central concept in later Hasidic literature—the “ontological” devekut, in Garb’s terminology, that exist in the abstract level and is not necessarily revealed in a human experience. Jonathan Garb, “Al mekubalei Prag vehashpa’atam ledorot,” Kabbalah: Journal for the Study of Jewish Mystical Texts, 14 (2006): 347–83, at 366. 51 Ben Porat Yosef, 6d. 52 Toldot Ya’akov Yosef, vol. 1, Tazria’, 307.

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of Luntschitz,53 who both supported the approach that favored “inquiry.” All of the evidence also points to the fact that the Maggid of Mezeritch advocated intellectual faith similar to that espoused by the Ba’al Shem Tov. In some of his discourses, the Maggid differentiated between worship of God on the level of “love and fear” and worship on the level of “faith.” Although love and fear are emotions, they flow from an understanding of the Divine, which, according to the Maggid, is “a very high level, because by that [understanding] one knows the inner essence of all things.”54 In contrast, faith, which here is the equivalent of simple faith, is on the level of “one who does not possess the knowledge of inner essences and only acts on the basis of faith, which is a low level.”55 Anyone who is familiar with Hasidic literature knows how abundant it is with calls to worship God with “fear and love” (yirah veahavah or dehilu urehimu). There is no doubt that the Maggid saw this high level of worship as a worthy aspiration that one should try to attain. In another place, he explained: We love Him because we believe in Him, and that belief is based on intellect which enables us to understand that there is a ruler who guides the world. That is why the intellect is called a “faithful shepherd,” for it nurtures faith, and when the intellect is employed, it brings with it love [of God], fear [of God], and mercy.56

However, in yet another source, the Maggid claimed that there is an even higher level, “where achieving knowledge of God, may He be blessed, escapes him, and the more man serves God out of greater concealment—the more He appreciates that service.”57 However, from the broader context it appears that here too the Maggid is talking about the same level that the Ba’al Shem Tov discussed, which is the level at which the intellect has been exhausted and can comprehend no more, and all that remains is faith. Thus, the early leaders of Hasidism from the first and second generations demonstrated a clear tendency toward intellectual faith. When and how, then, did simple faith rise up in the world of Hasidism? It seems that we can more or less establish the time and place that this occurred as the third generation of 53 R. Ya’akov Yosef of Polna, Ketonet Pasim, Vayikra, 3. 54 R. Dov Ber of Mezeritch, Or Torah (Brooklyn: Kehos, 1986), article 341, 182; article 301, 169. 55 Ibid. 56 R. Dov Ber of Mezeritch, Or Torah, article 360, 184–85. 57 R. Dov Ber of Mezeritch, Or Torah, article 378, 192.

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Hasidism in the region of White Russia. This is the point at which Hasidism became a mass movement, and encountered the substantial opposition of the Misnagdim. First and foremost among the opponents of intellectual faith in the third generation was apparently R. Menahem Mendel of Vitebsk (1730–1788). His well-known book, Peri Haaretz, includes a large number of references to faith, including a number that oppose comprehending the Divine by human reason. The frequency and consistency of these expressions leaves no doubt that they represent a systematic view and not just homiletic associations. He practically did not mention the term “simple faith,” but he often spoke about the fact that ideal faith goes beyond “rational” comprehension.58 He compared “excessive comprehension”—meaning “use of the reason without involvement with the commandments”—to a flood; in this manner, he explained the sin of the Biblical generation of the flood.59 In contrast, he viewed Noah’s primary attribute as being “righteous in his faith without any theoretical comprehension.”60 The image of Abraham, who was portrayed in the Midrash as having recognized God at an early age through rational inquiry, was more difficult for him to explain, but R. Menahem Mendel even portrayed him as one who achieved the highest level of intellectual attainment but in the final analysis recognized its worthlessness as compared to the highest level of attainment that is well beyond any “rationale.”61 This, he held, was also the virtue of King Solomon and apparently also that of the Maccabees.62 To some degree, this position is reminiscent of the position of the Ba’al Shem Tov as quoted by R. Ya’akov Yosef and R. Moshe Hayim Ephraim of Sedilkov, except that the Ba’al Shem Tov stressed the importance of intellectual attainment in the process of getting to the more transcendent level, while R. Menahem Mendel presented the element of intellectual attainment as superfluous. This difference, however, is not small. In a number of sources, he established that the experience of devekut is the highest level of attainment and, in a series of fascinating sources, he pointed out that there is a conflict between 58 R. Menahem Mendel of Vitebsk, Peri Haaretz ( Jerusalem: Hamesorah, 1989), Noah, 16; Lekh-Lekha, 17–19; Vayera, 19–21; Hayei Sarah, 22–23; Miketz, 34–36; Beshalah, 54–55; Tetzaveh, 62–63; Vayak’hel-Pekudei, 69; Kedoshim, 79; Devarim, 106–7; Ki Tetze, 127; Homily for Shabbat Teshuvah, 136; Homily for Sukkot, 137–38. 59 R. Menahem Mendel of Vitebsk, Peri Haaretz, 16. 60 Ibid., 17. 61 Ibid., 18, 20. 62 Regarding King Solomon - ibid., 79; regarding the Maccabees - ibid., 36.

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devekut and intellectual comprehension. Devekut, he argued, is the ultimate unification with the Divine, and it requires transcending all earthly factors that prevent a person from ascending—first and foremost his personal character traits (“middot”). Achieving devekut is thus: Taking off one’s personal attributes [. . .] in order to cling to their roots without any [emotional] separation [such as] love [of God] or any other attribute or any rational explanation—just a strong [clinging] without any rationalization [. . .]. And he connects himself 63 to his roots [. . .] and that is the love that never ceases—i.e., complete devekut without any rationalization at all—in which right and left are unified together.64

The recurring emphasis is that the search for rational explanations is a need related to human character (apparently designed to “make sense” of abstract concepts) that undermines the process of devekut. In another source, R. Menahem Mendel explained that rational explanation creates a separation between man and God, while faith without rationalization is the power that enables man to overcome that separation. Therefore, in R. Menahem Mendel’s opinion, “this type of faith must be bestowed solely by God without any intervening elements.”65 He believed this level of faith to be the ultimate wisdom— wisdom that comes from the attribute of “self-annihilation”—that is, from “a complete void without any rationale.”66 The “rationale” (ta’am) that is mentioned here is apparently connected to speculation regarding the reasons for the commandments (“ta’amei hamitzvot”).67 From the perspective of R. Menahem Mendel, this type of ­rationalization causes a limitation within the Divine infinity. As he expressed it, Adam was an upright person before he sinned, but after the sin, “his intellect 63 The word must be “mithaber” (connect oneself) and not “mithabet” (have strong deliberations), even though this typographical mistake already appears in the 1880 edition of 'Etz Peri, from which this text was taken. 64 Ibid., 127. Right and left symbolize two main features of divine attributes, hesed (loving kindness) and din (judgment). 65 His discussion of Lekh-Lekha, was all written in the same spirit. Ibid., 19–21. 66 Ibid., 18. 67 In one source, R. Menahem Mendel critiques Maimonides, who claimed that the rationale of the commandment of circumcision is to overcome one’s temptations. Maimonides, A Guide for the Perplexed, 3:49. R. Menahem Mendel noted that “he [Maimonides] uttered from his holy lips truths of the highest order, even though he did not mean them,” for the ultimate method of overcoming temptation is achieving faith that transcends all reason.

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was materialized” and consequently “what the intellect is capable of comprehending is [only] the material world.”68 Devekut, which endeavors to transcend the constraints of the material world in quest of divine infinity, connects all of the limited realities (“right and left”) into one mystical unity in which a person perceives that all rationales are false. The true rationale—which is perceived only in the experience of the Infinite—cannot be comprehended, and the mystic is therefore incapable of expressing it within the accepted framework of human reason. R. Menahem Mendel described the feelings of a person who has achieved devekut and then returns to his normal state, unable to articulate what he has experienced, and even more so to translate it into rational concepts: Right after devekut is gone, it is impossible for the person [who experienced it] to put it into any framework of human intellect to know or comprehend anything. For it is the outcome of complete devekut, that the [the separation between] the thinker and the thought is not cognizable at all, only the intellect knows itself at the time of the action [of devekut]. After separating, there is no memory of what transpired earlier other than the impression [. . .] left by all spirituality after separation and removal. And that [impression] is faith beyond reason and rationalization, that transcends the intellect and lacks any rationale, and its nature is that of a consuming fire that destroys everything and cannot be extinguished [even] by a river. 69

Pure and naïve faith is therefore what remains after the mystical experience. R. Menahem Mendel hinted that even a believer who himself has not experienced a mystical encounter can perceive these things on some level of his persona (“even though he did not see, his heavenly agent— mazal—saw”).70 Faith is what remains for the person who has achieved devekut after he is no longer communing with the Divine. In another place, R. Menahem Mendel explained that if a person were involved in an everlasting mystical experience, he would lose his free will and consequently his reward. Man is therefore born with i­ nternal forces that work against his ascent and bring about his fall from devekut when it has been achieved.71 68 69 70 71

R. Menahem Mendel of Vitebsk, Peri Haaretz, 128. Ibid., 127. Ibid. Based on BT Megillah 3a. The “fall” mentioned here is not merely a notion of spiritual decline but rather a severe emotional condition that brings a person to lose his way, and at times even to wandering and similar results. The meaning of this term is still in need of fundamental research. Currently,

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This fall could topple him completely were it not for faith that saves him. This faith—once again—is “the great and simple faith without rationalization or reason at all,” and therefore, “it seems appropriate to vigorously strengthen oneself in the great and simple faith.”72 R. Menahem Mendel of Vitebsk was apparently the most prominent and central tzaddik in White Russia. When he immigrated to the Land of Israel as the head of a group of Hasidim in 1777 along with R. Avraham Kalisker (1741–1810), he left behind a big vacuum. As Immanuel Etkes demonstrated, R. Menahem Mendel hoped that he would be able to continue to lead White Russian Hasidism from a distance, but when this proved impossible to implement, his place was filled by R. Shneur Zalman of Lyadi (1745–1812).73 The Hasidic historian R. Avraham Abbish Shor added an additional layer to this research when he demonstrated that R. Shlomo of Karlin (1738–1792), the disciple of R. Aaron the Great of Karlin and one of the leaders of Lithuanian Hasidism, was also seen as a potential candidate for the leadership of White Russian Hasidism, and the possibility that he would succeed R. Menahem Mendel was not at all implausible.74 The approach of Karlin Hasidism is significantly different than that of Habad from several perspectives, one of them, as we will see further on, in its advocacy of simple faith.75 R. Shneur Zalman’s strong hold on the throne of Hasidic leadership, which was supported by R. Menahem Mendel, undermined the possibility that R. Shlomo would gain leadership in that region.76 Thus, Habad Hasidism won the hegemony in this most influential area of the Hasidic movement.

see the fascinating belletristic interpretation of Fichel Schneerson in his novel Hayim Gravitzer. I’m grateful to my friend Aryeh Stern for this reference. Fichel Schneerson, Hayim Gravitzer (Tel Aviv: Tzioni, 1956). 72 R. Menahem Mendel of Vitebsk, Peri Haaretz, 19–21. 73 Immanuel Etkes, Rabbi Shneur Zalman of Liady: The Origins of Chabad Hasidism (Waltham, MA: Brandeis University Press, 2014), 921. 74 On this topic in general, see Shor’s series of articles: Avraham Abbish Shor, “Hashpa’ato shel Maran Hakadosh Rabbi Shlomo MiKarlin [. . .] BeRussia Halevanah (Reissen),” Kovetz Beit Aharon VeYisrael 43 (Tishrei-Heshvan, 5753): 169–76; cont., Kovetz Beit Aharon VeYisrael 44 (Kislev-Tevet, 5753): 133–40; cont., Kovetz Beit Aharon VeYisrael 45 (Shevat-Adar, 5753): 135–45; cont., Kovetz Beit Aharon VeYisrael 46 (Nissan-Iyar, 5753): 156–66. It is worth noting that not all of Shor’s sources meet the standards of critical research, but it seems that his general argument is well founded. 75 Shor, “Hashpa’ato” Kovetz Beit Aharon VeYisrael 46 (Nissan-Iyar, 5753): 162–65. Here, too, it should be noted that some of the sources that he cites are late and anachronistic. 76 Shor, “Hashpa’ato” Kovetz Beit Aharon VeYisrael 45 (Shevat-Adar, 5753): 136–39.

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R. Shneur Zalman’s doctrine on the question of faith is well known.77 In chapter 3 of his book Tanya, which is rightfully considered the manifesto of Habad Hasidism, he expounded the foundation of his worldview as follows: The forces of the soul of man are built in parallel to the Divine forces in the upper realms. Just as in the upper realms, the Divine light emanates from top down, from the intellectual sefirot (hokhmah, binah, da’at—wisdom, understanding, and knowledge) to the seven lower sefirot (hesed, gevurah, tiferet— loving kindness, strength, splendor, etc.); so, too, the soul of man requires that worship of God begins with the “intellectual” forces and descends to the more emotional “attributes” (or character traits). Wisdom absorbs the data, understanding develops them, and knowledge brings them to full internalization within the human soul (“one binds his mind with a very firm and strong bond to, and firmly fixes his thought on, the greatness of the blessed En Sof [=the Infinite], without diverting his mind [from Him]”). Only when a person perceives the greatness of God through his wisdom, develops it through his understanding, and internalizes it through his knowledge, can he truly achieve the requisite emotions for service of God. First he comes to fear and shame that awaken in him the feeling of awe (“fear of God”)—parallel to the attribute of strength in the upper realms—while after that “his heart will glow with an intense love, like burning coals, with a passion, desire and longing, and a yearning soul, towards the greatness of the blessed En Sof.”78 This love is the parallel of the attribute of grace in the upper realms. The author of the Tanya emphasized that “knowledge” here has a very important function, causing wisdom and understanding to influence fear and love and shaping them in light of the correct intellectual achievement. Were it not for knowledge, one would not “produce in his soul true love and fear, but only vain fancies.”79 Love and fear, both of which are fundamental to the Hasidic ethos, cannot be achieved by a “bottom up” emotional boost but rather by a process in which the intellect influences the emotion from the “top down.” 77 Moshe Hallamish, “Mishnato Ha’iyunit he Rabbi Shneur Zalman MiLadi,” PhD diss., Hebrew University of Jerusalem, 1976; Rachel Elior, Torat Ahdut Hahafakhim: Hatheosophia hamystit shel Habad ( Jerusalem: Mosad Bialik, 1993), 35–40; Naftali Loewenthal, Communicating the Infinite (Chicago: Chicago University Press, 1990), 74–77, 173–74; Naftali Loewenthal, “Reason and Beyond Reason in Habad Hasidism,” in Alei Shefer, ed. Moshe Hallamish, 109–26 (Ramat-Gan: Bar Ilan University Press, 1990). 78 R. Shneur Zalman of Lyadi, Tanya, part 1, chapter 3, accessed May 30, 2017, http://www. chabad.org/library/tanya/tanya_cdo/aid/1028876/jewish/Chapter-3.htm 79 Ibid.

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Needless to say, this approach gives clear and absolute expression to the ideal of intellectual faith. As I noted above, the concept of the “intellect” here does not refer to direct rational explanation of the world, as in the rationalist formulation, but rather to intellectual engagement with religious texts from which we learn about the world.80 Yet, at the same time, it does not refer to the standard accepted conception of intellectual learning. R. Shneur Zalman did not instruct his Hasidim to be kabbalists or to toil over kabbalist texts but to study the “Hasidic doctrine” (Torat Hahasidut of Habad) that Habad Hasidim define as a type of attainable “translation” of the esoteric literature. In the final analysis, however, the Hasidic doctrine is a theological approach built upon the pillars of the Kabbalah, and the intellectual faith that emerges from it can be seen as an important variant of kabbalist intellectual faith.81 It is worth pointing out that the exceptional nature of Habad Hasidism within the Hasidic landscape (as emphasized both by the rebbes of Habad and the rebbes of other Hasidic groups) at times led to the characterization of Habad as an innovative line of thought that took Hasidism in directions that deviated from those forged by the fathers of the movement in the first and second generations. Yet, in light of the previously cited sources from the Ba’al 80 At this point, it is necessary to correct a line of thought that runs throughout Naftali Loewenthal’s previously cited article (“Reason and Beyond Reason in Habad Hasidism”). Loewenthal demonstrates that R. Shneur Zalman builds one of the important components of his theology on the need to draw faith into the realm of “da’at” (“knowledge”). It is highly doubtful that the term “da’at” as used by R. Shneur Zalman refers to a rational function, and even more so that it is the rationalism that we encounter in the reason and revelation conflict in the Middle Ages and the modern period. It seems to me that Loewenthal’s identification of “da’at” or “sekhel” (“intellect” or “reason”) as found in the Tanya with these concepts as used in the literature of the Middle Ages is not accurate. While in the Middle Ages these concepts were accorded absolutely rationalistic meanings, R. Shneur Zalman gave them intellectual meanings that were not necessarily rationalistic. He spoke about knowledge of the upper worlds and its emanation, not about knowledge of the order of nature. In other words, Loewenthal misidentifies the intellectual study of the irrational doctrines of Habad with a rational study of the world. In the context of Habad, it is appropriate to talk about intellectualism rather than rationalism. The difference is connected to the fact that the latter concept relates to the identity of the sources of cognition, while the former relates to the nature of recommended activity. 81 The same can be understood from his words in Hilkhhot Talmud Torah—one of R. Shneur Zalman’s first published works, which was subsequently integrated into his Shulhan ‘Arukh Harav—in which he discussed the obligation to study “the wisdom of the Kabbalah” and “the secrets of the Torah, which is the wisdom of the Kabbalah,” but did not relate separately to “the doctrine of Hasidism.” It is perfectly clear that it is included in this category. R. Shneur Zalman of Lyadi, Shulhan ‘Arukh (Brooklyn: Kehos, 2005), 5; and Hilkhot Talmud Torah, 2, articles 1 and 2.

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Shem Tov, R. Ya’akov Yosef, and the Maggid of Mezeritch, it seems that this perception needs to be reexamined. It stands to reason that with regard to faith, the intellectual approach of Habad is consistent with that of the Ba’al Shem Tov and his disciples, and that the leaders of other Hasidic groups, primarily from the third generation onward, were the ones who led the movement in new directions. This understanding lends support to Moshe Rosman’s claim that the Ba’al Shem Tov was part of the social-religious elite of his time, sharing its worldview and values.82 Only in the third generation of Hasidism, when it became a mass movement, did leaders arise who accordingly redirected these values, including the transition to simple faith. The path of R. Shneur Zalman provoked the piercing criticism of R. Avraham Kalisker, engendering a well-known polemic between the two leaders in 1797 to 1798. This polemic has already been the subject of a number of fascinating analyses in scholarly literature.83 Many historians of Hasidism, both from within the Hasidic camp as well as academic researchers, both older and more recent, have contended that R. Avraham Kalisker demonstrated a preference for simple faith over intellectual faith.84 On the other hand, Zeev Gries disagreed with this position, claiming that R. Avraham distinguished between different types of people and held that each individual has an appropriate level of faith that is suitable for him “according to the heavenly source of his soul.”85 Ra’ayah Haran also argued that the demand for simple faith does not fully convey the approach of R. Avraham: “R. Avraham Kalisker indeed repeats the demand for faith, but it is not for simple faith. Rather, he calls for 82 Murray Jay (Moshe) Rosman, Founder of Hasidism: A Quest for the Historical Ba’al Shem Tov (Oxford: Littman Library of Jewish Civilization, 2013). 83 Etkes, Rabbi Shneur Zalman of Liady, 208–58, 284–85; Mordechai Teitelbaum, Harav Miladi Umifleget Habad, vol. 1 (Warsaw, publisher unknown, 1910), 136–40; Joseph Weiss, “Abraham Kalisker’s Concept of Communion with God and Men,” Journal of Jewish Studies 6 (1955): 87–99; Hallamish, “Mishnato Ha’iyunit he Rabbi Shneur Zalman MiLadi,” 206–09; Zeev Gries, “Mimythos leethos: Kavim Lidemuto shel Rabbi Avraham MiKalisk,” in Umah Vetoldoteiha, ed. Sh. Ettinger ( Jerusalem: Shazar Center, 1984), 117–46; Ra’ayah Haran, “Rabbi Avraham MiKalisk VeRabbi Shneur Zalman MiLadi—Yedidut Shenifsekah,” Mehkerei Yerushalayim Bemahshevet Yisrael 13 (1996): 399–428; and more bibliography in the appendix at page 428; Ra’ayah Haran, “Mishnato shel Rabbi Avraham MiKalisk: Haderekh Lidevekut Kenahalatam shel Benei Aliyah,” Tarbiz 66 (1997): 517–41; Loewenthal, Communicating the Infinite, 77–86. The controversy between the two rebbes also had political and economic aspects that are not at stake here and are thoroughly discussed by Etkes. 84 See sources in Haran’s “Mishnato,” 517, footnote 1 and in Hallamish, “Mishnato Ha’iyunit he Rabbi Shneur Zalman MiLadi.” 85 Gries, “Mimythos leethos: Kavim Lidemuto shel Rabbi Avraham MiKalisk,” 143.

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mystical ­worship.”86 Naftali Loewenthal explained that R. Avraham of Kalisk placed a strong emphasis on the practical side of the service of God and was bothered by the theoretical nature of the Habad doctrine.87 While there are many perspectives on the polemic between these two Hasidic personalities, R. Avraham Kalisker’s position is clearly articulated in two particularly important letters written in 1797, soon after R. Shneur Zalman’s publication of Tanya, in which he focused his discussion on the tension between intellectual faith and simple faith. To one who examines these correspondences within the context of his sharp criticism of the intellectual faith of Habad, and of R. Shneur Zalman in particular, it seems obvious that R. Avraham preferred simple faith. In the first letter, written to R. Shneur Zalman, R. Avraham argued that “the excessive amount of oil in the candle might heaven forbid be the cause that extinguishes it,”88 and he recommended the paths taken by previous Hasidic masters who expressed their Torah teachings as ethical exhortations (“musar”), sufficing with terse references to theological issues. He believed that R. Shneur Zalman’s approach would lead many to become curious about the esoteric teachings of the Torah without being able to comprehend them. He was also concerned that the engagement with sublime theological doctrines would evoke the human inclination toward haughtiness, and so individuals who deal with them would glorify themselves with vacuous self-­ aggrandizement. As an alternative, he recommended instructing the Hasidim of White Russia to “recognize their negligible value and their smallness [. . .] so that they not strive for presumptuous and unattainable achievements.”89 In the second letter, written to the Hasidim of White Russia themselves, R. Avraham developed an even more fundamental theological argument: Those who wish to examine the Divine through the intellect “think they ascend heavenward, and in reality descend to the abyss.”90 He greatly feared those who “come to build a tower with the intellect alone, but should worry lest their hearts are led astray and they turn away from [. . .] truth and faith.”91 In his opinion, “fear [of God] is the inner content and the central point of 86 Haran, “Mishnato,” 524. Her interpretation is based primarily on his short work entitled Hesed LeAvraham, in which he relates minimally and unsystematically to the concept of faith. The sources that she cites teach more about the importance of the mystical experience in general than about its importance in shaping one’s faith. 87 Loewenthal, Communicating the Infinite, 86–90. 88 J. Barnai, ed., Iggerot Hasidim MeEretz Yisrael ( Jerusalem: Yad Ben Zvi, 1980), 241. 89 Ibid. 90 Ibid., 243–47. 91 Ibid.

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all, around which all intellectual knowledge revolves and upon which all the worlds are built, it is the first and last reason.”92 This fear of God, he contends, finds expression in obedience to the Halakhah and is accessed through faith in the sages—that is, the Hasidic masters, the tzaddikim. It is fear that grants man success in his service of God, “which is not the case for isolated Torah [learning] and intellectual pursuits unaccompanied by a pre-existent fear.”93 Deep intellectual inquiry opens a gateway for the dinim (harsh judgments) to be involved, for “the unlimited extension of the reason reaches to the darkest darks, as is known.”94 R. Avraham therefore expressed opposition to the publication of kabbalist works, for “not every mind can bear this [lore],”95 and they are appropriate for “those who have a holy soul or those who serve God out of love, who have already transcended nature.”96 In contrast to R. Shneur Zalman, who believed that it is the intellect that implants true fear and true love, R. Avraham Kalisker held that the intellect acts on people “in accordance with the purity of the body and the soul.”97 In other words, the kabbalist works raise the level of those who have purified their hearts, but bring down those who have not purified themselves, and the latter, of course, constitute the vast majority. On the other hand, “faith and fear [of God]” relate equally to every individual, “refining the body and purifying the soul to emit the light of the commandments and the radiance of the Torah.”98 This, he argues, was also the approach of the Maggid of Mezeritch. And he concludes: To summarize, the essence of faith and fear is the source of blessing and good, [. . .] and the intellect is the source of harsh judgments, God save us, and a person should therefore distance himself from it. [. . .] The point, therefore, [. . .] is to minimize esoteric speculation, for “thick clouds cover it.” [. . .] Before the Sin, Adam was naїve [. . .] i.e., holding the great faith that transcends the intellect. After the Sin, he fell into intellectual concepts, as is written (Genesis 3:5-7): “. . . your eyes shall be opened, and you shall be as God, knowing good and evil. . . . And the eyes of them both 92 Ibid. 93 Ibid. 94 Ibid. 95 Ibid. 96 Ibid. 97 Ibid. 98 Ibid.

The Comeback of “Simple Faith”    Part Two were opened, and they knew . . .” For evil begins with reason, from reason the harsh judgments are awakened. [. . .] The Israelites that came out of Egypt, who were “a generation of knowledge,” [. . .] were afraid to examine [God] with excessive understanding, and in a moment made the right decision [to accept the Torah], based on the straight line of thinking, to have their feet stand on the great faith, which transcends intellect. Indeed, that is the path of faith.99

R. Avraham Kalisker did not mention here the concept of “simple faith,” but he presented the element of “naïveté” that he related to Adam (and to Jacob) as an ideal of “great faith.” Unlike R. Shneur Zalman, who held that fear of God is acquired through wisdom, understanding, and knowledge, R. Avraham insisted that the starting point must be the fear of God: The starting point of the service of God every day is the fear of God’s punishment [. . .] from which a person rises to awe in face of His Grandeur, and then advances to true love of Him. Anyone who casts the fear of punishment behind his back will not avert falling into the nethermost pit.100

In contrast to the author of Tanya, who viewed the process of mending one’s soul as a “top-down” process, R. Avraham viewed it as a “bottom-up” progression. According to R. Shneur Zalman, a person’s soul functions properly when the process of rectification goes in the same manner that the Divine light flows in the upper realms, while R. Avraham held, on the contrary, that human beings, standing as they are at the lowest realm, must climb up step by step to achieve a higher spiritual level. Indeed, Rabbi Avraham of Kalisk represents here, in a more radical tone, the approach of his fellow leader of the immigration to the Land of Israel, R. Menahem Mendel of Vitebsk, while R. Shneur Zalman of Lyadi represents the approach of the fathers of Hasidism, as discussed previously. It seems that at this stage, however, many leading personalities in the movement, such as R. Mordecai of Lekhovitch (c. 1742–1810) and R. Asher of Stolin (c. 1760–1826)—both disciples of R. Shlomo of Karlin—followed the new direction that established simple faith as an ideal, and turned their backs on intellectual faith. In a letter to the Maggid of Kozhnitz (1736–1814),   99 Ibid., 244–45. 100 Ibid., 246.

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R. Asher of Stolin, the son of R. Aaron the Great of Karlin, wrote that the accepted opinion in Hasidism is that “one needs to hold tight to the faith in our holy Torah and our holy sages—the sages of each period, each in his own generation, in order to strengthen the fear of God, which is one’s treasure.” In contrast, Habad Hasidim “number thousands upon thousands, constituting almost an entire region, who only speak about mysteries of the Torah and esoteric wisdom outside and in the alley ways, etc., and cast the truth and faith to the ground.”101 In the subsequent generation, we find as well that R. Tzvi Hirsch of Ziditchov (1763–1831), one of the great tzaddikim of Galicia, attacked the approach of Habad Hasidism, and even accused them of being influenced by philosophy.102 It is worth noting that while in the struggle for the leadership of Hasidism in White Russia Habad was victorious, they remained in the final analysis an anomalous minority in the broader world of Hasidism in general, both in their own eyes and in the eyes of others. Even though these two positions seem to be on opposite poles, it appears from another important chapter in the Tanya that the position of R. Shneur Zalman is perhaps not diametrically opposed to that of R. Avraham. In chapter 18, R. Shneur Zalman suggested a position that pokes a hole in his previously stated approach, claiming that every Jew has the ability to access the “light of Ein Sof” by virtue of inheritance from the patriarchs. This faith does not come from intellectual achievement but from a more primal connection that stems from the sefirah of “wisdom.” As we saw above, wisdom represents a rough perception of the Divine that has not yet been processed to the level of understanding. While in chapter 3 R. Shneur Zalman emphasized that wisdom can only be realized through the media of understanding and knowledge, without which one will not “produce in his soul true love and fear, but only vain fancies,” in chapter 18, he emphasizes the ascendant quality of a primeval wisdom that is “above intelligence and comprehension, and serves as their source.”103 In his words, the 101 D. Tz. Hilman, ed., Iggerot Ba’al HaTanya Uvnei Doro ( Jerusalem: Hamesorah, 1953), letter no. 107, 185–86. See the analysis of this letter in Gries, “Mimythos leethos: Kavim Lidemuto shel Rabbi Avraham MiKalisk,” 128–29; and Loewenthal, Communicating the Infinite, 83. 102 R. Tzvi Hirsch of Ziditchov, Sur Mera’ Va’ase Tov ( Jerusalem, publisher unknown, undated), 144–45. 103 R. Shneur Zalman of Lyadi, Tanya, part 1, chapter 18, accessed June 5, 2017, http://www. chabad.org/library/tanya/tanya_cdo/aid/1028939/jewish/Chapter-18.htm.

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light of Ein Sof dons itself with wisdom because it “can in no way be comprehended by any thought.” In a somewhat surprising passage, he adds: Hence all Jews, even the women and the illiterate, believe in God, since faith is beyond understanding and comprehension, for “the simple believeth every thing, but the prudent man understandeth . . .” But with regard to the Holy One, blessed be He, Who is beyond intelligence and knowledge, and who can in no wise be comprehended by any thought—all men are like fools in His blessed presence, as is written, “So brutish am I, and ignorant: I am as a beast before Thee; yet I am continually with Thee, . . .” meaning that “Because I am brutish and as a beast, I am continually with Thee.” Therefore even the most worthless of worthless and the transgressors of the Israelites, in the majority of cases sacrifice their lives for the sanctity of God’s Name and suffer harsh torture rather than deny the one God, although they be boors and illiterate and ignorant of God’s greatness. [For] whatever little knowledge they do possess, they do not delve therein at all, [and so] they do not give up their lives by reason of any knowledge and contemplation of God. Rather [do they suffer martyrdom] without any knowledge and reflection, but as if it were absolutely impossible to renounce the one God; and without any reason or hesitation whatever. This is because the one God illuminates and animates the entire nefesh [= soul], through being clothed in its faculty of chochmah [= Wisdom], which is beyond any graspable and understood knowledge or intelligence.104

Indeed, these comments could have been made by the ardent opponents of intellectual faith in R. Shneur Zalman’s generation—R. Menahem Mendel of Vitebsk and R. Avraham of Kalisk. Furthermore, in the following chapter, R. Shneur Zalman indicated explicitly that faith which transcends knowledge has the power to create “fear [of God] that is contained in love [of God],” which is the natural love of the divine soul that is found in all Jews, the intrinsic desire and will of which is to be attached to its origin and source in the light of the blessed Ein Sof.”105 This implies that simple faith that is not processed by understanding and knowledge does not necessarily create “vain fancies,” and can even produce true love, contrary to what he claimed earlier. I cannot 104 Ibid. 105 Ibid., chap. 1, accessed June 5, 2017, http://www.chabad.org/library/tanya/tanya_cdo/ aid/1028943/jewish/Chapter-19.htm.

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resolve the inherent tension within R. Shneur Zalman’s approach; I therefore leave it to the interpreters of his theological doctrine.106 An important and very interesting chapter in the history of the rise of simple faith in Hasidism is associated with R. Nahman of Breslav (1772– 1810).107 It seems that he was the one who turned the terms “simple faith” and “naïve faith” into common expressions (which we do not find in his predecessors). The concept of faith is one of the most important matters in his teachings, and he dealt with it throughout his life. Discussions of this issue can be found in his initial work, Sefer Hamiddot (first section),108 as well as in the homilies that he gave shortly before his death.109 Nevertheless, it seems to me that in spite of the consistency in this regard, we can identify a certain degree of development in his teachings on faith that reflect R. Nahman’s maturation. A look at Sefer Hamiddot reveals that the young R. Nahman was not categorically opposed to intellectual faith. On the contrary, he saw knowledge as the paradoxical outcome of simple faith: “He who proceeds with simplicity becomes learned” and “one who has faith merits subsequently to worship God with great knowledge.”110 He expressed opposition to faith achieved “by rational demonstration,”111 yet he pointed out that one who begins his path with faith in God will in the final analysis, “merit to understand Him with his reason.”112 This gives expression to the traditional approach that views simple faith as the beginning point but not the ideal. 106 Moshe Hallamish claims that R. Shneur Zalman valued “hereditary faith” very much, but held that it exists as potential that needs to be developed by means of contemplation of wisdom, understanding, and knowledge. This explanation resolves the contradiction to some degree, but not completely, for one source indicates that love and fear can be achieved only through wisdom, understanding, and knowledge, while another indicates that they can also be achieved through simple faith. Hallamish, “Mishnato Ha’iyunit he Rabbi Shneur Zalman MiLadi.” 107 Joseph Weiss, Mehkarim Bahasitut Breslav ( Jerusalem: Bialik Institute, 1975), 87–149; Arthur Green, Tormented Master: A Life of Rabbi Nahman of Bratslav (Tuscaloosa, AL: University of Alabama Press, 1979), 285–336. 108 R. Nahman of Breslav, Sefer Hamiddot ( Jerusalem, publisher unknown, undated), AlephBeit Yashan, under “Emunah” (faith), articles 1, 15, 19, 20, 24; and under “da’at” (knowledge), articles 16 and 17. It is worth noting that researchers of Breslav have related minimally to Sefer Hamiddot, and in so doing have missed the opportunity to note changes in the thought and personality of R. Nahman. 109 R. Nahman of Breslav, Likkutei Moharan ( Jerusalem: Meshekh Hanahal, 1985), part 2, 5, 7–8. These three homilies (“Torot,” in Breslav’s common discourse) are from the years 1809 to 1810, which was the last year of R. Nahman’s life. 110 Sefer Hamiddot, “da’at,” articles 15 and 16. 111 Ibid., “emunah,” article 1. 112 Ibid., article 20.

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In contrast, a look at the mature R. Nahman reveals a sweeping opposition to any theological speculation. Expressions of this view, which are scattered throughout a large number of R. Nahman’s works, repeatedly call for “simplicity” in faith and express opposition to “inquiries” or “wisdoms” (“hokhmot”).113 While the term “inquiries” clearly denotes rationalistic theology, which R. Nahman undoubtedly viewed as the primary enemy of faith, it seems that the frequent calls for “simplicity” were designed to categorically exclude any type of intellectual faith. His student, R. Natan, stated the following in his name: Among the common people (“oylem”), faith is a small matter, but to me, faith is a very big thing. And the essence of faith is without any wisdoms or inquiries at all—just complete simplicity, as the good simple Jews and the women believe.”114

Note that it is specifically simple faith that constitutes the greatest challenge for the believer, and that is referred to as “a very big thing.” It is very clear that the calls for “simplicity” and “naïveté” come as well to negate the study of kabbalist literature and Habad-style “Hasidic doctrine.” This understanding is supported and supplemented by comments attributed to R. Nahman. With regard to the study of Kabbalah, it seems that he adopted a traditional approach that permitted its study exclusively to the elite. He permitted the study of Kabbalah to some people while forbidding it to others.115 Essentially, he hoped that his Hasidim would be able to reach the level of mastering kabbalist texts, but saw this as a utopian vision.116 With regard to the study of Hasidic doctrines, 113 As Art Green rightly noted, “[t]he word hokhmes in Yiddish (equals Hebrew hokhmot) has a cynical edge to it, which is often intended in Nahman’s writings and remains quite untranslatable. One might do best to think of the ‘wisdom’ attributed to a ‘wiseguy.’” Green, Tormented Master, 331, footnote 12. 114 R. Nathan Sternhatz of Nemirov, Sihot HaRan (Bnei Brak: Breslav, 1983), article 33. For another translation—see Rabbi Nathan Sternhartz of Nemirov, Rabbi Nachman’s Wisdom: Shevachay HaRan and Sichos Haran, trans. Rabbi Aryeh Kaplan (Brooklyn: publisher unknown, 1973), 137. R. Nahman here uses the term hamon, which is usually used by medieval philosophers in a pejorative sense for people of the multitudes, in a positive and affectionate manner. 115 R. Nathan Sternhartz of Nemirov, Hayei Moharan ( Jerusalem: Meshekh Hanahal, 1985), article 526. 116 Ibid., article 353. Of course, R. Nahman himself studied Kabbalah and viewed his own teachings as including esoteric kabbalist ideas (ibid., articles 362, 364, and 365)—but that proves nothing, since he held that the tzaddik must enter these dangerous places, and he therefore even studied philosophy, which he forbade for his hasidim.

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there are proofs that R. Nahman opposed the approach of Habad Hasidism, and even engaged in polemics with some of its proponents.117 Contrary to his statements in Sefer Hamiddot, in which he still viewed simple faith only as the starting point with “intellectual” faith as the ultimate reward, the language in his later works did not present intellectual achievement as a goal to which one should actively aspire, but at best as a distant eschatological ambition. We are not talking about a dramatic change in the approach of R. Nahman, for even in his younger years he was reserved about “inquiries” and promoted simple faith, at least as a path to intellectual faith. Yet, we do undoubtedly see an “upward development” in which his original position was refined to “elevate beyond the range” the ideal outcome of intellectual faith. This raises the question of what brought about this change in R. Nahman’s thought. As expected, R. Nahman himself never shared such processes, but I would like to propose an educated conjecture that he was influenced by his meeting with R. Avraham of Kalisk in 1799. R. Nahman met R. Avraham on his famous journey to the Land of Israel just two years after the latter’s polemic with R. Shneur Zalman. The young pilgrim was present during several of R. Avraham’s discourses, spoke to him about matters of Hasidism, and was reportedly deeply impressed: “Our master of blessed memory [R. Nahman] heaped unbounded and incomparable praise and veneration on his [R. Avraham’s] teachings. I also heard from his holy lips that perfection could only be found in our master R. Avraham. And he said to me, ‘I have seen many tzaddikim, but perfection can be found only in this particular holy tzaddik.’”118 In fact, this level of praise stands in stark contrast to the crass denigration that R. Nahman expressed about most of the tzaddikim of his time, as frequently reflected in his writings. It is thus not a far-fetched theory to say that the intensification of his criticism of intellectual faith and radical idealization of simple faith in his teachings was influenced, among other stimuli, by R. Avraham Kalisker, whose approach had been crystallized in his polemic with R. Shneur Zalman.

117 Ibid., article 132. There, it records that the followers of the R. Shneur Zalman of Lyadi brought to R. Nahman the Torah teachings of their master, “and he refuted his words before his followers and showed them that it said he was wrong.” It is not clear what these particular teachings focused on, but one plausible possibility is that that they gave expression to the fundamental approach of Habad that we discussed above. 118 R. Nathan Sternhartz of Nemirov, Shivhei HaRan (Bnei Brak: publisher unknown, 1983), article 18; Rabbi Nachman’s Wisdom, 59–60.

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Following his perception that “faith is a very big thing,” R. Nahman was very sensitive to any force that might jeopardize faith. It appears that, on this matter, his line of thought also developed dynamically. When he was younger, R. Nahman, imbued with messianic expectations as he was, was very sensitive to harm that might come to faith because of Sabbatean and Frankist influences.119 In his later years, he was much more sensitive to the potential harm to faith that could be caused by rationalist “inquiries,” that is, the influence of the Haskalah ( Jewish Enlightenment). It is much harder to establish the time and the causes of this change in his thought; however, here, too, I would suggest an educated conjecture that the messianic crisis that affected Breslav Hasidism in 1806—as analyzed fundamentally by Arthur Green—played an important role.120 Nevertheless, we are not talking of a revolutionary change, but rather about a change in emphasis, for—as we have already seen—even the younger R. Nahman was well aware of the danger of “inquiries” and even the older R. Nahman was well aware of the threat of messianic cults. In any case, in the conflict between intellectual faith and simple faith, R. Nahman stood at a crossroad, similar to many of the rabbis of Central Europe, and different than most of his colleagues in the leadership of Hasidism who were more troubled about the proliferation of mystical teachings among the broader strata of their followers. It is doubtful whether he found himself at this crossroad because these were the real threats to faith in his time. After all, his environment did not include many Sabbateans or Maskilim—Sabbateanism was at this time already in its twilight stage and Haskalah was only in its infancy. It is more plausible to assume that R. Nahman placed himself at that crossroad because he viewed these streams as dangerous even when their proponents were relatively small in number. In each of these stages, R. Nahman believed that the tzaddik of the generation—that is, himself—was required to deal with the forces of impurity by descending into them and confronting them on the spiritual and intellectual levels. Indeed, there are sources that demonstrate that R. Nahman descended into Sabbateanism in order to repair its blemishes, and there are similarly sources regarding descent into the impurity of “heresy” and “inquiry” for the

119 Yehudah Liebes, “Tikkun Hakelali shel Rabbi Nahman MiBreslav Veyahao LaShabbtaut,” Zion 45 (1980): 201–31. 120 In Green’s opinion, R. Nahman had already encountered the Enlightenment when he travelled to Lemberg in 1807, but this subject only became pivotal in his consciousness from 1809 and onward, from the time he moved to Uman and came into contact with its maskilim. Green, Tormented Master, 182–226, 239, 251–61.

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same reasons.121 It seems that we can thus understand his attempts to befriend the maskilim of Uman in his final years.122 However, a tzaddik coping with heresy is much different than a situation in which other people would have to cope with it. While a tzaddik is “able to delve into these perplexing matters [. . .] and is obliged to delve into them” and deal with “the “challenging questions” (“kushiyot”) that they pose, the broader public—the “masses” or the “oylem” (common people)—“are forbidden to enter [. . .] into the study of these heretical and perplexing things.”123 They must cling to naïve and simple faith, without “inquiries and confusion.”124 R. Natan recorded the reasoning of his teacher for the groundlessness of these “inquiries”: For we have already received the essence of the knowledge of God from our holy fathers, who toiled and laboured all their lives to completely 121 Regarding Sabbateanism: Hayei Moharan, article 154; Liebes, “Tikkun Hakelali shel Rabbi Nahman MiBreslav Veyahao LaShabbtaut,” 228, 239. This echoes as well in twentieth-­ century Breslav literature. See R. Eliezer Shlomo Schick, Pe’ulat Hatzaddik ( Jerusalem: Keren Hadpasa Dehasidei Breslav, 1981), article 593, and elsewhere. Regarding “inquiry”: Hayei Moharan, article 412; Green, Tormented Master, 264–65. 122 Schick, Pe’ulat Hatzaddik, articles 941, 949, 950, 966 (447, 451–52, 459), and elsewhere; Green sees it in a different way: Green, Tormented Master, 251–61. 123 Likkutei Moharan, part 1, 64:3. This homily, which was recorded by R. Nathan of Nemirov, was published later in a version written by R. Nahman himself in “Addenda from Our Master’s Handwriting” at the end of Likkutei Moharan (Brooklyn, 1980), 1–2. There are some very small but fascinating differences between the two versions, but they are not important for our discussion. As an example of a difficulty such as this, R, Nahman pointed to “the creation ex nihilo of the world” and wrote: “And don’t think that the tzaddik, through his study of these wisdoms, will be able to bring a decisive proof for the creation ex nihilo of the world . . .” (ibid.; this is missing in the ordinary edition of Likkutei Moharan) In spite of his recognition of the limitations, it seems that R. Nahman did not restrain himself and tried nevertheless to bring “a proof for the creation ex nihilo of the world” that pretended to be rational, and subsequently a “second proof, from the dead” (Hayei Moharan, article 416). Both “proofs” are perplexingly simplistic. R. Nathan, who cites them, wrote proudly that they are “clear proofs for one who wants to acknowledge the truth and does not insist on rebutting or provoking, Heaven forbid,” and he even held that it has the potential to “poke out the eye of the heretics” (ibid.). 124 His primary opposition is to rational “inquiries,” and most of the “challenging questions” that R. Nahman dealt with were taken from the world of medieval Jewish philosophy. He therefore forbade his hasidim to study this literature, even works that became inalienable assets of Jewish thought. The books of “inquiry” that he forbade included Maimonides’s Guide of the Perplexed, Joseph Albo’s Book of Principles (Sefer Ha’ikkarim), the commentaries of Ibn Ezra, Gersonides, and “other works that follow this path,” including some that were published in the Mikraot Gedolot compilation of Bible commentaries (Hayei Moharan, articles 407, 410).

The Comeback of “Simple Faith”    Part Two negate their corporeality by breaking their desires and human inclinations to the core, particularly the all-embracing evil inclination of sexual desire. Hence, their knowledge was perfect and they merited to be comprehend their Creator perfectly. And they left us this good inheritance, and it is incumbent upon us to accept this good inheritance with great joy.125 [. . .] And R. Nahman was accustomed to repeatedly mention the great and powerful wonder that Moses, of blessed memory, did for us, that he gave us the Torah and began it with “In the beginning God created the heaven and the earth,” and that he revealed to us the holy faith without any wisdoms or inquiries.126

Nevertheless, as previously stated, although these “wisdoms” and “inquiries” are apparently superfluous, the tzaddik must study them in order to delve into them and cope with them. It is not easy at all for the tzaddik to deal with this. As R. Nahman explained in one of his famous homilies, the tzaddik encounters two types of challenging questions along the way—questions that come from the klipot (“peels” or “shells”) that can be answered and challenging questions that come from the “void space” (hallal hapanui), such as the problem of the creation ex nihilo of the world or its eternity a parte ante, for which there is no resolution.127 While the tzaddik can deal with the first type of challenge by finding an appropriate answer, the best way to deal with the second unfathomable type of question is through the path of silence.128 This approach, which R. Nahman developed further in his later writings, already finds expression in his early Sefer Hamiddot.129 In a motif that is somewhat reminiscent of Kierkegaard’s “leap of faith” (at least from the perspective of literary style), R. Nahman indicated that the Jews are unique in their ability to “leap over these questions”: Therefore the Jews are called ’Ivrim (Hebrews) because with their faith, they pass over (’ovrim) all of the wisdoms, even over the wisdoms that are 125 Sihot HaRan, article 217; Rabbi Nachman’s Wisdom, 352–55. 126 Sihot HaRan, article 219; Rabbi Nachman’s Wisdom, 355–56. 127 The ordinary version of this homily of R. Nahman in Likutei Moharan, which was written by R. Nathan of Nemirov, gives no examples of challenging questions that stem from the void space. Yet, this important homily is also available to us in another version from the handwriting of R. Nahman himself, where it explicitly gives the example of the question of the creation ex nihilo. 128 Weiss, Mehkarim Bahasitut Breslav, 128–29; Green, Tormented Master, 316–18; Yehudah Liebes, “Hahiddush shel Rabbi Nahman,” Da’at 45 (2000): 95–103. 129 Sefer Hamiddot, Aleph-Beit Yashan, “emunah,” article 15; ibid., article 24.

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Both the tzaddik and the commoners embark with simple faith and end up with simple faith. Yet, the commoners maintain simple faith throughout without the vicissitudes of inquiries, the “confusions” and the “challenging questions.” The tzaddik, on the other hand, encounters all of these diversions, but is supposed to return from them to the simple faith with which he began. His simplicity is a “second simplicity,” to borrow another concept from modern religious philosophy.131 Indeed, this “simplicity” is not that of the simple believer who does not utilize the tools of inquiry because they are inaccessible to him. Rather, the believer who has achieved “second simplicity” is able to utilize these tools, but refrains from doing so by choice. Furthermore, the quality of his faith can no longer be equivalent to that of the simple believer who did not share this intellectual journey. R. Nahman gave expression to this idea in two of his stories. The more famous of the two, “Ma’aseh Mehakham Vetam” (“The Sophisticate and the Simpleton”) is a song of praise for simplicity. The story tells the tale of two friends, one wise (“sophisticate”) and one simple, and tracks how the wise man ascended in his level of wisdom while the simple man remained in his innocence (the narrator emphasizes that temimut does not mean foolishness but rather simplicity).132 At the end, the simple man succeeded in advancing by virtue of his simplicity until he became the governor of the region: “Now his fortune was on the rise, and good fortune adds to one’s intelligence. 130 Likkutei Moharan, part 1, 64:2. 131 See Akiva Ernst Simon, Haim ‘Od Yehudim Anahnu? (Tel Aviv, publisher unknown, 1983), 135–69. From Simon’s article, it appears that the father of this idea was the German Christian philosopher Peter Wust, but the concept has earlier roots that he surveys expansively. See also Avi Sagi, “Faith as Temptation,” in Faith: Jewish Perspectives, eds. A. Sagi and D. Schwartz (Boston: Academic Studies Press, 2013), 12–122. 132 There is a slight difference in the formulation of this matter between the Hebrew and Yiddish versions of the story. The Hebrew version says the following about the simple man: “Not that he was stupid, but he had a simple and low intellect,” while the Yiddish version says: “his intellect was simple without sophisticated thought.” Kaplan translates: “he was not lacking in intelligence, but had a straightforward, humble approach, without any sophistication.” Kaplan usually uses “sophistication” for “hokhmah” (lit.: wisdom) and “sophisticate” for “hakham” (lit.: wise) throughout his translation, which sometimes necessarily misses the idea and its connotation, but maybe these are inevitable flaws of a translation. Rabbi Aryeh Kaplan, ed. & trans., Rabbi Nachman’s Stories ( Jerusalem: Breslov Research Institute, 1983), 160–96.

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He ­therefore achieved some additional understanding. Nevertheless, he did not make use of this sophistication and behaved with simplicity as he always had. He ruled the land with simplicity, truth, and honesty.”133 The wise man, on the other hand, descended with his wisdom to the depths of heresy and deception, questioned the existence of the King, and fell from failure to failure. At a certain point, the simple man tried to convince the wise man of the rectitude of the path that he had taken: “See! [. . .] I have attained what you have [wisdom], but you have not yet attained what I have [simplicity]. I see that it is more difficult for you to achieve my simplicity.”134 At the end of the story, only after the sophisticate had fallen into the captivity of the Devil, who cast him into mud and mire and inflicted him with a great deal of suffering, was the simple man able to reach him and save him with the help of a miracle worker. “The sophisticate saw it all and was forced to admit to the truth— that there is a King.”135 In this story, the simpleton represents the tzaddik whose simplicity brings him to higher levels of wisdom, in contrast to the sophisticate, whose “philosophy” brings him destruction. When the simpleton attains the wisdom of the sophisticate, he knows very well to refrain from using it and he thus remains in his state of simplicity, returning almost unharmed to a state of “second simplicity.” Achieving “second simplicity” is not an easy task for the tzaddik, but in R. Nahman’s perception, remaining in a state of “first simplicity” is also difficult to achieve.136 As we saw above, R. Nahman held that faith is “a very big thing” 133 Ibid., 181–83. Emphasis added. “Even so, even though he already knew all sorts of intellectual ideas [originally: wisdoms], he did not make use of any of this sophistication [originally: wisdoms]. Rather, he ruled with simplicity just as he had originally.” 134 Ibid., 190. 135 Ibid., 195. 136 Nevertheless, in another story, it seems to me that we find a hint that R. Nahman was aware of the fact that second simplicity is not identical with first simplicity. In a collection of sections called “Sihot Sheahar Sippurei Ma’asiyot” [Talks Following the Tales], there is a story about a particular tzaddik who was depressed but uplifted himself “little by little, continuing more and more, until he came to such a level of joy that he was on the same level of joy that Moses experienced when he went on high to receive the Tablets.” Thanks to this joy, he flew thousands of miles in the world. During this journey, he looked at himself and realized how far he had gone, and became worried that he might land in a different place than the one from which he departed. And indeed, as it is wont to do, the joy dissipated gradually and the tzaddik began to gradually descend in return. Yet, the route of his descent was not the same as the route of his ascent but more like a free fall, and “he was very surprised, since he was in exactly the same place where he had been at first.” However, it was not exactly that place: “Looking at himself, he realized that he had not moved at all, or if he had moved, it had been at most by a hairbreadth, [. . .] that no one other than God could

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because, in contrast to “worldly” knowledge, it is not easily acquired. The “doubts,” “questions,” and “confusion” are among the “hindrances” (meni’ot) on a man’s path when he chooses to come close to God.137 R. Nahman was not only referring to external obstacles such as health issues, financial problems, and family tensions, but also to internal hindrances such as the various appetites (food, sexuality, greed) and doubts about faith. It is important to note that these obstacles are connected to each other, and R. Nahman particularly pointed out the traditional connection between cerebral attributes (wisdom, understanding, and knowledge) through which one attains intellectual achievement and the attribute of Yesod, symbolized—among other ways—by the male organ, which is connected to unnecessary ejaculation. Thus, the blemishes in faith—doubts, challenging questions—and the sexual blemishes are connected to each other.138 These doubts gnaw at man’s heart, “and even though it seems to us that the common people are far removed from inquiry and do not engage in it at all, they are all in reality involved in inquiries, for each individual has his inquiries, and even the thoughts of children are affected by inquiries and confusion.”139 Indeed, the natural conclusion is that of the simple man in the story—that it is more difficult to achieve simple faith that to achieve wisdom. As stated previously, R. Nahman himself viewed the Enlightenment movement as the embodiment of heresy, even though the movement was relatively small and not influential during his lifetime. It seems that with a rare sense of foresight, R. Nahman noticed that the heresy that this movement represented in his eyes would in the future grow into much different proportions: And he said that a great heresy is coming to the world. And he told several times that because of our sins, a great heresy is unfolding in the world. measure.” The storyteller, R. Natan, finds a different moral to this story, but we cannot rule out the possibility that the story came to describe the path of the tzaddik, who ascends to very high and dangerous places with the concern that he will land far from his place of departure but who returns from the process to the place from which he ascended—to simplicity. Nevertheless, he is aware of the fact that the second simplicity is not completely identical to the first uncomplicated simplicity, as there is in any case a very slight gap (“a hairbreadth”) that distinguishes between them. Kaplan, Rabbi Nachman’s Stories, 448–51. 137 The concept of “hindrances” (Green translates this as “obstacles”) is, in my opinion, a key concept in R. Nahman’s thought and has barely been studied. See Green, Tormented Master, 68, 82–84. 138 See Likkutei Moharan, part 1, 7, and elsewhere; and Liebes’s articulate analysis (Liebes, “Tikkun Hakelali shel Rabbi Nahman MiBreslav Veyahao LaShabbtaut.”) 139 Sihot HaRan, article 32; Rabbi Nachman’s Wisdom, 133–37.

The Comeback of “Simple Faith”    Part Two Happy is one who maintains his faith in these times. And he said that even though his telling this has no effect, there will be heresy in the world and one must strengthen himself with faith. For even though he said this, the heresy and confusion are strengthening [. . .] but, nevertheless, I am informing people about this early on so the minority of fit people can strengthen themselves with faith, and there will undoubtedly be great intellectual wars, so in order that they can have more tranquility, reinforcement, and strength by seeing that this was discussed previously.140

Indeed, R. Nahman heard about the French Revolution and the conquests of Napoleon, but they related to a different part of Europe and their impact on modernization in the lives of the Jews of Eastern Europe was nil. If we take into account the fact that the first sparks of an Orthodox response to the Haskalah began in Eastern Europe in the 1840s at the earliest, we realize that R. Nahman was ahead of his time by a few decades. Indeed, the Haskalah movement that R. Nahman befriended with its few members in Uman would eventually become the spearhead of modernization within the Jewish society in that area. It is important to note that R. Nahman had practically no influence on Hasidic thought during his time or in the generation following. He is not mentioned in Hasidic literature from that period, and he only found favor in later periods. We also cannot attribute much influence to R. Nahman with regard to the spread of the idea of simple faith. Those who drove the transition to simple faith in Hasidism were the Hasidic masters of White Russia at the end of the eighteenth century.141 So too, Hasidic thought on faith in general, and simple faith in particular, that sprouted in the subsequent decades was developed by some of the masters from this branch of Hasidism. One of the most prominent of these masters was R. Avraham of Slonim (1804–1883), the author of Yesod Ha’avodah, who dedicated a significant portion of his published writings to discussions of faith.142 We can assume with some degree of certainty that the centrality of the 140 Sihot HaRan, articles 35–36; 2; Rabbi Nachman’s Wisdom, 138–39. 141 Interestingly, we can perhaps point out as well that most of the tzaddikim that were engaged in the “simple faith” versus “intellectual faith” polemic were individuals with a firm and deep connection to the Land of Israel. Immanuel Etkes’s book on R. Shneur Zalman of Lyadi draws the conclusion that this circumstance is not coincidental and that the theological debate is, in fact, a part of a territorial conflict that erupted among the tzaddikim after the famous aliyah of 1777, which included issues of leadership, control, and funding. See Etkes, Rabbi Shneur Zalman of Liady, 64–92, 208–58. 142 Yesod Ha’avodah, part 2. Letter nos. 8, 10–11, 16–17, 24–28, 33, 43, and 48 deal with faith as their central topic. This subject also appears in many of the other letters on a secondary level.

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concept of faith in his thought, as well as the principles that he derived regarding the nature of faith and methods of achieving it, are additional levels that he added to the doctrines of his teachers, R. Mordecai of Lekhovitch (a disciple of R. Shlomo of Karlin, whom we met previously) and R. Moshe of Kobrin (1783– 1858). I have discussed the teachings of Lekhovitch-Kobrin-Slonim extensively in another publication, in which I demonstrated that this Hasidic school of thought adopted a clear approach to simple faith that emphasizes that achieving this type of faith is not an easy task but rather a goal that only a minority of people is able to attain to perfection.143 In any case, we can now understand why, particularly in this branch of Hasidism, we find the apparently distorted reading of the Ba’al Shem Tov that glorifies simple faith and the “foolish” believer.144 R. Avraham of Slonim is an individual case who reflected a more general phenomenon. In generations that followed him, simple faith became the inalienable asset of Hasidic thought to the exclusion of only a small number of exceptions. Habad was undoubtedly the most consistently divergent group in this regard, and they developed an ethos of conscious divergence. It stands out that in this stream of Hasidism, intellectual faith remained a leading ideal even in times that the struggle against the Enlightenment and its offshoots was at its height. The third Rebbe of Habad, the Tzemah Tzedek, even composed a complete book for the purpose of arguing against the maskilim (Derekh Emunah—The Path of Faith, which is also known as Sefer Hahaikirah—The Book of Inquiry). His grandson, R. Sholom Ber of Lubavitch, adopted the ideal of simplicity when he called the students in the yeshivah that he established “temimim” (simple or innocent), and he called the yeshivah itself “Tomkhei Temimim” (“Supporters of the Simple”).145 Nevertheless, this did not constitute a change in the basic Habad approach regarding the importance of studying Hasidic doctrine. On the contrary, R. Sholom Ber emphasized that this study was a central axis in the daily schedule of the students in the new yeshivah.146 It seems that, in his approach, not only does Hasidic ­metaphysical inquiry not conflict with the ideal of simple faith but it even strengthens it. It should be noted that R. Avraham of Slonim also strongly emphasizes the importance of “observing the covenant,” that is, the prohibition against masturbation, and the connection between blemishes of the attribute of Yesod (i.e., the sexual realm) and blemishes in faith. 143 Benjamin Brown, “‘Emunah Barosh’ Veemunah basof ’: Kavim Litefisat Haemunah shel Shelosha Hogim Haredim Bameah Ha’esrim,” Akdamot 4 (1998), 31–67. 144 Yesod Ha’avodah, letter no. 24, 50–51. 145 His son, R. Yosef Yitzhak, also called the Habad periodical that was published by his initiative “Hatamim,” which might mean both “the Naïve Person” and “the Perfect Person.” 146 See Menachem Friedman, “Mashiah Umeshihiyut Bahasidut Habad-Lubavitch,” in Milhemet Gog Umagog, ed. D. Ariel-Yoel (Tel Aviv: Miskal, 2001), 178–91.

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It is an interesting fact that Breslav Hasidism also developed an ethos of delving into the teachings of R. Nahman, including their theological layers. This created the paradoxical phenomenon of a Hasidic group with a strong rhetoric of simple faith exhibiting a tendency toward intellectual faith. Another divergent manifestation of intellectual faith developed in Poland in the court of R. Simha Bunim of Pshiskha (1767–1827). This important Hasidic thinker, who unquestionably played a central role in the history of Hasidism, has practically not been researched, perhaps because of the focused and harsh language of his main book Kol Simha. A study of this book reveals that R. Simha Bunim held to the clear ideal of intellectual faith, with a small degree of mystical leanings.147 “Understanding is greater than deeds,” he wrote in one of his very few letters that survived, “for the deed is an enigma while understanding is a light.”148 In his court, R. Simha Bunim also delivered talks on books of Jewish thought, particularly the works of the Maharal of Prague, whom he viewed as his mentor in the upper world.149 While he opposed the study of Kabbalah and the philosophical works of Maimonides, he encouraged his Hasidim to study the works of other great medieval Jewish thinkers.150 In any case, this approach did not have a prolonged existence, as his students who inherited the leadership of Polish Hasidism—the Rebbes of Kotzk, Gur, Alexander, and others—exhibited a notable tendency toward simple faith as a central ideal. 151 147 See R. Simha Bunim of Pshiskha, Kol Simha ( Jerusalem: Hamesorah, 1986), Bereshit, 7, 9; Shemot, 56–57. It should be noted that even in R. Bunim we can find a few isolated expressions of reservation from “all those wisdoms and inquiries” (ibid., Vaethanan, 108) and support for the ideal of simplicity (ibid., Vayikra, 84–85), but it seems that he was not referring to simplicity in its regular sense but rather to some form of mystical communion with the Divine will, in which the person succeeds in accessing God from within himself and “within his own heart.” See at length in Meir Tzvi Rabinovitch, Bein Pshiskha LeLublin ( Jerusalem: Kesharim, 1997), 330–35. 148 Ibid., Kol Simha, 180. 149 R. Shmuel Shinover, Ramatayim Tzofim (Warsaw, publisher unknown, 1881), part 1, 18:53; Yisrael Berger, Simhat Yisrael ( Jerusalem: publisher unknown, 1984), 29 (this source is very late, however). 150 Rabinovitch, Bein Pshiskha LeLublin, 327–30. 151 For Kotzk, see, for instance, ibid., 484–85. For Gur, see, for instance, Yo’etz Kim Kaddish Rakatz, Siah Sarfei Kodesh (undated), part 4, 9. It is worth noting that the Gur Hasidim relate to this book with suspicion because the author offered financial compensation to people who would give him information about things that were heard from leaders of Polish Hasidism. For Alexander, see, for instance, R. Yerahmiel Yisrael Yitzhak of Alexander, Yismah Yisrael, vol. 1, Lekh-Lekha (Bnei Brak: Makhon Lehotzaat Sfarim Vekhitvei Yad shel Hasidei Alexander, 2000; reprint), vol. 1, 37.

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In other places, where Hasidism came into more contact with the processes of modernization, the tendency toward simple faith was clearer. Among the tzaddikim of Galicia, R. Tzvi Elimelekh of Dinov (1773–1841) stands out as an enthusiastic proponent of simple faith. In his work entitled Ma’ayan Ganim, a commentary on the medieval book Or Hahayim by R. Yosef Ya’avetz, R. Tzvi Elimelekh returned to the indictment of Ya’vetz against Jewish philosophy.152 He was not alone in this approach—we could add a long list of Hasidic personalities who promoted simple faith as a supreme ideal and forcefully rejected intellectual faith. While they explicitly negated intellectual faith only when attained by philosophical inquiry, in reality they shunned its kabbalistic manifestations as well. While one can find small pockets of support for intellectual faith here and there in later stages of the development of Hasidism, particularly among atypical personalities, they were in the final analysis deviations from the norm and can be counted among the previously mentioned exceptions (Habad, Pshiskha, and, to a degree, the later stages of Breslav). In the struggle between Habad and Kalisk over the question of faith, Kalisk emerged victorious (even though Kalisk Hasidism essentially ceased to exist after the death of its founder, while Habad continued). Here it is important to emphasize that, unlike Central Europe, where the ideal of simple faith arose as a necessary defense against the threats of Sabbateanism and modernity, in Hasidic Eastern Europe, simple faith developed within totally different circumstances. There it was an organic internal development that was apparently driven by the transformation of Hasidism into a mass movement. Certainly, the growing strength of modernization during the course of the nineteenth century reinforced this trend, but it was not the primary cause. As we will see, Lithuanian Judaism reacted in a completely different manner to similar processes of modernization, and the ideal of simple faith became part of its culture only at a much later stage.

Lithuania: The Misnagdim Parallel to the development of the ideal of simple faith in Hasidism at the end of the eighteenth century and the beginning of the nineteenth century, Lithuanian Jewry was also under the control of Czarist Russia and therefore did not experience the swift and intensive processes of modernization that 152 His position, as an anti-modernist response, was analyzed by Mendel Piekarz, Hahanhagah Hahasidit ( Jerusalem: Bialik Institute, 1999), 336–62.

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were encountered in Western and Central Europe. Nevertheless, during the nineteenth century, the study of Kabbalah declined in Lithuanian Jewry as well and some new alternative theologies began to develop. These alternatives represented forms of intellectual faith and did not present an ideal of simple faith. I must emphasize that I am not claiming that the ideal of simple faith did not pervade certain strata of the Jewish community in Lithuania at that time. On the contrary, there very well may have been influential individuals—itinerant preachers, maggidim, and the like—who presented simple faith as an ideal; but in the extant literary works of the elite cultured echelon, this approach is notable by its absence. The two primary spiritual fathers of the Misnagdim—the Gaon of Vilna (1720–1797) and R. Hayim of Volozhin (1749–1821)—drew their worldviews from Kabbalah. They could be viewed as the founders of a real kabbalist school of thought that continued to exist in subsequent generations, even if only at the margins of Lithuanian Jewish religious society.153 The Vilna Gaon’s attitude toward philosophy was extremely hostile, not because it was intellectual, but because it was rationalist. There are two well-known sharp comments that he directed at Maimonides—that he was “drawn by the cursed philosophy” that “misled him with its great sophistication” and that he and R. Moshe Isserles “did not see the ‘pardes’ (i.e., the deeper aspects of the Torah).”154 However, the full 153 See Raphael Shuchet, “Kabbalat Litta Kezerem ‘Atzma’i Besafrut HaKabbalah,” Kabbalah 10 (2004), 181–206; and A. Nadler, The Faith of the Mithnagdim (Baltimore: Johns Hopkins University Press, 1997), 11–49. 154 Beur HaGra on Shulhan Arukh Yore De’ah, 179, 13; ibid., 246, 18. This note by the Vilna Gaon was the subject of a philological debate. Shmuel Yosef Fünn, in his book Kiryah Ne’emanah (Vilna, 1860, 152) brings a letter sent to him by R. Tzvi Hirsch Katzenellenbogen (who was a member of Napoleon’s Sanhedrin) that includes something that he heard from R. Menasheh of Ilia, that the words of the cited comment “were not the words of the Vilna Gaon, and nothing of that type ever emerged from his holy lips, and it was inserted into the Beur HaGra by another person when it was printed, and he [R. Menasheh of Ilia] knows the person and his character.” In contrast, the author of the book ‘Aliyot Eliyahu brings a conflicting letter of R. Shmuel Luria in which he declares in the first person that the words of the Gaon of Vilna cited here “are the words that we merited to see in the text of the holy manuscripts of the Gaon of Vilna, of blessed memory” (Yehoshua Heschel Levin, ‘Aliyot Eliyahu [Vilna, 1874], 24–25; this letter, however, appears only from the 1874 third edition of the book and on). It is not our place to decide between these conflicting opinions, but we can point out that R. Shmuel Maltzan, the author of Even Shlomo, supported the position of R. Shmuel Luria, and wrote: “I heard from a trustworthy man that this is actually found in his holy manuscripts, as proven here.” (R. Shmuel Maltzan, Even Shelemah [Vilna, 1873], article 148, 62, footnote 102). R. Aaron Marcus, in his book HaHasidut (Tel Aviv: Netzah, 1954, 79) also followed this approach. This having been said, it is known that the Vilna Gaon himself studied philosophy. Levin himself brings many examples for this

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picture is, in fact, much more complex.155 Interestingly, the Vilna Gaon ­himself did not escape similar indictments, such as R. Shneur Zalman’s complaint about the Gaon’s “philosophical objections and arguments,” which he attributed to the fact that he “inquired about the Divinity through human reason.”156 As we saw above, R. Shneur Zalman was himself the object of such accusations, for in the subsequent generation, R. Tzvi Hirsch of Ziditchov charged that­ R. Shneur Zalman’s own teachings were influenced by philosophy. 157 This (somewhat amusing) chain of accusations testifies to a phenomenon that I mentioned above—that at this point in the religious history of Judaism, involvement in the study of philosophy was already considered a disgrace. However, all three thinkers rejected philosophy because they promoted a different type of intellectual faith, the kabbalist faith. In the generation following the Gaon of Vilna, we find only a small deviation from this ideal: R. Hayim of Volozhin emphasized the study of the Talmud and the Halakhah and the performance of the commandments, but corroborated it with a kabbalist argumentation. R. Hayim expressed no concerns regarding the study of Kabbalah, nor did he advocate simple faith. Nevertheless, the fact remains that the Volozhin Yeshivah, which above all represents the attempt to fashion the Litvish (Lithuanian-Jewish) ideal of the Torah scholar, did not include the study of Kabbalah in its daily curriculum, although it was tolerant of the small number of students who wished to study it.158 The next generation, that of the students of R. Hayim of Volozhin, is a generation whose theological world is still in need of research. One can find some traces of Kabbalah in the thought of a few individuals from that occupation of the Gaon. To this discussion, we may add the text attributed to the Gaon on the seventy forces of the soul (cited in R. Ya’akov Yisrael Kanievsky, ‘Etzot Vehadrakhot [Monsey: Torah Graphics, 1991], 121–67), and a very interesting text that was cited in Eliezer Rivlin’s book Toldot Hatzaddik Rabbi Yosef Zundel MiSalant, under the title “Kelalim Ketzarim Lehokhmat Haemet MehaGra Zatzal” (“Short Principles of the Lore of Truth [i.e., Kabbalah] by HaGra, of Blessed Memory”); see Eliezer Rivlin, Toldot Hatzaddik Rabbi Yosef Zundel MiSalant Verabbotav ( Jerusalem: Salomon Press, 1927), 107–10. This title is misleading, because the text seems to be a short summary of the philosophical sections in part 1 of The Guide for the Perplexed (!). 155 Raphael Shuchet, “Emunato shel Avraham Avinu Beveit Midrasho shel Hagra: Emunah Sikhlit mul Emunah Hitgalutit,” in Avraham Avi Hamaaminim, eds. Moshe Hallamish et al. (Ramat Gan: Bar Ilan University Press, 2002), 193–203. 156 Vilensky, Hasidim Umitnagdim, 201. 157 Barnai, Iggerot Hasidim MeEretz Yisrael, 243–47. 158 Shaul Stampfer, Lithuanian Yeshivas of the Nineteenth Century: Creating a Tradition of Learning (Oxford: Littman Library of Jewish Civilization, 2012), 42, 45, 52, 85.

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generation, such as R. Yitzhak of Volozhin (c. 1780–1849; the son of R. Hayim) and R. Yosef Zundel of Salant (1786–1865). It seems, however, that they only borrowed some fundamental concepts from Kabbalah but did not delve into its details. From a shallow perspective, we could say that this generation was apparently an interim generation in which a well-formulated theology had yet to be developed. A more significant theological development took place in the subsequent generation with the rise of the Musar Movement. This movement was, it seems, one of the only ideological movements in the Jewish religious world that developed a rich theology without committing to a systematic metaphysical worldview.159 The founder of the movement, R. Israel Salanter (1810–1883), did not significantly deal with the issue of faith. His connection to Kabbalah was rather weak,160 and comments cited in his name hint that he was alienated from it.161 With regard to philosophy, he expressed the traditional hesitations. 159 Compare this with Avi Sagi, Etgar Hashivah el Hamasoret ( Jerusalem and Ramat Gan: Shalom Hartman Institute, 2003), 386–434. 160 Hillel Goldberg, Israel Salanter: Text, Structure, Idea (New York: Ktav, 1982), 209–20; and Immanuel Etkes, Rabbi Israel Salanter and the Mussar Movement: Seeking the Torah of Truth (Philadelphia: Ktav, 1993), 92–97, especially the index, under “Kabbalah.” On this issue, there is a controversy between Immanuel Etkes and Hillel Goldberg. It seems that the position of Etkes, who denied that R. Israel Salanter had any connection to Kabbalah, is much more convincing on this point because his relative lack of interest in esoteric doctrines is reflected in the small number of citations attributed to him on the subject. We may presume that those citing him had no interest in attributing to him statements in this spirit if he did not say them. Furthermore, his written teachings refrain from using fundamental kabbalist associations, except for very basic ideas, and it is recognizable that this does not reflect a concealment of the esoteric but rather a lack of interest in this subject. Even in later generations of the Musar Movement, there are echoes of this spirit of R. Israel Salanter. See the following note as well. 161 Beyond the sources cited by Etkes, I would like to add an additional source, relatively later, in which R. Israel Salanter tries to eradicate a kabbalist source in his exegesis and replace it with a musar interpretation based on the simple meaning. R. Yeruham Lvovitch of Mir, a disciple of the Alter of Kelm, reported in Salanter’s name: “the Sages [said] that Enoch was a shoe sewer, and with each stitch he would work yihudim [unifications of the Divine powers], and saying on which [some interpreters] were wont to impose esoteric meaning. And he [R. Israel Salanter] would say that the meaning of working ‘yihudim’ is that he [Enoch] made every stitch meticulously to make sure his work was done properly and the shoes were repaired as should be. He would concentrate during each act of sewing on the virtue of kindness in order to protect himself from perpetrating larceny or fraud. In this manner, every act was intended toward God, which is the ultimate unification.” (R. Yeruham Levovitch, Da’at Hokhmah Umusar, vol. 1 [New York: publisher unknown, 1967] 65, 204). Another late source tells of a discussion between R. Shlomo Eliashov, author of Lesham Shevo Veahlamah, and R. Israel Salanter in which “R. Shlomo expressed

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If  R. Israel Salanter at times relied on these two theological systems, he did so without any sense of commitment to either.162 Even though his approach to Divine intervention in the world was clearly simple—a traditional approach to reward and punishment in the world to come—and he even encouraged his followers to maintain before their eyes a very concrete image of punishment in purgatory,163 he did not discuss issues of faith in a systematic manner and thus never called for the adoption of simple faith. In subsequent generations of the Musar Movement, as well, it is hard to find hints of this approach. The three most prominent personalities in the Musar Movement in the second generation—R. Simha Zissel Broyde-Ziv (the “Alter of Kelm,” 1824–1898), R. Natan Tzvi (Notte Hirsch) Finkel (the “Alter of Slobodka,” 1849–1927), and R. Yosef Yozl Horowitz (the “Alter of Novardok,” c. 1848–1919)—who expanded the theological dimensions of the movement beyond the psychological-­educational realm, practically did not address the desired nature of faith.164 Indeed, the thought of the Musar Movement is an entity unto itself. It embodies to a large degree an affinity to more or less systematic thinking, and by this exhibits a his surprise that R. Israel Salanter did not engage in esoteric study, and R. Israel Salanter answered that he was already old, and who knows from which books to learn the beginning of wisdom.” (R. Tzvi Hirsch Farber, “Darko Vehanhagato shel Ba’al HaLeshem Shevo Veahlamah,” Yeshurun 5 (1999), 663). Rabbi Farber offers his own interpretation there that “R. Israel Salanter always concealed his conduct, as is well known.” This, obviously, is mere conjecture. See also the comment of the editor, Rabbi Yehiel Steinberg, ibid., n. 13. 162 The proof for it is that he was prepared to rely on both simultaneously. We find a good example of this in Iggeret Hamusar, in which R. Israel Salanter presents the issue of the essence of the good inclination and the evil inclination. On the one hand, he presents the kabbalist approach in which both inclinations are super-natural metaphysical forces: “The Evil Inclination is [. . .] the Force of Uncleanliness in man which entices him to sin, and [. . .] the Good Inclination is [. . .] the Force of Sanctity in man which leads him to all that is good.” Then, he presents the rationalist approach in which the good inclination and evil inclination are natural forces: “The Evil Inclination is [. . .] the force of man’s lust [. . .], whereas the Good Inclination is [. . .] common sense [or: upright reason].” In the final analysis, he concludes in a homiletic fashion that both interpretations are correct (R. Israel Salanter, “Epistle of Musar,” in Israel Salanter: Religious-Ethical Thinker, ed. Menahem Glenn [New York: Bloch Publishing Company, 1953], 140–42). 163 Mordechai Pachter, ed., Kitvei Rabbi Israel Salanter ( Jerusalem: Bialik Institute, 1989), 114, 214, 224–25, 229–30. The comment of R. Yitzhak Blazer is well known: “Our master [. . . R. Israel Salanter] in his paths of musar did not choose presumptuous goals nor splendid works, nor did he preach lofty [spiritual] levels such as the love of God or the awe at His glory. Rather, he chose his own holy path, and in his many musar sermons taught only the fear of [Divine] punishment.” R. Yitzhak Blazer, “Sha’arei Or,” Introduction to Or Israel (Vilna, 1900), 10. More on this at 11, 13–14, 17, 34, 36. 164 We will examine the third generation of the movement further on.

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t­ endency toward intellectual faith. Yet, its knowledge base is neither kabbalist nor philosophical, but relates to a new type of theology that focuses on the position and power of the human soul vis-à-vis the demands of the Torah. Parallel to the Musar Movement, an alternative and less defined ideology developed in Lithuania, which can be referred to as “neo-Maimonideanism.” This approach found expression in the realms of both theology and Halakhah. It was characterized by openness to the concepts of Maimonides in The Guide for the Perplexed combined with some “soft” kabbalist concepts and terminology and by a growing literature of hiddushim (novella) on his code, Mishneh Torah.165 The individuals who most clearly represented this trend of thought were R. Meir Simha Hakohen of Dvinsk (1843–1926), the author of Or Sameah and Meshekh Hokhmah, R. Yosef Rosin (“the Rogatchover”; 1858– 1936), author of Tzofnat Pa’ane’ah on the Torah and on Maimonides, and R. Yehiel Michel Epstein, the author of ’Arukh Ha-Shulhan.166 These individuals also minimized their discussions of concepts of faith to a degree, but it is clear that their approach represented a form of intellectual faith. It even included an obtuse aspiration to create an alternative theological system combining a bit of the taste of medieval rationalism with a bit of the flavors of Kabbalah. Can this phenomenon be viewed as a derivative of the Haskalah movement? It is clear that the aforementioned individuals who drove this development were not among the proponents of Enlightenment or its supporters, but it is possible that they were influenced by it to some degree. Furthermore, Yosef Salmon’s description of the typical “enlightened rabbi” of the nineteenth century, as manifested in Russia in the late 1800s, is important to this context 165 It is worth noting here that the genre of hiddushim on Maimonides was disparaged in the later Ashkenazic tradition until the eighteenth century and was vitalized primarily in nineteenth-century Lithuania. Later manifestations of this movement are Hiddushei R. Hayim Soloveitchik Al HaRambam and R. Isser Zalman Meltzer’s Even Haezel, among others. 166 On R. Meir Simha’s approach, see Yonah Ben Sasson, Mishnato Ha’iyunit shel Ba’al Meshekh Hokhmah ( Jerusalem: Lifshitz College, 1996), 6, 10–11, 16–21, 25–28. On R. Yosef Rozin’s approach, see Rabbi Menahem Mendel Kasher, Mefa’aneah Tzefunot (New York: Tzofnat Pa’aneah Institute, 1960), 13–14; Rabbi Moshe Grossberg, Tzefunot HaRogatchovi ( Jerusalem: unknown publisher, 1975). As for R. Yehiel Michel Epstein: While ’Arukh Hashulhan is a halakhic codex and not a book of hiddushim on Maimonides, the influence of Maimonides on this work has been noted. See Rav Tza’ir (Chaim Tchernowitz), Toldot Haposkim, vol. 3 (New York: Va’ad Hayovel, 1947), 301–2. For an example of Maimonides’s influence on theological issues, see Yehiel Michel Epstein, ’Arukh Hashulhan, Orah Hayim, 1:5, ibid., 220:1. It should be pointed out that R. Epstein’s homilies, published under the title Drashot Kol Ben Levi, do not reflect any particular theological influence, for they relate to current social issues.

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because it suggests that, in certain periods, the boundaries between the various ideological camps in Jewish society were not unequivocal.167 Perhaps it would be more precise in discussing this period to talk not about different ideological camps but rather about a rainbow with different shades reflecting the relationship between tradition and Enlightenment. In any case, this social phenomenon could have been considered a substantive theological school of thought were it not for the fact that it was so short-lived. As stated previously, these two movements—the Musar Movement and neo-Maimonideanism—constitute two forms of intellectual faith by the very fact that they express a positive attitude toward theological thought and creativity, different as they may be in their characteristics. Nevertheless, in the second half of the nineteenth century, even the Lithuanian Misnagdim began to absorb the idea of simple faith and to promote it in their own way. This development is associated above all with the personality and approach of R. Yisrael Meir Hakohen (Kagan), the Hafetz Hayim (c. 1839–1933). The Hafetz Hayim was, to a large degree, an unusual personality in the landscape of the rabbinic-scholarly elite of Lithuania. He wrote a minimal number of “Hidushei Torah” (Talmudic novellae), and those that are found sparsely in his halakhic works are concise and oriented toward practice, a style that is certainly uncharacteristic of this genre of Lithuanian scholarly literature. A majority of his writings consist of a mixture of Halakhah and musar, written in a very popular format peppered with stories and parables. This style, too, was not characteristic of the halakhic literature of his time and place.168 He conducted his own life with simplicity and humility. He did not take on a rabbinic position, and earned his living from selling his books door to door and from a store that his wife ran. Some of the educated people of his generation in Lithuania related to him derogatorily and viewed him as a balbos (a commoner, or layman),169 but in the eyes of many, he was a paragon of the “tzaddik tamim” (an innocent-righteous individual; following Gen. 6:9). Indeed, it seems that simplicity was one of the prominent characteristics of his personality, which accordingly reappears as a central theme in

167 Yosef Salmon, “Enlightenment Rabbis as Reformers in Russian Jewish Society,” in New Perspectives on the Haskalah, eds. S. Feiner and D. Sorkin (London: Littman Library of Jewish Civilization, 2001), 166–83. 168 He was preceded by Rabbi Avraham Danzig (1748–1820), author of Hayei Adam. The influence of this work on the Hafetz Hayim in terms of goals and style is quite significant. 169 We also find echoes of this even in Orthodox hagiographies. See Rabbi Moshe Meir Yoshor, HeHafetz Hayim—Hayav Ufo’olo, vol. 2 (Tel Aviv: Netzah, 1959), 482.

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his halakhic works as well as in his discourses and articles.170 From a number of perspectives, the Hafetz Hayim can be considered the greatest proponent of simple faith in Lithuanian Jewry. We find frequent documentation of his simple faith approach in comments recorded in his name. For example, the following was conveyed by one of his close associates, Rabbi Avraham Abbele Kosowski of Yanova ( Janow Sokolski): The Hafetz Hayim of blessed memory was the greatest believer in our generation, and perhaps in previous generations as well. Faith for him was tangible to the point that it was difficult for him to hear people bringing proofs for the existence of God. I once heard him say the following: “A father holds his child in his arms, kisses him, hugs him, and feeds him. If someone asked the child, ‘Who is holding you in his hands?’ the child would answer, ‘My father.’ If someone would tell him, ‘No, that is your father’ (pointing to another person), the child would point his finger at his father and say, ‘This is my father!’ He does not need proofs, he just points his finger and says: ‘This is my father!’ In such a situation, the child may have true love for his father. If, however, the child doesn’t recognize his father and we would have to prove to him with evidence that this is his father, then it is not possible that there would be true love.” And he expanded very much on this point.171

In another source, we find the following depiction of the Hafetz Hayim: He [the Hafetz Hayim] said: If indeed the Sages told us that Abraham our forefather engaged in intellectual inquiry, initiated and found that there is a Master of the universe, as explained in Midrash Rabbah [. . .], that is because he was the first, and did not inherit the foundations of Judaism from his ancestors. We, however, are the children of our ancestors who received the Torah on Mount Sinai—why should we spend our time on inquiry and begin again from ABC?172 170 In future research about the halakhic writings of the Hafetz Hayim, I intend to give expression to the connection between his simple faith and the nature of his halakhic rulings. 171 The emphasis is from the original source. R. Aryeh Leib Hakohen, “Dugma Mehayei Avi,” Kol Kitvei HeHafetz Hayim Hashalem, vol. 3 ( Jerusalem: Yeshivat HeHafetz Hayim MiRadin, 1990), 116–17. 172 Rabbi Shmuel Greiniman, Hafetz Hayim al HaTorah (Bnei Brak: Sifriyati, 1970), Bereshit, 24–25, in Ma’asai Lamelekh.

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This is the same argument that we saw above in the thought of R. Nahman of Breslav.173 The contents of faith were already transmitted to us by our ancestors, who already exerted the effort to attain them; so, for us, this effort is superfluous. In view of this, can we attribute the Hafetz Hayim’s simple faith approach to Hasidic influence? It seems that the response to this question is negative. Simplicity was apparently imprinted deep in the roots of the Hafetz Hayim’s personality, and did not need any external influence. He did not need to receive the aforementioned argument from R. Nahman or any other Hasidic source, for it represents a line of argument that was a foundation of traditional thought from its inception. Furthermore, even though the Hafetz Hayim came into close contact with Hasidic communities and even felt a sense of endearment and respect for them, he remained a Misnaged in his outlook and maintained a critical tone toward Hasidism.174 In an interesting source written by his son, R. Aryeh Leib, we find that he did not view the Hasidic approach as congruent with simplicity, but rather as a deviation from it: Regarding Hasidism, I heard the following from him in these words: There are three paths—the right, the left, and the middle. The right is the path of Hasidism, the left is the path of the sophisticates and the philosophizers, and the middle path is the path of Torah, according to its plain meaning and the explanations of the sages of the Mishnah and Gemara.175

These words are very reminiscent of the well-known satiric rhyme of the Hatam Sofer: “The hasid plays his flute (also: profanes) on the right, the heretic casts off and crushes on the left, and the Torah scholar in the middle quietly travails.”176 There is no room for doubt that “the path of Torah according to its plain meaning” is in the eyes of the Hafetz Hayim the absolute simplicity without the additional trappings of Hasidism. Undoubtedly, this approach also enlightens the domain of faith and reflects a negative attitude toward all forms of intellectual faith. Indeed, according to his aforementioned son, the Hafetz Hayim tended toward Kabbalah, and even stated that “without the concealed 173 See next to n. 114. 174 On the attitude of the Hafetz Hayim to Hasidim and Hasidism, see R. Aryeh Leib Hakohen, “Sihot HeHafetz Hayim,” in Kol Kitvei HeHafetz Hayim Hashalem, vol. 3 ( Jerusalem: Yeshivat HeHafetz Hayim MiRadin, 1990), 24–25; and Dugma Mehayei Avi, ibid., 10–13. 175 Dugma Midarkhei Avi, ibid., 10. 176 Shlomo Sofer, Iggerot Sofrim (Vienna, 1928), letter no. 26.

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elements of the Torah [i.e., Kabbalah] we grope in the darkness,” but in the same breath added that he minimized his study of kabbalist works and preferred to focus on the study of Halakhah, “which is needed for the masses.”177 Here, too, it seems to me that the promotion of Kabbalah is more of a perfunctory fulfillment of an obligation to the past tradition and the great Torah scholars who clung to it rather than a call to study the mystical literature or to adopt the kabbalist worldview. The Hafetz Hayim drew his truths regarding faith from biblical and rabbinic sources, as previously mentioned, through a simple and “naïve” interpretation of their contents, in a rather popular spirit.178 We can say without hesitation that the ideal of simple faith achieved a rousing victory among Litvish (Lithuanian, Misnagdic) Jewry, and that Orthodox personalities in the time of the Hafetz Hayim and subsequent generations adopted it warmly. His elder contemporary, R. Hayim Soloveitchik of Brisk (1853–1918), did not actively promote the idea of simple faith, but in relatively later oral traditions in his name (the credibility of which I have no reason to doubt), we find an interesting critical tone vis-à-vis Kabbalah and a parallel expression of traditional hesitation with attempts to achieve faith by means of human reason.179 His disciple, R. Elhanan Wasserman (1874–1941), wrote 177 Dugma Midarkhei Avi, 14. He even lists about a dozen kabbalist books that were in his father’s library, all of which were written by “the early writers.” In contrast, regarding halakhic works, he testifies that “for his study, he made efforts to get all the works of the early authorities (rishonim) as well as all the works of the later authorities (aharonim) that were written after the Shulhan Arukh, both from Ashkenazi and Sefardi scholars.” (Sihot HeHafetz Hayim, 23). 178 His son also told the following about him: “The Bible was in his talis and tefilin bag almost throughout his life. Truthfully, he never adapted the words of the Torah and Prophets to his own mind, to impose ideas and wisecracks upon them as do many of our fellow Jews. On the contrary, he always brought his mind close to that of the Torah. This explains his strong hope and great trust that even the slightest grain of all that is stated explicitly in the Torah and Prophets regarding the future of the Jewish people will not fall short.” Dugma Midarkhei Avi, 28. 179 Regarding Kabbalah, see Moshe Levi, Mishel Haavot, vol. 3 (Bnei Brak: M. Levi, 1995), 8; and Shim’on Yosef Meller, Shai LaTorah; Rosh Hashanah Veyom Hakippurim ( Jerusalem: Sh.Y Meller, 1997), 100–2. This report, which is cited in Haredi literature, can be considered credible, for this literature is not keen on exposing controversies, and more so opposition to a traditional theological system that has been sanctified. Thus, it stands to reason that if the report was not well founded, they would not have gone out of their way to cite it. Regarding human reason, see R. El’azar Menahem Mann Shach, Avi ’Ezri al HaRambam (Bnei Brak: publisher unknown, 1995), on Hilkhot Teshuvah 5:5. See also the text cited by Y. Hershkovitz, Torat Hayim (Israel: n.d.), 87, 144–46; Hayei Hamusar, vol. 1 (Bnei Brak: publisher unknown, 1968), 28, article 22; and Rabbi Yosef Avraham Wolf, Rabboteinu (Bnei Brak: Beit Ya’akov, 1975), 153.

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that “faith is evident for any reasonable person, if he only reached the basic mental competence, and there is no need at all for philosophy to achieve this knowledge.”180 As a proof, he brought a “simple” argument that integrates the teleological and cosmological proofs for the existence of God.181 In another place, R. Elhanan related to the controversy among medieval scholars regarding the attitude toward philosophy, a controversy that he deemed irrelevant to his time, for “even among those who permit [the study of philosophy], the permission is only in force when damage is unlikely”—that is, for men of stature whose faith is particularly firm. Therefore, “the proponents of the aforementioned approach were only referring to the select few who are not found in our generations.”182 A similar argument was raised by R. Avraham Yeshayahu Karelitz, the Hazon Ish (1878–1953), who wrote that, indeed, the accepted and established principles of faith have their foundations in the depths of wisdom and scientific inquiry, but the straight path before us is to proceed with a pure heart and to believe with full and simple faith. Hence, we are obliged to distance ourselves from inquiry and to instill in our hearts all of the principles in their plain sense, in which all are wellversed, the wise and the layman alike.183

The neo-Maimonidean movement almost disappeared from the ultra-­ Orthodox world in the twentieth century, and it seems that during this century, only the Musar Movement remained as the last vestige of a soft intellectual faith. In the third generation of the movement, we even find signs of a “return to metaphysics” after having been disparaged in the first two generations in favor of psychological-educational theology. The prominent proponents of this trend were Rabbi Yosef Leib Bloch of Telz (c.1860–1929), R. Yeruham Halevi Levovitch of Mir (1875–1936), and, in the next generation, R. Eliyahu Eliezer Dessler (1892–1953). All of these individuals were prominent and influential figures in the Musar Movement. Nevertheless, even in this movement, the ideal of simple faith sprouted in the third generation, primarily in the thought of 180 R. Elhanan B. Wasserman, Kovetz Maamarim ( Jerusalem: Sifriyati, 1991), 12–13, 17. 181 Ibid. 182 Ibid, 65–66. These comments were, in fact, made only with regard to philosophy, but one can discern from them a praise of simple faith in general; they appear to be pertinent to Kabbalah as well. 183 R. Avraham Yesha’ayahu Kareliz, Kovetz Iggerot Hazon Ish, ed. Sh. Greiniman, vol. 1 (Bnei Brak: Sh. Greiniman, 1990), 15.

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R. Moshe Rosenstein of Łomża (1881–1941), who, although not considered one of its prominent thinkers, can certainly be considered one of its most interesting ideologues.184 It seems to me that the triumph of simple faith within Lithuanian Jewry can be attributed in no small degree to the personality and standing of the Hafetz Hayim, who became a legend even during his lifetime, and even more so after his death. However, in parallel, the trend toward the crystallization of Orthodoxy in Lithuanian Jewry also contributed its part. Historians are divided regarding the beginnings of this trend,185 but all agree that it reached its point of maturation during the years that the Hafetz Hayim published his halakhic work Mishnah Brurah (1884–1907), the period in which he reached the height of his influence. This work itself was perceived by many to be the embodiment of the Orthodox approach—that is, the approach that tried to cope with modernity from a strategic perspective rather than through tactical means.186 Could we surmise that Orthodox defensiveness gave rise to the simple faith ideal of the Hafetz Hayim? It seems to me that this would be an overstatement and that the relationship between the two processes is actually more complex. The Hafetz Hayim apparently developed his simple personality in his very early days, a personality that was, as far as we can judge, simple from the outset. Besides the element of faith, simplicity manifested itself in quite a number of components that have nothing to do with the struggle against modernity. Our best assessment is that this was not “second simplicity” or a “reactionary simplicity” but rather a basic simplicity inherent in his personality. Yet, this simplicity suited very well the needs of developing Orthodoxy. Here, too, it seems, it was perceived as a traditionalist theology that was less dangerous than all of the possible alternatives. Furthermore, it was the only alternative that could provide at that time an ideological common denominator for both Hasidim and Misnagdim, who had to unite against a shared external threat. Indeed, simple faith served this unifying function successfully on the theological level, just as the personality of the Hafetz Hayim served a similar unifying function on the personal level. 184 The musar theology of this underrated thinker deserves scholarly attention. See my article: Benjamin Brown, “Ahavah, Simha, Temimut Umasortanut: Kavvim Leshittat Hamusar shel R. Moshe Rosenstein MiLomza,” in Yashan Mipnei Haddash: Shai Le'Immanuel Etkes, eds. David Assaf and Ada Rapoport Albert ( Jerusalem: Shazar Center, 2009), vol. 1, 251–79. 185 Immanuel Etkes tends to push it back to the mid-nineteenth century, Yosef Salmon tends to set the boundary in the 1870s, and Mordechai Zalkin sets it only in the 1880s. 186 See Haym Soloveitchik, “Rupture and Reconstruction: The Transformation of Contemporary Orthodoxy,” Tradition 28, 4 (1994), 64–126; and Eliezer Schweid, Bein Orthodoxia Lehumanism Dati ( Jerusalem: Van Leer Institute, 1977), 12–14.

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Loci of Intellectual Faith after the Triumph of Simple Faith With the triumph of simple faith in Lithuania, the process of the rise of this ideal was to a great degree complete, and it ultimately became a central value of ultra-Orthodox Judaism. As we have seen, its rise cannot be attributed solely to the crisis of modernity. It arose in three different geographical areas stemming from different motives and sources. In Central Europe, it developed in response to the first sparks of modernity but also as a reaction to the remnants of Sabbateanism. In the Hasidic camp, its development was unrelated to these two catalysts but was primarily the result of an internal tension inherent in the Hasidic message between its mystical dimension (which traditionally had an elitist facet) and its popular appeal. The choice of simple faith was only incorporated into the Hasidic struggle against modernity at a later stage. Litvish (Lithuanian-Jewish) Orthodoxy proved that the decline of mysticism and even the crisis of modernity did not automatically require the adoption of simple faith, as two important alternative theologies—the Musar Movement and neo-Maimonideanism— developed within it as a result of these processes before the rise of simple faith, even though they subsequently faded away. Indeed, simple faith ultimately conquered the Litvish sphere as well because of a combination of factors discussed previously, one of them being the personality of the Hafetz Hayim. Intellectual faith, which had been the traditional ideal until this point, now took on a defensive posture. This does not mean, however, that this type of faith and the theological speculation inherent in it were completely driven out of Orthodox Judaism. For example, German Jewish neo-Orthodoxy represented an approach that clearly preferred intellectual faith as an a priori positive value, and it became a basic tenet of this stream of Judaism for a few generations. Theology kept flourishing within the Torah im Derekh Eretz culture until the decline of this stream due to the Holocaust. Only when this culture was thrown into an ideological crisis, even before the rise of the Nazis in 1933 but more so thereafter, did critical voices call for revision, some of them suggesting to adopt simple faith.187 Nevertheless, these voices, which represented the tendency to accept an Eastern European influence, failed to achieve (or did not have enough time to achieve) ideological dominance. 187 A prominent representative of this trend was the Agudist leader R. Jacob Rosenheim, who was very anxious to preserve the unity of the Orthodox camp and the pact between the Orthodox of Eastern and Western Europe in the framework of Agudat Yisrael. See Jacob Rosenheim, Ketavim, vol. 1 ( Jerusalem: Agudath Israel World Organization, 1970), 298–301; and vol. 2 ( Jerusalem: Agudath Israel World Organization, 1981), 34–35, 67–77.

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Dov Schwartz has pointed out an additional locus of the revitalization of intellectual faith and resistance to the ideal of simple faith—in Religious Zionism. In a series of studies on this movement, he demonstrated that Religious Zionism represented to some of its leaders not only a political-social alternative for Jews in the Diaspora but also an aspiration to conduct a “theological mega-reconstruction.” Religious Zionist thinkers expressed openly— and, to some degree, defiantly—the aspiration to return to the discussion of theology using systematic tools of thought taken from Jewish philosophy and Kabbalah as well as from general philosophy. This trend represented a movement away from simple faith.188 R. Avraham Yitzhak Kook (1865–1935), who embodied this orientation in his thought, expressed this position explicitly in several places in his book Orot Haemunah (“Lights of Faith”) as well as in other writings. Nevertheless, his statements in this regard are not altogether consistent (or are dialectic, as his adherents would prefer to view it), and, in parallel, he presented simple faith as an ideal that transcends that of intellectual faith. The position that emerges from a majority of his writings on the topic posits that intellectual inquiry and the study of Kabbalah both develop faith and enrich it, and both are requisites for religious perfection.189 He emphasized that “faith is rooted in wisdom” and presented “those who possess supreme wisdom” as a high human ideal.190 188 Dov Schwartz, Emunah al Parashat Derakhim (Tel Aviv: Am Oved, 1996), 9–11, 268–69. See also Dov Schwartz, Religious Zionism: History and Ideology (Brighton, MA: Academic Studies Press, 2009). 189 See Shalom Rosenberg, “Introduction to the Thought of Rav Kook,” in The World of Rav Kook’s Thought, eds. B. Ish-Shalom and Sh. Rosenberg (New York: Avi Chai, 1991), 23–30, 84–97; Tzvi Yaron, Mishnato shel Harav Kook ( Jerusalem: World Zionist Organization, 1993), 73–83; Benjamin Ish Shalom, Rav Avraham Itzhak HaCohen Kook: Between Rationalism and Mysticism (Albany, NY: State University of New York Press, 1993), 175–93, 207–28; and Yosef Ben Shlomo, Shirat HaHayim: Perakim Bemishnato shel HaRav Kook (Tel Aviv: Israel Defense Ministry, 1989), 24–32. 190 R. Avraham Yitzhak Kook, Shemonah Kevatzim, vol. 1, collection no. 1 ( Jerusalem: publisher unknown, 2004), article 849 (p. 234); see also ibid., article 13 (p. 5), article 54 (p. 14), articles 84–85 (p. 23), article 88 (p. 24), article 138 (pp. 44–45), article 547 (p. 151), article 586 (p. 160), article 597 (pp. 165–166), article 644 (p. 176), article 656 (pp. 180–181), article 699 (pp. 192–93), and article 496 (p. 248); ibid., collection 2, article 12 (pp. 256–57), article 280 (pp. 323–24); ibid., collection 3, article 194 (p. 420), article 361 (p. 463); ibid., vol. 2, collection 4, articles 41–42 (p. 15); ibid., collection 5, article 88 (p. 93), article 144 (p. 119), article 271 (pp. 182–183); ibid., collection 6, article 38 (pp. 202–3), article 87 (pp. 215–16; here, there is a rare attack on the blatant anti-­ rationalists), articles 132–35 (pp. 229–31), article 157 (p. 237); ibid., collection 7, article 27 (pp. 299–300), article 57 (p. 320), articles 143–158 (pp. 368–74); and Rosenberg,

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In his opinion, free inquiry can cause damage only to one whose faith is not fully refined, but enriches those who have already acquired faith and internalized it.191 Furthermore, “A knowledgeable person, who can purge his spiritual world by the light of his soul up to the [degree] of knowing God and basing his faith [. . .] on clear and lucid reason—is tremendously sinful if he leaves this Divine gift. [. . .] for this is a full obligation for every Torah scholar to purge his beliefs by lucid reason.”192 Alongside these comments, however, he also wrote that “Particularly with simple faith that is unlimited and incorporates no human wisdom are the supreme light and the inner radiance of a more perfect life discovered: ‘Walk before Me, and be thou perfect [lit.: naïve, or simple].’”193 Thus, it appears that R. Kook returned to the same inner conflict that R. Shneur Zalman encountered a century before him.194 It seems that R. Kook tends in most of his writings toward the first approach but is aware of the strength of the contradictory approach and, as he often does, tries to harmonize the two conflicting values into one all-embracing perfect ideal. The uncontestable fact, however, is that R. Kook’s thought, as well as that of his disciples, expresses in practical terms a clear preference for intellectual faith. Similarly, the thought of the other important modern Orthodox thinker who influenced Modern Orthodoxy (including Israeli Religious Zionism), R. Joseph B. Soloveitchik (1903–1993), also demonstrated a clear tendency toward intellectual faith.195 These two most recent loci for the development of intellectual faith did not influence Haredi thought. In Haredi culture, the triumph of simple faith was complete. In the Jewish reality after the Holocaust, there was no place

191 192 193 194 195

“Introduction to the Thought of Rav Kook.” It should be noted, however, that some of these statements are restricted or contradicted by others—not a very rare phenomenon in R. Kook’s writings. R. Avraham Yitzhak Kook, Orot Haemunah ( Jerusalem: Mealeph ve’ad Tav, 1998), 58. Ibid., 95. Ibid., 105–7. It is not by chance. There is no doubt that R. Kook was greatly influenced by the thought of R. Shneur Zalman and consequently assimilated some of the inner tensions of the latter’s theology. There are so many articles about R. Soloveitchik’s approach to faith and on his connection to rational philosophy and Kabbalah that even a preliminary list would be very long. To name just a few: Aviezer Ravitzky, “Rabbi J. B. Soloveitchick on Human Knowledge: Between Maimonidean and neo-Kantian Philosophy,” Modern Judaism 6, 2 (1986), 157–88; Lawrence J. Kaplan, “Maimonides and Soloveitchik on the Knowledge and Imitation of God,” in Moses Maimonides (1138–1204): His Religious, Scientific, and Philosophical “Wirkungsgeschichte” in Different Cultural Contexts, eds. Görge K. Hasselhoff and Otfried Fraisse (Würzburg: Ergon, 2004), 491–523; Shubert S. Spero, “Rabbi Joseph Dov Soloveitchick and Belief in God,” Modern Judaism 19:1 (1999), 1–20.

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for the German brand of neo-Orthodoxy, which essentially vanished. The Haredi community aspired to return to the exilic life of Eastern Europe—to the courts of the Hasidic rebbes and the “holy yeshivot,” and not to rebuild the problematic constructs of German Jewry. The Hafetz Hayim and the Hasidic rebbes became the models of Haredi faith as opposed to Rabbis Hirsch and Hildesheimer. Similarly, Religious Zionism had no influence on Haredi society, as the schism between these two Orthodox groups widened to the point that they became practically two distinct movements. The thought of R. Kook and other Religious Zionist thinkers did not constitute a real challenge to the Haredi spirit. In fact, in Israel and the United States after the Holocaust, Haredi theological creativity was constructed almost entirely with concepts of “simplicity.” Haredi references to theological systems and the systematic use of theology can be found today only in modernist groups that are very small in number and generally express themselves anonymously on the Internet or in publications geared toward an external target audience, such as literature for “returnees” (ba’alei teshuvah).196 It is important to note that the triumph of simple faith was not easily obtained or inevitable, in contrast to the frequently simplified portrayal that simple faith developed as an almost automatic response to the crisis of modernity. Certainly, the crisis of modernity was a strong contributory force that compelled traditional groups to form a comprehensive response that would establish the parameters of openness to modernity and seclusion from it. To be sure, the Orthodox response, as opposed to pre-Orthodox responses, is characterized by its comprehensiveness: It is a strategic-systemic reaction rather than a localized-tactical “problem-solving” response. Its basic direction was to preserve the Halakhah as the hard core of Judaism.197 Yet, the precise nature of the reaction was not at all determined by a set standard. While some set the parameters in one place, others established them differently. With regard to our topic, there were those who viewed the withdrawal from theology in favor of simple faith as the solution to the crisis of modernity; others who sought relief in alternative theologies that derived from traditional sources (as we saw in Lithuanian 196 As for the Internet, the most prominent, interesting, and active site, to my knowledge, is “Atzor, Kan Hoshvim!” in the Hyde Park website: http://www.bhol.co.il/forums/forum. asp?forum_id=1364. The literature for “returnees” began with series such as El Hamekorot, which included discussions rarely found in “regular” Haredi writing. 197 A localized-tactical response often appears in traditional pre-modern societies in reaction to innovative phenomena, primarily when they do not threaten the tradition in a comprehensive manner.

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Jewry and to a large degree in the divergent Hasidic groups of Habad, Breslav, and Pshiskha); and yet others sought new theological systems that derived to a large degree from modern thought (as we saw in German Orthodoxy and in Religious Zionism). All of these approaches shared a desire to preserve and revitalize the tradition. All were full-fledged Orthodox responses. The nature of the responses was not uniform because they were impacted by the different realities of modernization experienced by the Orthodox leaders, the different ideological traditions from which they sprouted, and the varied personalities and worldviews of the individuals involved. Thus, in this matter, as in matters of Halakhah and lifestyle, Orthodoxy is revealed not as a monolithic and uniform position, but as a continuum with a relatively wide range of nuance.

The Fruits of Simplicity: Indeliberate Theology From the standpoint of its proponents, the ideal of simple faith was designed to do away with theology. Indeed, it succeeded in bringing an end to engagement in the various branches of classical theology, particularly metaphysics. Nevertheless, to a certain degree, simple faith generated a theology of its own, a sort of “simple theology.” This is a somewhat unusual theology in that its proponents do not admit to it being a theology, and even see it as the antithesis of theological thought. It is thus an “indeliberate theology.”198 Indeed, in this light, one can better understand much of Haredi thought in recent generations. It is a mode of thought that does not don any type of systematic theological arguments but rather adopts the form of pointed explanation, generally on current issues. It does not refer to itself as a theology (or any other label that has a similar connotation, such as philosophy, thought, approach), but sees itself as educational literature, ethical exhortation, and the like. Nevertheless, it reflects the clear worldview of its proponents, and its adoption even instigated a recognizable theological change. Just as thinking in rationalist categories colors the fundamental theological concepts (e.g., creation, providence, revelation, miracle, redemption) with new shades according to its approach, and just as thinking in mystical categories colors them with different shades, so too, the return to simple faith concepts colors them with totally different shades. Sometimes a simple faith perspective colors the fundamental theological concepts with new 198 I have already addressed the essence and effectiveness of this concept in another place. See Benjamin Brown, “Hahmarah: Hamishah Typusim min Ha’et Hahadashah,” Iyunei Halakhah Umishpat Likhvod Professor Aharon Kirschenbaum—Diné Israel 20–21 (2000– 2001), 125–27, and further references at footnote 4.

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shades, and sometimes it returns them closer to their simple biblical meaning or to their rabbinic understanding. In any case, it has been a catalyst for weighty change in the world of religious thought, particularly since Jewish thought had existed for over a thousand years in the shadow of the two significant systems of intellectual faith—philosophy and Kabbalah. An abundance of illustrations of this phenomenon can be given, but I will suffice with a few examples, some of which have already been analyzed in existing studies: Reward and Punishment vs. Lishmah: Both Hasidic thought and that of the Misnagdim promoted the ideal of lishmah (performing a commandment for its own sake) in the study of Torah and the performance of commandments. While in early Hasidism this concept included connotations of mystical experience, they did not negate the traditional rabbinic concept of lishmah, but only added to it. How much more so in later Hasidism that pushed aside the experiential-mystical value and drew some of the fundamental mystical concepts of early Hasidism back to their original traditional meaning. It is very clear that the ideal of lishmah exists in a certain tension with simple faith. Simple faith emphasizes to the believer the reward that awaits him in this world and the world to come if he fulfills God’s will, and the punishment that can be expected if he sins. In contrast, the ideal of lishmah demands that he ignore these rewards and punishments, or at least not allow them to motivate his actions. Indeed, anyone who studies the works of the Hafetz Hayim senses that his simple faith returned to the arena the popular and most simple concepts of reward and punishment, similar to the simple meaning in the Bible and in rabbinic lore. He encouraged his readers to consider the reward of the commandment against the potential loss and the consequence of sin against the potential gain. This idea is expressed as well in his famous parables. While the traditional “obedience” motifs of kings, princes, officers, and slaves appear in them, they are no longer dominant. Much more prominent are the “utilitarian” motifs of merchants, investors, buyers, and sellers. In fact, when the Hafetz Hayim gets to a direct discussion of the concept of lishmah, he tries to pledge allegiance to it, but it is difficult not to discern that his discussion of this issue is convoluted and problematic, and that his final conclusion exacts leniency vis-à-vis the issue of lishmah.199 Divine Providence and the Holocaust: In his research on how Haredi thinkers coped with the Holocaust, Eliezer Schweid demonstrated that they refrained from using the concept of “hester panim”—the temporary w ­ ithdrawal 199 R. Israel Meir Hakohen, “Ahavat Hesed,” in Kol Kitvei HeHafetz Hayim Hashalem, vol. 3 ( Jerusalem: Yeshivat HeHafetz Hayim MiRadin, 1990), 113–15.

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of Divine Providence from the world200—and returned to the traditional understandings of reward and punishment, messianic birth pangs, trial, and the like, even within the crematoria.201 Schweid points out that this was an attempt to revive “the ‘naïve,’ ‘fundamental’ model that brings historical truth to fully overlap with myth.”202 He even expressed doubts as to whether “modern consciousness can create a ‘naïve’ religious myth, and through it to initiate the amazing phenomenon of religious revival out of the foundations of immediate experience.”203 The cases that are brought throughout his book suggest the potential ideological range that can develop from this line of thinking. Incidentally, it is worth noting here, in the words of the Haredi historian Esther Farbstein, that after the Holocaust, one can detect in the homilies delivered by rabbis who survived the camps a trend to refrain from computing the parameters of Divine Providence in the world, a trend that she ascribes to their “simple faith” approach.204 The Point of the “Yud” and the Chosenness of the Jewish People: Kabbalah determined that the letters of the Tetragrammaton represent different forces in the upper realms. The point that is at the edge of the letter yud represents the highest and most concealed sphere of these realms.205 Mendel Peikarz demonstrated how later Hasidic thought (which turned to simple faith, as indicated above) took these concepts and gave them a much more simple meaning. The point of the yud is the Jewish kernel, which remains intact even when it is “covered” by sins.206 200 Even though the reference is to a biblical concept (Deuteronomy 31:18), it is clear that the meaning with which it is charged in later periods is firmly tied to the kabbalist concepts of tzimtzum (divine retraction) and histalkut (self-removal of divine abundance). 201 Eliezer Schweid, Bein Hurban LiYshu’ah (Tel Aviv: Sifriyat Po’alim, 1994), 10–14, 217, 218. 202 Ibid., 228. 203 Ibid., 227. 204 I will quote Farbstein’s words at length: “The rabbis were aware of questions of faith that had not been satisfactorily answered: What was the meaning of the suffering? What was the significance of the destruction and the torment? How could such a thing have happened? Nevertheless, their sermons do not try to infuse the Holocaust with meaning; clearly, it was too soon for them to have perspective. They encouraged their listeners to have simple faith and to refrain from asking questions, even in their hearts, for the time being.” Esther Farbstein, Hidden in Thunder, vol. 2 ( Jerusalem: Mossad Harav Kook, 2007), 597; emphasis added. 205 Yehudah Liebes analyzed the stages of the development of this idea at length and argued that it draws from Sabbatean roots. See Yehudah Liebes, “Talmidei HaGra, HaShabbtaut Vehanekudah HaYehudit,” Da’at 50 (2003), 271-82. 206 Mendel Piekarz, Hasidut Polin Bein Shetei Hamilhamot Uvigezerot TASH-TASHAH (“Hashoah”) ( Jerusalem: Bialik Institute, 1990), 122–53.

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“Kula Bah” and “Da’at Torah”: The idea of “kula bah,” which ­establishes that the Torah has a response for every possible question, developed in both of the systems of intellectual faith that we discussed. Both presented the Torah as providing the fundamental principles of metaphysics (rationalist or mystic), from which it is possible to derive details of reality, and in more radical approaches—to attain the details of reality directly. In another forum, I demonstrated that simple faith did not desire to find metaphysical truth in the Torah, and not even pointed factual details. Rather, it sought simple “advice” for practical problems of the individual. Indeed, this understanding of “kula bah” was developed by the Hafetz Hayim, and from it developed the doctrine of “Da’at Torah,” which grants to great Torah scholars the authority to rule on any question in life—from the tiniest personal quandary to the biggest political decision.207 There are quite a few examples of similar developments in Haredi thought and in the meanings it attaches to basic theological concepts.208 In fact, the entire Haredi hashkafah (“worldview,” ideology) that developed from the concept of Da’at Torah is imprinted with the seal of simple faith.209 If so, one could claim that simple faith did not innovate anything at all, for was this not the type of thought that was the prevalent thought of common straight-laced Jews for many generations? In reality, that is true. As I pointed out previously, simple faith is essentially the faith of the simple, ordinary Jew. Indeed, according to this logic, it should also have made sense to research popular religious thought, comprised of all the “banal” ideas that did not find adequate expression in theological writings or in academic works, as a form 207 Benjamin Brown, “Doctrinat Da’at Torah: Sheloshah Shelabim,” Derekh Haruah—Sefer Hayovel LeEliezer Schweid—Mehkerei Yerushalayim 19 (2005), vol. 2, 537–600. 208 It is perhaps worthwhile at this point to dare ask about fundamentals of faith, such as the incorporeality of God. Even though this principle is accepted as dogma by everyone, including the most “naïve” and the most fundamentalist Haredim, are there not returns to anthropomorphisms in the expressions of simple faith, such as Hasidic stories and the parables of the Hafetz Hayim, at least de facto even if not de jure? Certainly, the Hasidic masters as well as the Hafetz Hayim would be appalled by the idea and would argue in their defense that the anthropomorphisms were only brought to provide a simple illustration, etc. However, doesn’t such an active practice of description, even if only to illustrate an idea, influence in the final analysis the way that God is, in fact, perceived in the minds of the believers? 209 A good example of this is the worldview of R. El’azar Menahem Shach, who always emphasized that his approach does not innovate anything, but draws from simple faith. See sources and analysis in Benjamin Brown, “Harav Shach: Ha’aratzat Haruah, Bikkoret Haleumiut Vehahakhra’ot Hapolitiyot BiMedinat Yisrael,” in Dat Uleumiut BeYisrael Uvamizrah Hatikhon, ed. Neri Horowitz (Tel Aviv: Yitzhak Rabin Center and Am Oved, 2003), 278–342.

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of “indeliberate theology.” That theology, too, with its tacit premises and ­variegated nuances, could theoretically become a subject matter of research that could render it a systematic order and make it more respectable. This, however, can only work in theory. In action, popular theology has not left us enough written resources to enable us to draw credible conclusions and, more so, it is doubtful that we would find in it many variations or interesting developments. In contrast, Haredi thought in recent generations has demonstrated that ­interesting, varied, and even innovative religious-ideological creativity can also emerge from “naïve” and “simple” concepts. It is understandable that there is a difficulty in admitting this theological genre into the bookshelf of systematic religious thought, but it seems that recently the field has been better prepared for such admission. Academic research has recognized the existence of biblical thought, rabbinic thought, and halakhic thought, all of which are young and fruitful branches of study that attempt to reconstruct theological worldviews out of doctrines based on disparate ideas that were not processed systematically by their proponents. Similarly, Haredi thought has rightfully become recognized as a school of thought that has tried to develop its worldview through a “simple faith” reading of traditional Jewish sources.210 The common denominator of all of these areas is the recognition of the legitimacy of “indeliberate theology”—that is, a theology whose creators and proponents do not consciously acknowledge as theology, and sometimes even deny it. In our case, we are perhaps even talking about something more paradoxical—an antitheological theology, religious thought that expresses opposition to theological creativity.211 Unlike 210 It seems that the pioneering researchers of Haredi thought at the end of the 1980s and the beginning of the 1990s were Eliezer Schweid, Aviezer Ravitzky, and Lawrence Kaplan. Others who studied the thought of specific sectors within the Haredi camp also contributed to the development of this field, such as researchers of later Hasidism (Mendel Piekaz, David Assaf) and the Musar Movement (R. Dov Katz, who began as early as the 1940s, Immanuel Etkes, Tamar Ross, Mordechai Pachter, and Hillel Goldberg). 211 It is worth noting that we find the phenomenon of “philosophers against philosophy” (to use the sharp terminology of George Berkeley—himself a “philosopher against philosophy”) in Alciphron or The Minute Philosopher, dialogue 5, section 10, in The Works of George Berkeley, Bishop of Cloyne [London, publisher unknown, 1847], 179). It is unnecessary to say that the greatest critics of philosophy often created impressive philosophies of their own. Pascal, Berkeley, and Nietzsche are all good examples. Yet, the phenomenon of “theologians against theology” differs in that “philosophers against philosophy” generally did formulate their thoughts systematically, while “theologians against theology” often remain on the unsystematic, “simple” level, at least in terms of the written formulation of their ideas.

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prima facie ­expectations, such a theology can be of interest. Indeed, the more we enrich our understanding of the phenomenon of religious thought, the more we tend to broaden the scope of the category of “religious thought” and of works worthy of attention, study, and value.212 We can summarize our discussion as follows: The rise of simple faith was driven not just as a reaction to modernity, although the crisis of modernity did propel its achievement of dominance in Orthodox Judaism in Central and Eastern Europe. It seems, however, that this triumph was not complete, as criticism of simple faith and the aspiration to develop new theologies, including new approaches to metaphysics, emerged from Western Europe and from the Zionist-Religious camp. Nevertheless, the paths of Haredi Judaism after the Holocaust diverged from those of the vanishing neo-Orthodoxy and of the increasingly estranged Zionist/Religious stream; thus, the victory of simple faith in the Haredi community was complete. Almost every theological or ideological text published in this camp was written from the perspective of simple faith, without drawing on concepts of metaphysics. Yet, even if simple faith was designed to halt theological inquiry, it seems that the gates of theology were not closed completely and that simple faith did bear theological fruits, albeit not to the degree or in the style of intellectual faith. In the final analysis, it seems that the drive for theological creativity has been assimilated deeply into Jewish thought over the course of more than a thousand years in which its great theological systems were created. Thus, forces that wish to repress it do not manage to bring it to naught; rather, it springs out again and finds new forms of expression.

212 Perhaps we could make an even stronger argument, that uncovering the “indeliberate theology” of unsystematic thinkers and believers is specifically the most challenging and most worthwhile area for research in current studies of religious thought. For a theology that is presented as an organized theory and in which the thinkers present their ideas in clear language and a systematic order, the role of the researcher is often to merely summarize the approach and analyze its implications. In studying “indeliberate theology,” on the other hand, the researcher is required to build the order and to systematize the approach based on piecemeal and pointed texts—in essence to restore order in a situation for which the thinkers themselves did not provide it. The role of the researcher in this type of study is similar to that of the “midwife” in the well-known allegory of Plato. Of course, this methodology must be employed cautiously. Thus, for example, learning religious thought through the examination of deeds and nonverbal expressions should be considered as too risky and too speculative an implementation of the “indeliberate theology” method. The study of theology, even of those that are piecemeal and unsystematic, must remain the study of texts—written and oral.

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Clerical Robes: Distinction or Dishonor? JUDITH BLEICH

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seasoned traveler and prolific writer, Israel Cohen, commented wryly, “In matters of assimilation I have found in all my travels that no Jews are so assimilated as the Rabbis in their professional garb.”1 In the 1930s, visiting Paris, Cohen was bemused and somewhat unsettled by the appearance of the spiritual leaders he met. In Paris, he described a vast and lofty synagogue in which On the left, in their pews, were the Chief Rabbi of Paris and an assistant Rabbi, and on the right, in solitary dignity, the Chief Rabbi of France, with the red ribbon of the Legion of Honor conspicuous on his long black soutane—all three wearing round flattish hats like French priests.2

Later, having journeyed to Provence, Cohen remarked more caustically concerning the garb of the rabbi he encountered in Avignon, a clergyman who had studied at the Rabbinical Seminary in Paris:

Suddenly there entered the figure of a young priest. At least, I would have thought from his attire that it was a priest, had I not been told a few moments before by the little dame that the Rabbi would be coming very *An earlier version of this article appeared in Tradition, vol. 50, no. 1 (Spring 2017).   1 Israel Cohen, Travels in Jewry (London: Edward Goldston & Son, Ltd., 1952), 309. Israel Cohen is the author of works on the history of Zionism, the well-known History of the Jews in Vilna (Philadelphia: Jewish Publication Society, 1943), as well as the volumes The Journal of a Jewish Traveler (London: John Lane the Bodley Head, 1925) and Travels in Jewry.   2 Ibid., 309.

Clerical Robes: Distinction or Dishonor?    Part Two shortly, for, except that he had no cross, he was clad exactly like a Catholic cleric—with a long black soutane reaching to his feet, a black silk sash round his waist, a flat black billy-cock on his head, and a square jabot of beautiful lace on his breast. Evidently the writ of the Shulchan Aruch, in the matter of eschewing the garb of Gentiles, did not run in Provence nor, as I found later, in other matters too. But the face of the minister, with its fringe of beard, and especially his nose, were unmistakably Jewish.3

Similarly, of the synagogue in Marseilles on Rosh ha-Shanah, Cohen noted at the head of the thronged aisles “the Rabbi, clad from head to toe exactly like a padre.”4 Israel Cohen’s remarks reflect a palpable tension in traditional circles surrounding the issue of rabbis officiating in clerical robes. To many, such attire contributed to the dignity and solemnity of worship services and served to bring the synagogue more into consonance with a modern Western European aesthetic; to others, such garb was but symptomatic of the regnant assimilatory trend.

Emergence of a New Style The areas of controversy between Orthodox and Reform factions in the nineteenth century are legend. Less well known is the extent to which the nascent Reform movement influenced synagogue practice in the traditionalist sector even while the Orthodox leadership was engaged in combating Reform. In response to the challenge of Reform, two diametrically opposite approaches are discernible. There were many who, in the course of time, counseled total and complete rejection of any innovation, even the most innocuous. As Reform became more radical, the attitude of extreme caution and circumspection became ever more pronounced in those circles. Tracing Christian influence on early German Reform Judaism, the scholar of Reform history, Michael Meyer, observes forthrightly: The early reformers thought that some adjustment to the Christian model was expected of them and their own aesthetic and religious sensibilities,   3 Ibid., 313.   4 Ibid., 323. Compare Cohen’s depiction of the ecclesiastical vestments of the rabbis in Rome, in Turin of “four other ministers in full canonicals—their hats adorned with gold braiding,” and in Barcelona of the “Hazan, who wore a tall black hat and a scarlet band round his black robe while officiating.” Ibid., 265, 282, 345.

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Nineteenth-century traditionalist rabbis were no less astute than Meyer in their assessment of Reform practice. Accordingly, in 1866, when 67 Hungarian rabbis signed the decree issued earlier by a rabbinic conference in Michalowitz condemning various ritual innovations in synagogues—clearly going beyond the demands of Halakhah in their decision—their action was motivated not only by the perceived threat of further Reform encroachments but also by the conviction that many of these innovations were, in essence, Christological in nature.6 At the opposite side of the spectrum, there were those rabbinic authorities who maintained that the only hope for Orthodoxy lay in some form of accommodation and who therefore manifested a willingness to incorporate unobjectionable aspects of the Reform agenda. This stance expressed itself in one of two different attitudes: reluctant concession and compromise or approval and welcome. Some conceded that, in an age of spiritual crisis, compromises involving relatively minor religious issues might be sanctioned. Concerning matters in which an innovation had strong popular appeal and entailed no halakhic prohibition but simply deviation from accepted custom, they were prepared to permit concession in order to preserve communal unity. Others expressed a far more positive attitude in acknowledging that some developments of Reform were salutary, were worthy of emulation, and hence were to be harnessed in the service of tradition. Reform was to be defeated by its own weapons. The decision of a number of Orthodox rabbis to officiate in clerical robes has been commonly viewed as an emulation of a Reform practice perceived by the laity as enhancing the dignity of the services.7 Although disdained by   5 Michael A. Meyer, “Christian Influence on Early German Reform Judaism,” in Studies in Jewish Bibliography, History, and Literature in Honor of Edward I. Kiev, ed. Charles Berlin (New York: Ktav Publishing House, Inc., 1971), 300.   6 The rabbinic meeting was held in November 1865 and led by R. Hillel Lichtenstein and R. Chaim Sofer. In addition to the Hungarian rabbis, R. Chaim Halberstam of Sanz and R. Yitzchak Isaac of Zidetchov signed the decree. The official transcript of the Michalowitz rulings and the list of signatories is included in R. Akiva Joseph Schlesinger, Lev ha-Ivri (originally published in Lvov, 1868; republished Jerusalem, 1924), part 2, pp. 62b–65b.   7 I am indebted for a number of these sources to Mr. Zalman Alpert of the Yeshiva University Gottesman Library and to Professor Shnayer Z. Leiman both for personal discussion and

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many decisors as a practice that bordered on—or actually impinged upon— the p­ rohibition recorded in Leviticus 18:3 (a proscription against adoption or emulation of gentile practices), clerical robes were, however, worn by a number of renowned Orthodox authorities. Historically, this innovation definitely predates the Reform movement. Seventeenth-century Sephardi rabbis in Holland and England wore clerical gowns and white collar bands, a form of Western clerical dress similar to the black Geneva gown and white bands of the Calvinist or Reformed church. If indeed those vestments resembled the attire of jurists or academics, and even if intentionally modified, there is no gainsaying their obvious similarity to Christian clerical garb.8 Interestingly, a picture of Gershom Mendes Seixas, a prominent native-born United States colonial era hazan, painted around the time of the American Revolution of 1776—well before the emergence of the Reform movement—shows him in a black gown with a white collar and two white bands. The historian Jonathan Sarna writes of this portrait, “Nothing in this miniature (artist unknown) identifies Seixas as a Jew, but his collar does identify him as a cleric.”9 Recent studies present evidence of distinctive dress adopted by rabbis in Italy in the second half of the eighteenth century.10 Apparently, that garb, which was entirely different from Catholic vestments, was adopted by Italian rabbis under the Northern European Sephardi influence, an area in which Protestantism was the dominant religion. The clothing also strongly resembled Italian academic and medical garb but, gradually, as those classes discontinued its wearing, the robes became viewed as exclusively clerical garb.11

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for his essay “Rabbinic Openness to General Culture in the Early Modern Period in Western Central Europe,” in Judaism’s Encounter with Other Cultures: Rejection or Integration? ed. Jacob J. Schacter (Northvale, NJ: Jason Aronson, Inc., 1997), 146–216. (See especially page 170, note 56.) See Alfred Rubens, A History of Jewish Costume (New York: Owen, 1973), 159–78. See also Meyer, “Christian Influence,” 301 n.9 and Leopold Löw, “Die Amtstracht ber Rabbinen,” Gesammelte Schriften (Szegedin: Verlag von Immanuel Löw, 1898), IV, 217–34. Jonathan D. Sarna, American Judaism: A History (New Haven, CT: Yale University Press, 2004), 34. See Asher Salah, “How Should a Rabbi Be Dressed? The Question of Rabbinical Attire in Italy from Renaissance to Emancipation (Sixteenth–Nineteenth Centuries),” in Fashioning Jews: Clothing, Culture and Commerce, ed. Leonard J. Greenspoon (West Lafayette, IN: Purdue University Press, 2013), 49–66, and another version of this study, Asher Salah, “Rabbinical Dress in Italy” in Dress and Ideology: Fashioning Identity from Antiquity to the Present, ed. Shoshana-Rose Marzel and Guy D. Stiebel (London: Bloomsbury, 2015), 55–68. See Salah, “Rabbinical Dress,” 59–60.

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The Nineteenth Century Similar attire became prevalent among Ashkenazi rabbis only in the early ­nineteenth century. In England, an engraving of Rabbi Solomon Hirschel (c. 1805) shows him in traditional fur hat and clerical bands, apparently Sabbath garb, and a painting (1808) shows him in a black robe, white bands and three-cornered black hat, probably weekday dress.12 An engraving of Napoleon’s Sanhedrin (1807) shows the 45 ecclesiastical members all attired in clerical robes and long white bands.13 The wearing of clerical robes was a practice adopted virtually unanimously by early protagonists of Reform. Israel Jacobson, often referred to as the father of Reform Judaism, instituted many innovations in the private synagogue, Temple of Jacob, which he established in Seesen, Westphalia, in 1810. A description of the elaborate dedication ceremonies on July 17 of that year notes the presence of hundreds of guests and a processional led by officers of the Israelite Consistory followed by “all the rabbis present, walking in pairs, in their clerical robes, and the Christian clergymen similarly.”14 Eight years later, when officiating at services of the Hamburg Temple, the first formal Reform house of worship, the preachers all donned clerical garb.15 Thereafter, the wearing of canonicals became one of the distinguishing characteristics of Reform clergy. In Germany, clerical robes (known as Talar16 [robe] and Beffchen17 [bands]) were also worn by a number of highly prominent Orthodox 12 Rubens, A History of Jewish Costume, 168. 13 Ibid., 169. 14 See the report, “Feyerliche Einweihung des Jacobs-Tempels in Seesen,” Sulamith, vol. 3, no. 1 (1810), 300, which reads, “Dann gingen paarweise alle gegenwärtige Rabbiner in ihrem geistlichen Ornat, und eben so die christliche Geistlichkeit.” 15 See also Michael A. Meyer, Response to Modernity: A History of the Reform Movement in Judaism (New York: Oxford University Press, 1988), 61. 16 On the terms Talar and Ornat, see below, note 47. 17 Commonly, the gown was accompanied by bands or Beffchen that some claimed represented the tablets of the Ten Commandments and were therefore known as “Moses tablets.” See below, note 41 and accompanying text. These bands were not at all of Jewish provenance and were indeed to be found as part of the garb of a variety of professional groups and religious denominations. The bands themselves are strips of cloth, at times black with white borders, more frequently white, sometimes wide, sometimes narrow, sometimes embroidered, sometimes not, sometimes long, and sometimes short. See Raymond Apple, “Robes & the Rabbis,” Oz Torah (March 2012), accessed July 7, 2017, http://www.oztorah. com/2012/03/robes-the-rabbis. Occasionally, the rabbinic clerical gown was worn with a kind of jabot or dickie. A jabot is worn today by vergers in some churches. It is also worn by many judges in European countries. Female U.S. Supreme Court Justices Ruth Bader

Clerical Robes: Distinction or Dishonor?    Part Two

rabbis, ­including Hakham Isaac Bernays in Hamburg,18 R. Jacob Ettlinger in his youth,19 R. Samson Raphael Hirsch throughout his rabbinate with the exception of his tenure in Nikolsburg,20 and R. Seligmann Baer Bamberger.21 Of these, R. Bamberger, who makes no mention of the matter in his writings, reportedly defended this innovation as a reluctant concession to liberal sectors of the Würzburg community made in order to prevent more severe infractions of  Jewish law.22 In one article, Isaac Heinemann notes that “in contrast to both his teachers Hirsch wore a rabbinical gown with white bands.”23 In another essay, he states pointedly that Hakham Bernays wore black bands, not the white bands worn by R. Hirsch that were associated with Christian clergy.24 However, that observation is not quite accurate. While, as noted, both Hakham Bernays and R. Jacob Ettlinger wore robes, and the portrait of Hakham Bernays does indicate that he wore black bands with a white trim, the portrait of R. Jacob Ettlinger shows that R. Ettlinger wore white bands,25 as did many other

18 19 20

21

22 23 24

25

Ginsburg and Sonia Sotomayor frequently wear jabots with their robes. See Adam Liptak, “The Newest Justice Takes Her Seat,” New York Times (September 8, 2009), A12. See the portrait of Hakham Bernays in Jubiläumsnummer des “Israelit” (Frankfurt am Main, 1908), 8. See the portrait in Ulrich Bauche et al., eds., Vierhundert Jahre Juden in Hamburg (Hamburg: Dölling und Galitz Verlag, 1991), 309. See Leiman, “Rabbinic Openness,” 197 and note 130. For a report of R. Hirsch’s practice in Nikolsburg of wearing a frock-coat and white tie on the Sabbath, the negative communal reaction to his garb, and to his concern with rabbis’ sartorial appearance, see David Feuchtwang, “Samson Raphael Hirsch als Oberlandesrabbiner von Mähren,” Jubiläumsnummer des “Israelit” (Frankfurt am Main, 1908), 21. There is no extant portrait of Rabbi Bamberger. According to family tradition, he refused to allow himself to be photographed. See Yitzchak Adler, “Minhagei ha-Rav Yitzhak Dov ha-Levi Bamberger Zatzal ve-Hanhagotav,” Ha-Ma’ayan 19, no. 2 (1979), 33; and Benjamin S. Hamburger, Nesi Ha-Leviyyim: Toldot Rabbenu Rid ha-Levi me-Wuerzburg in Kitvel Rabbenu Yitzhak Dov ha-Levi me-Wuerzburg, ed. Zevi Bamberger (Long Beach, NY: private publisher, 1992), 562. Shnayer Z. Leiman, “Rabbi Joseph Carlebach—Wuerzburg and Jerusalem: A Conversation between Rabbi Seligmann Baer Bamberger and Rabbi Shmuel Salant,” Tradition 28, no. 2 (Winter, 1994), 60. See also B. S. Hamburger, 536 and ibid., note 16. Isaac Heinemann, “Samson Raphael Hirsch: The Formative Years of the Leader of Modern Orthodoxy,” Historia Judaica 13, no. 1 (April 1951), 46–47. Isaac Heinemann, “Ha-Yahas she-bein S.R. Hirsch le-Yitzhak Bernays Rabbo,” Zion 16 (1951), 87. Heinemann observes elsewhere that the very learned and elderly Torah scholar, R. Moses Mainz, who later opposed R. Hirsch on the issue of secession, did not approve of the clerical robes R. Hirsch wore. Issac Heinemann, “Supplementary Remarks on the Secession from the Frankfurt Jewish Community under Samson Raphael Hirsch,” Historia Judaica 10, no. 2 (October, 1948), 124. See Ulrich Bauche et al., eds., Vierhundert Jahre Juden in Hamburg, 309.

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Orthodox rabbis, including R. Nathan Adler, R. Hirsch’s predecessor in his first ministerial position in Oldenburg.26 R. Nathan Marcus Adler, who served as rabbi in Oldenburg and Hanover and assumed the office of Chief Rabbi in Britain in 1845, introduced a new style of Ashkenazi rabbinic attire into England, a long black robe and round black velvet cap.27 On occasion, his son, R. Hermann Adler, sported bishop’s gaiters.28 R. Hermann Adler was a Companion of the Royal Victorian Order (CVO) and it was said of him that “with his black garb, gaiters, the insignia of the Victorian Order like a pectoral cross upon his chest, it was difficult to tell the Rabbi from the bishops. Edward VII spoke of him as ‘my Chief Rabbi,’ and under him the United Synagogue seemed to be the Jewish branch of the Anglican establishment.”29 However, according to another report, in order to ensure that the CVO insignia not look like a cross, R. Hermann Adler had a slit made in his rabbinic robe to conceal a section of the CVO insignia.30 Following the rabbinic conference in 1856 in Paris, the French rabbis formally adopted clerical robes that were similar to those of French Catholic priests, with slight modifications.31 R. Morris Raphall, Orthodox rabbi of New York’s Congregation Bnai Jeshurun, championed an accommodationist Orthodoxy. Having previously served in England, he brought Anglicized Orthodox services to the United States with an emphasis on decorum and dignity. In the mid-1860s, his congregation adopted formal clerical garb for rabbi and cantor.32 As to be expected, prominent American Reform rabbis Isaac Mayer Wise33 and Max Lilienthal34 are all pictured in formal clerical garb quite similar to that of Raphall. 26 See Rubens, A History of Jewish Costume, 172 and compare this with the portrait in H. D. Schmidt, “Chief Rabbi Nathan Marcus Adler (1803–1890): Jewish Educator from Germany,” Leo Baeck Institute Year Book, vol. 7 (1962), unnumbered page following page 306. In both portraits, Rabbi Adler is shown wearing robes. In the latter portrait, it is very evident that the bands are white. 27 See Rubens, A History of Jewish Costume, 172. 28 Ibid., 173. 29 Chaim Bermant, The Cousinhood (New York: The Macmillan Company, 1971), 370. See also, Rubens, A History of Jewish Costume, 173, Plate 254. 30 Raymond Apple, “Hermann Adler: Chief Rabbi,” in Noblesse Oblige: Essays in Honor of David Kessler OBE, ed. Alan B. Crown (London: Valentine Mitchel, 1998), 131. 31 See Rubens, A History of Jewish Costume, 161, 173. Compare this with Meyer, Response to Modernity, 169–70. 32 Sarna, American Judaism, 95-6. 33 Ibid., 97. 34 Ibid., 115.

Clerical Robes: Distinction or Dishonor?    Part Two

Governmental Intervention Curiously, in Germany, the issue of rabbinic clerical garb attracted the attention of governmental authorities.35 At times, seemingly minor points of dissension provoked disproportionately vehement emotional responses. In the celebrated dispute over the appointment of Abraham Geiger to a position in the Breslau rabbinate, the issue of Geiger’s rabbinic robe occupied a central role. At the heart of the controversy between the newly appointed radical Reform ideologue Abraham Geiger and R. Salomon Tiktin, the Orthodox incumbent, were fundamental questions of theology and Halakhah, questions regarding the binding authority of Talmudic law, and the role and function of rabbis. However, in the course of the struggle, communal and civil officials focused as well on details of Geiger’s comportment. Among the practices adopted by Geiger, which were deemed by his antagonists as in contravention of the Prussian Cabinet Decree of 1823 (prohibiting any innovation in synagogue service) was the wearing of clerical robes. At one point, King Friedrich Wilhelm IV himself was petitioned to decide whether Geiger’s rabbinic gown represented “an unjustifiable imitation of Christian custom. “While loathe to involve himself in a dispute over Jewish ritual, the king did declare that imitation of Christian church customs in a Jewish house of worship would not be tolerated.36 Opponents of Geiger, both Jewish and Catholic, argued that it was not permissible for a rabbi to wear distinctive robes of office. Breslau civil authorities reported to the Prussian Ministry that, although Geiger’s robes were not identical to those of Christian clergy, they had ordered him not to wear a clerical gown and to remain “true to Jewish tradition.” Geiger himself was cautious and requested a Catholic priest, Heinrich Förster, as well as a Protestant preacher, Ludwig Falk, to certify that the robe he wore was not identical to those worn by Christian clergy during church services. In a rebuttal presented to the Ministry, Geiger further stated that no religious precept prescribed specific garb for a synagogue functionary. Rabbinic 35 Of particular interest are two recent studies of this subject, which draw on archival sources in their respective analyses and demonstrate the extent to which the controversy over rabbinic vestments was motivated by political and sociological considerations. See Anselm Schubert, “Liturgie als Politik. Der Rabbinertalar des 19. Jahrhunderts zwischen Emanzipation und Akkulturation,” Aschkenas 17, no. 2 (2007), 547-563; and Auguste Zeiss-Horbach, “Kleider machen Leute. Der Streit um den Rabbinertalar in Bayern im 19. Jahrhundert,” Aschkenas 20, no. 1 (2010), 71–118. 36 Max Wiener, Abraham Geiger and Liberal Judaism: The Challenge of the Nineteenth Century, trans. Ernst J. Schlochauer (Cincinnati, OH: Hebrew Union College Press, 1981), 28.

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clothing was solely a matter governed by personal taste. Since the rabbi was not a state official, he maintained, the government had no right to regulate garb that simply reflected the sartorial taste of a private citizen.37 The authorities nonetheless insisted that, although he was not a state official, the rabbi might not wear vestments that met with the disapproval of a major segment of the Breslau Jewish community. Apparently, Geiger defied that ruling and continued to wear his rabbinic gown. The matter came to a head on a public occasion. Initially, the officers of the congregation and Geiger were invited to attend a formal welcoming reception and church service in honor of the inauguration of the new mayor of Breslau. The officials of the community were informed that the invitation extended to Geiger as their spiritual leader was rescinded. The Minister of State had been informed that appearance of a rabbi in church would offend the Christian worshipers and, of even greater concern, attendance of Geiger at a Christian service in a rabbinical gown would offend the opposition party in his own community.38 To an onlooker it appeared, in the words of Max Wiener, that “the problem of the cut of the rabbinic gown was a detail of ludicrous pettiness.”39 It is, however, of more than passing interest that, in noting the distress with regard to the gown on the part of both traditional Jews in Breslau and the Christian laity, the issues raised by non-Jewish authorities regarding imitation of Christian custom precisely paralleled the halakhic considerations later raised by those rabbinic authorities who decried the wearing of the Talar. The reactions of the Ministry in Breslau were not typical of the attitude of civic authorities in other locales in Europe. In a number of jurisdictions, the authorities enacted regulations explicitly requiring rabbinic officials to wear ecclesiastical robes. The intent of these rules was to further the agenda of those civil regimes that wished to encourage the acculturation and modernization of the Jewish population and, accordingly, sought to foster the development of a modern rabbinate patterned upon the model of the Christian clergy. Thus, as early as 1807, when Napoleon convened the Sanhedrin, the members were explicitly instructed not to appear at the proceedings unless clothed in specified vestments: black silk robes and cloaks, white bands, and three-cornered hats—the garb of French Abbés.40 37 Ibid., 29–30. The complete text of Geiger’s letter is published in Ludwig Geiger, Abraham Geiger, Leben und Lebenswerk (Berlin: Verlag von Georg Reimer, 1910), 86–88. 38 See Wiener, Abraham Geiger and Liberal Judaism, 30–31. 39 Ibid., 33. 40 See Anselm Schubert, “Liturgie als Politik,” 549, note 13, citing the text, as found in Renée Neher-Bernheim and Elisabeth Revel-Neher, “Une iconographie juive de l’époque du grand

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Not much later, in 1823, in Baden, a state in which some 17,000 Jews resided, a government official prepared a programmatic detailed list of recommendations designed to transform the nature of the rabbinic profession, specifically urging the appointment to the rabbinate of individuals who had studied in a German gymnasium and encouraging the adoption of the vernacular in sermons and improvement of decorum in the synagogue. Included in the list of recommendations was the introduction of a distinctive, professionally appropriate garb for rabbis and prayer leaders. Apparently, at a later time, an Orthodox rabbi suggested that, in order to differentiate between the clothing of rabbis and that of Christian clergy, rabbis should wear a navy blue robe rather than a black one. Later, in several German states, a designated professional apparel—Amtstracht—was prescribed for rabbis. In Württenberg, the required clothing for rabbis was a black robe, black velvet skullcap, and white collar bands, which were known as “Moses tablets.”41 Those vestments were to be worn by the rabbis at all formal services, including confirmations, weddings, and funerals.42 Similarly, in Denmark as well, government authorities were involved with the question of clerical garb. Abraham Alexander Wolff was appointed the Danish Chief Rabbi in 1828 and occupied that office until his demise in 1891. On October 11, 1828, the Jewish community received a document from the Danish Chancellery stating: “After proposals from him [the rabbi] and the explanation of the same given by the Representatives and on further representation from the Danish Chancellery, His Majesty will determine an official dress which should be worn on all his official ceremonies. . . .”43 Apparently, the incumbent rabbi addressed the matter of rabbinic attire promptly upon Sanhédrin,” in Le grand Sanhédrin de Napoléon, ed. Bernhard Blumenkranz and Albert Soboul (Toulouse: E. Privat, 1979), 134. The regulations were explicit: “Art. I: Aucun membre composant L’Assemblée du Grand Sanhédrin ne pourra entrer en séance s’il ne s’est pas comformé au costume prescrit. Ce costume consiste en un habillement complet en noir, manteau de soie de même couleur, chapeau à trois cornes et rabat.” 41 See Adolf Lewin, Geschichte der badischen Juden seit der Regierung Karl Friedrichs (1738– 1909) (Carlsruhe: Kommission der G. Braunschen Hofbuchdruckerei, 1909), 211–12 and page 212, note 1. See also Meyer, Response to Modernity, 103. 42 For examples of specific rules regulating the garb of rabbis and cantors, see F. F. Mayer, Sammlung der württembergischen Gesetze in Betriff der Israeliten (Tübingen: Fues, 1847), 104–05. 43 See Hanne Frøsig Dalgaard, “Rabbinical Vestments,” in Danish Jewish Art—Jews in Danish Art, ed. Mirjam Gelfer-Jørgensen, trans. W. Glyn Jones (Copenhagen: Rhodos, International Science & Art Publishers, 1999), 174.

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b­ eginning his ministry in the spring of 1829 for, by July 21, 1829, a Royal Decree formalized the sartorial requirements: Whereby the official dress proposed by Dr. A.A. Wolff, priest in the Jewish Community in Copenhagen, consisting of a velvet biretta, a black gown of silk or wool trimmed with strips of velvet, and also a belt and white bands instead of a ruff, is graciously authorised as the official dress for the priest in the said community in Copenhagen.44

Not surprisingly, in some locales, there was a negative reaction to the proposals regulating rabbinic attire. In Bavaria, church officials found the similarity of rabbinic garb to church vestments to be offensive. As a result, they sought to enact regulations prohibiting the adoption of rabbinic garb that was identical to Protestant cassocks.45 Nevertheless, many liberal rabbis living in Catholic areas eventually adopted a modified attire that resembled the Catholic soutane, while in other areas it was commonplace for rabbis to wear the black Talar of the Protestant clergy.46 The interest of the civic authorities in Baden in the professional conduct of rabbis and the insistence on a prescribed Amtstracht sheds light on the fact, noted earlier, that at least in his youth, Rabbi Jacob Ettlinger wore a clerical robe. R. Ettlinger was a formal Rabbinats-Candidat (candidate for the rabbinate) as is evident from a printed address he delivered on August 24, 1824 on the occasion of the birthday of Duke Ludwig of Baden.47 In 1825, R. Ettlinger was appointed Rabbi of the Mannheim Klaus and, in 1827, he was appointed District Rabbi (Kreisrabbiner) of the Ladenburg area.48 As a candidate for the rabbinate and later in those positions, it would have been deemed necessary that he wear the prescribed Amtstracht. However, one cannot claim with a­ ssurance 44 Ibid., 174. Dalgaard notes: “There is no explanation of how the actual question of dress might have arisen.” See also the source cited ibid., 381, notes 25 and 26. 45 See Zeiss-Horlach, “Kleider machen Leute,” 71–118. 46 See Schubert, “Liturgie als Politik,” 561–62; and Lewin, Geschichte der badischen Juden, 212, note 1. Schubert suggests that the term Rabbinerornat was employed for the French style cassock, whereas the term Rabbinertalar was employed for garments in the German Protestant style. In most sources, the terms are used interchangeably, however. See ZeissHorlach, “Kleider machen Leute,” 73, note 4. 47 J. Ettlinger, Rede gehalten zur Feyer des höchesten Namensfestes Seiner Königlichen Hoheit des Grossherzogs Ludwig von Baden in der Haupt-Synagoge zu Karlsruhe (Carlsruhe, 1824). 48 Isak Unna, Die Lemle Moses Klaus-Stiftung in Mannheim, II (Frankfurt am Main, 1909), 39–40.

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that R. Ettlinger wore the robe only as a concession to the civil authorities of Baden. The lithograph of R. Ettlinger in a clerical robe is clearly that of a young man. However, Ferdinand Heylandt’s portrait of R. Ettlinger was printed in Hamburg in 1840 and the Hebrew inscription beneath the picture identifies R. Ettlinger as Rabbi of Altona, a position he assumed in 1836.49 Although it is unlikely that R. Ettlinger continued to wear the robe in later years—and, indeed, later portraits do not show him in a clerical robe—there is no conclusive indication that he ceased to wear such garb.

The Halakhic Question The halakhic issue posed by clerical robes is by no means insignificant. The seminal halakhic treatment of the question of wearing professional robes as well as the explication of the prohibition of Leviticus 18:3—“and in their statutes (u-be-hukkoteihem) you shall not walk”—is the responsum of the fifteenth-century authority R. Joseph Colon, Teshuvot Maharik, no. 88. In that detailed responsum, the Maharik asserts that the essence of the prohibition is an admonition not to mimic non-Jewish practices for the purpose of assuming the guise of a gentile in whole or in part. Encompassed within the parameters of the prohibition is, first and foremost, any non-Jewish practice in the form of a hok, that is, a practice lacking a rational or pragmatic purpose. Since such acts have no rational basis, their adoption by Jews can only be motivated by a desire to emulate gentiles. Other forbidden practices involve matters representing some form of immodesty or manifestation of a characteristic antithetical to humility. Here, again, any compromise of standards of modesty and humility might be suspected of being rooted in cultic practices and is ipso facto deemed to be an emulation of non-Jews. Accordingly, any practice that furthers a legitimate purpose and does not involve either immodesty or self-aggrandizement is permitted. In response to the specific query of his interlocutors, the Maharik sanctioned the wearing of the professional robe known as cappa by Jewish practitioners, apparently jurists or physicians, because it served the perfectly rational purpose of identifying the wearer as a legitimate practitioner worthy of honor and patronage.50 The Maharik’s position is accepted by the Rema, Yoreh De’ah 178:1. 49 See Ulrich Bauche et al., eds., Vierhundert Jahre Juden in Hamburg, 309. 50 R. Elijah of Vilna, Bi’ur ha-Gra, Yoreh De’ah 178:7, finds the Maharik’s position to be identical to the much earlier position of the Ran, Avodah Zarah 11a, who regards all such matters as rooted in pagan practices. The twentieth-century rabbinic scholar, R. Moshe Feinstein,

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R. Elijah of Vilna, Bi’ur ha-Gra, Yoreh De’ah 178:8, disputes the Maharik’s position and forbids any emulation of non-Jewish practice even if the practice is designed to serve a perfectly rational purpose. Bi’ur ha-Gra permits gentile garb and the like only in circumstances in which “we would wear them even without the non-Jews [doing so].” According to Bi’ur ha-Gra, adopting a sartorial style or practice in emulation of non-Jews is forbidden even if undertaken for a pragmatic purpose unless it is manifestly evident that Jews would independently have adopted the practice. Although many individuals were prepared to wear academic robes in reliance upon the Maharik’s permissive view, canonicals donned by Jewish clergy aroused wide opposition because those garments were, or were perceived to be, distinctively Christian in provenance. The bulk of the halakhic discussions concerning wearing clerical robes centers on the vestments worn by cantors. It was the wearing of clerical robes by cantors and choristers that was formally prohibited by the Michalowitz decree of 1866 (perhaps because the Hungarian rabbis did not even entertain the possibility that rabbis in their locale might desire or be pressured to don canonicals).51 Some of the sharpest condemnations of this practice are found in halakhic responsa authored by Hungarian authorities such as, for example, R. Moses Grunwald, Arugat ha-Bosem, Orah Hayyim, no. 31; R. Eli’ezer David Grunwald, Keren le-David, Orah Hayyim, no. 13; R. Chaim Sofer, Mahaneh Hayyim, Orah Hayyim, no. 2; and R. Judah Aszod, Yehudah Ya’aleh, Orah Hayyim, no. 39.52 A brief negative reference to cantorial robes is also found in the writings of  R. Jacob Ettlinger. This statement has generally been overlooked and is not cited in the halakhic literature on the topic because of its appearance in an infrequently consulted source. The comment is found at the conclusion of a responsum authored by R. Ettlinger that appeared in the rabbinic journal that he edited, Shomer Zion ha-Ne’eman, no. 167, dated 15 Kislev 5614 (December 16, 1853). R. Ettlinger’s responsum was subsequently included by him in his collected responsa, Binyan Zion, no. 122. However, the republished Iggerot Moshe, Yoreh De’ah, I, no. 81, opines that, if it is established with certainty that there is no idolatrous root or association, a practice having no rational purpose is permissible according to the Ran and the Rema but nevertheless forbidden by the Maharik. 51 See Lev ha-Ivri, part 2, 63a. 52 See also the extensive array of sources cited by Akiva Zimmermann, Sha’arei Ron: Ha-Hazzanut be-Sifrut ha-She’elot u-Teshuvot ve-ha-Halakhah (Tel Aviv: Bron Yachad, 1992), 11–20.

Clerical Robes: Distinction or Dishonor?    Part Two

r­esponsum omits the concluding sixteen lines of the material published in Shomer Zion ha-Ne’eman. As a result, while the responsum in Binyan Zion focusing on questions relating to recitation of kaddish is widely known, few are aware of R. Ettlinger’s concluding remarks concerning a proposed regulation limiting worship services to one central synagogue and specifying professional attire appropriate for individuals who lead the prayer services. Shomer Zion ha-Ne’eman, no. 167 features an exchange of views between R. Baer Oppenheim of Eybeschutz and R. Ettlinger. R. Oppenheim presents a query he had received with regard to certain synagogue regulations and details his response based upon his own halakhic determinations and recommendations. R. Oppenheim’s interlocutor had recommended that synagogues employ a designated cantor to lead services and that the individual be attired in “garments designated for prayer” in accordance with the comments of Magen Avraham, Orah Hayyim, 53:7. R. Oppenheim applauds this suggestion and endorses the recommendation that the prayer leader don distinctive garments. R. Oppenheim adds that he favors the appointment of a designated cantor in order to prevent the congregation from calling upon unkempt and illiterate individuals whose appearance and comportment mar the synagogue service. In the immediately following article, R. Ettlinger presents a sharp rejoinder, prefacing his remarks with a caustic comment (that is also omitted in the Binyan Zion version). As editor of the journal, he had acquiesced to R. Oppenheim’s desire to publish his responsum in Shomer Zion ha-Ne’eman even though it included statements that he deemed to be inappropriate. However, R. Ettlinger states that he felt duty bound to respond since most of what R. Oppenheim had written was simply inaccurate. Throughout R. Ettlinger’s rejoinder, he emphatically rejects any proposed innovation with regard to recitation of kaddish and, addressing R. Oppenheim directly, he declares, “I am altogether astonished at how you can describe as a wonderful and proper innovation the changing of a Jewish custom which has been followed in all parts of Germany and Poland for over 300 years.” To effect such a change, R. Ettlinger adds, is “to walk in the footsteps of the Reformers of our time who have changed the form of prayer and have introduced this custom.” In a concluding statement addressing the propriety of a regulation stipulating that only a designated cantor wearing special garb be permitted to lead the services, he declares that there is absolutely no halakhic basis for instituting such a practice. Assuredly, he notes, it is unsuitable to select a prayer leader whose reading skills are wanting or whose clothes are sullied; it is quite simple to enact a regulation to that effect. However, he strongly disparages a ­regulation

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insisting that the prayer leader wear distinctive vestments that “usually are fashioned in accordance with gentile practices.” Such a proposal is the mere aping of a Christian custom. R. Oppenheim compared a cantor who prays without special garments to a priest who performed the sacrificial service in the Temple without his priestly vestments. R. Ettlinger disdainfully rejected such a comparison. Since Jewish practice has already ordained a distinctive garb for the prayer leader, namely, the tallit (prayer shawl), no other special garments are necessary. The tallit was ordained “by our predecessors, whose little finger is thicker than our loins,” writes Rabbi Ettlinger, “and one should not seek to be more pious than they were.”53 Decrying the wearing of cantorial robes similar to those of Catholic priests, the twentieth-century authority R. Yehudah Leib Zirelson, Teshuvot Ma’arkhei Lev, Yoreh De’ah, no. 44, protests “the repugnant and forbidden following of gentile practice” in wearing vestments that are “specifically associated with the ritual of an alien religion.”54 The Sephardi authority, R. Obadia Hadaya, Yaskil Avdi, V, Orah Hayyim, no. 15, sanctioned the sartorial practice of Turkish cantors because their robes were identical to the distinctive rabbinic garb of that country. However, he ruled against wearing cantorial vestments that are similar to Christian ecclesiastical garb.55 53 As noted, in his youth R. Ettlinger himself wore a robe. For a possible explanation of his conduct see note 54. 54 Despite these vehement remarks, it appears that, on occasion, Rabbi Zirelson himself wore clerical robes. For a picture of Rabbi Zirelson in such vestments, see David Winitsky, Bessarabiah ha-Yehudit be-Ma’arkhoteha: Bein Shtei Milhamot Olam 1914–1940, II ( Jerusalem: Ha-Sifriyah ha-Tsiyonit, 1973), 504. Presumably, Rabbi Zirelson accepted the contention that the rabbinic clerical robe in vogue was quite different from Christian garb. 55 In this context, a letter dated 10 Elul, 5759 (September 13, 1959) in the archives of Heichal Shlomo written by Rabbi Maurice Jaffe, Executive Director of Heichal Shlomo to Rabbi M. J. E. Wohlgelernter (Ittamar), General Secretary of the Chief Rabbinate of Israel, is worthy of note. A cantor and choir had appeared at an event in Heichal Shlomo attired in clerical robes. Thereupon, the Chief Rabbinate issued a directive dated 21 Av, 5759 (August 25, 1959), forbidding officiants at Heichal Shlomo from wearing vestments similar to those worn by Christian clergy. The letter reports that the wardens of Heichal Shlomo requested a meeting with the Chief Rabbinate for reconsideration of that ruling. I thank Professor Shnayer Leiman for bringing this letter to my attention. As noted, many halakhists insisted that rabbinic robes should differ markedly from those of Christian clergy. Thus, it is ironic to record the attitude of a Danish Chief Rabbi in this regard. Hanne Frøsig Dalgaard, the author of a study of rabbinic vestments, recounts in detail her communications on this subject with the former Danish Chief Rabbis Bent Melchior in 1989 and Bent Lexner in 1995. In a letter dated August 9, 1996, R. Bent Melchior commented: “My father [Chief Rabbi Marcus Melchior (1897–1969)] very categorically insisted that the long velvet strips on the Chief Rabbi’s dress should be parallel

Clerical Robes: Distinction or Dishonor?    Part Two

There is but scant halakhic discussion of rabbinic—as distinct from c­ antorial—clerical robes. One significant source is She’elot u-Teshuvot Matteh Levi. Apparently, although he himself wore canonicals, R. Marcus Horovitz, rabbi of the Communal Orthodox Community in Frankfurt, appears to have been greatly discomfited thereby. In his responsa, Matteh Levi, II, Orah Hayyim, no. 6, he questions why the practice of wearing robes has been accepted and observes that, in light of the admonition of Leviticus 18:3, wearing clerical robes poses a greater halakhic problem than using an organ. An organ might be employed in connection with a concert of secular music, he avers, whereas the clerical robe is used exclusively for religious purposes. Forthrightly, he adds, “Were it not that gentile clergy wear such garments, without any doubt whatsoever, we would not do so.”56 Nonetheless, although not explicitly stated, his conclusion appears to be that wearing canonicals does not constitute a biblical violation. A similar conclusion is implicit in the writings of R. Azriel Hildesheimer. Responding to the decree against clerical vestments for cantors and choristers issued in Michalowitz, R. Hildesheimer conceded that adoption of the practice of wearing clerical garb in imitation of the prevalent non-Jewish practice entails a grave infraction. Nevertheless, he seems to be inveighing against the assimilatory intent rather than pronouncing the existence of an objective prohibition against the act. He proceeds to acknowledge that there may be a more laudable impetus prompting adoption of such a practice. In locales in which the observant were constrained to accept such a compromise in order to maintain communal harmony and avoid more serious deviations, such conduct, asserted R. Hildesheimer, should not be stigmatized, in the manner of the rabbis of Michalowitz, as “a grave prohibition.”57 to those of the bishops, so the second Rabbi had his velvet strips cut off at chest level.” See Dalgaard, “Rabbinical Vestments,” 381 note 40. Dalgaard further notes that this can be seen in the photograph of R. Bent Melchior’s ordination in Copenhagen Synagogue in 1963. Dalgaard, “Rabbinical Vestments,” 378, figure 307. 56 Emphasis added. 57 See Israel Hildesheimer, Gesammelte Aufsätze, ed. M. Hildesheimer (Frankfurt am Main: Verlag Herman A.G., 1923), 20, 25–26. R. Hildesheimer urged rabbinic colleagues to issue a joint announcement protesting the Michalowitz rulings. However, since his colleagues failed to act, he published a protest under his name alone. Hildesheimer’s views were published in five issues of the Israelit in 1866 in an article entitled “Die Beschlüsse der RabbinerVersammlung zu Mihalowitz” and were later included in his collected works. See Jacob Katz, A House Divided: Orthodoxy and Schism in Nineteenth-Century Central European Jewry, trans. Ziporah Brody (Hanover, NH: Brandeis University Press, 1998), 83, 295, note 33.

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Almost a hundred years later, a similar line of reasoning was offered by Jacob Rosenheim, an ardent champion of the approach of R. Samson Raphael Hirsch. Commenting on R. Hirsch’s wearing of canonicals, Rosenheim suggests that, “however non-Jewish and out of place they may strike us in the Jewish service,” R. Hirsch’s practice constituted a carefully considered strategy. R. Hirsch’s decision to develop a worship service aesthetically appealing to the laity of his time underscores his awareness that “any restriction not definitely required by the Din [law] might have been in the true sense of the word a ḥumra de-ati lidei kula [a stringency that leads to a laxity].”58 Nevertheless, Rosenheim unhesitatingly recommends that, under later, changed circumstances, this practice be abandoned: The present-day generation also is acting in the spirit of Hirsch by rejecting some of the above-mentioned concessions in social life, made necessary by the conditions of the time, as hora’at sha’ah [need of the hour]. The conditions that created them having disappeared—owing to the lifework of Hirsch—it would be absurd to cling religiously now to canonicals or similar things.59

Writing in the twentieth century, R. Chaim Ozer Grodzenski deems the wearing of canonicals to be prohibited as a matter of normative Halakhah and declares that wearing clerical robes by rabbis constitutes a biblical offense even according to the Maharik who was permissive with regard to distinctive garb worn by members of other professions. He cites R. Chaim Pelaggi, Sefer Ruah Hayyim, ot2, to the effect that the wearing of clerical robes similar to those of priests is “a bad and odious custom.” Therefore, even if the garments have been intentionally altered to differentiate them from Christian clerical garb, the practice should be abolished. R. Grodzenski mentions Matteh Levi and others who wore clerical robes and yet found the practice to be personally repugnant and concludes that one who has the power to do so should prevent the practice in his community.60 58 See Jacob Rosenheim, Samson Raphael Hirsch’s Cultural Ideal and “Our Times,” trans. I. E. Lichtigfeld (London: Shapiro, Valentine & Co., 1951), 59–60. 59 Ibid., 62, emphasis in original. 60 See R. Chaim Ozer Grodzenski, “Be-Inyan Malbush Talar,” in Shiloh: Kovetz Zikkaron, ed. R. Shlomo Yosef Zevin ( Jerusalem: private publisher, 1983), 167–68. This responsum is also reprinted in the supplementary volume of Ahi’ezer, vol. IV (Bnei Brak: private publisher, 1986), Likkutim, no. 38, 38–39. In that edition, an unsigned note appended to the

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The Twentieth Century R. Salomon Breuer’s willingness to continue the Hirschian practice of wearing a clerical robe as well as to deliver sermons in the vernacular and to endorse the male choir were significant factors in his election in 1890 as successor to his father-in-law R. Samson Raphael Hirsch.61 When, however, R. Joseph Jonah Zevi ha-Levi Horovitz of Hunsdorf (later known as the “Frankfurter Rav”) was elected rabbi of the Frankfurt Israelitisch Religionsgesellschaft (IRG) in 1928, succeeding R. Salomon Breuer, his refusal to wear canonicals created quite a stir. R. Horovitz’s daughter relates that when a member of the Board raised the matter after the Horovitz family had arrived in Frankfurt, the rabbi pointedly looked at his watch and asked, “When is the next train to Hunsdorf?”62 A perhaps apocryphal account relates that, subsequently, in a vestibule of the synagogue where the rabbi and functionaries placed their personal effects, R. Horovitz came upon a box on which were inscribed the words “Evangelischer Geistlicher—Evangelical Clergyman,” inside of which lay a clerical robe intended for the rabbi. For R. Horovitz, the inscription was further evidence of the Christian provenance of such attire.63 r­ esponsum, on page 40, states that the provenance of the responsum has been challenged. The compiler claims that the only reason for the note is simply that there was no original of the responsum, only an unsigned copy not in the author’s handwriting. However, the inclusion of the responsum in Shiloh without comment by the editor, Rabbi Zevin, deservedly recognized as a meticulous scholar, would indicate that R. Zevin was convinced of its authenticity. 61 Jacob Rosenheim, Zikhronot, trans. Chaim Weisman (Tel Aviv: She’arim, 1955), 38. 62 Personal communication of Mrs. Judith Zimmerman, July 26, 2001. 63 Personal communication of R. Joseph Elias, July 26, 2001. R. Elias was raised in Frankfurt and heard the narrative while he was yet a youth.    I am indebted to Dr. Elliot Bondi, grandson of  R. Joseph Breuer, for informing me of an unpublished letter by R. Joseph Breuer discussing his own decision not to wear clerical robes in the United States in contrast to the practice of  R. Hirsch in Frankfurt. R. Joseph Breuer maintained that, for R. Hirsch in nineteenth-­century Germany, wearing a robe was essential as part of his efforts to foster dignified and aesthetically pleasing services. R. Joseph Breuer was wont to emphasize that all things must be understood in historical perspective and one must be attuned to the sensibilities of people in the new environment of the United States; policy determinations must take into consideration prevalent cultural and social norms. As noted, even in Germany during the period in which R. Joseph Jonah Horovitz served as rabbi in Frankfurt, he did not wear a clerical robe. Once the precedent had been abandoned, to reinstate the practice at a later date in the United States, where few Orthodox rabbis wore canonicals, would have been quite strange.    It may be noted that beginning in 1919, during the lifetime of his father, R. Joseph Breuer served as rabbi of the oldest synagogue in the community, the Frankfurt Klaus. The Klaus was not officially affiliated either with the general community or with the separatist IRG and the services

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Nonetheless, at least some rabbinic decisors refused to rule that wearing clerical robes is absolutely forbidden and that it is necessary to forfeit a rabbinic position if wearing such vestments is a condition of employment. In 1957, R. Baruch Horovitz, a grandson of Matteh Levi and currently rosh yeshiva of Yeshivat Dvar Yerushalayim, faced the possibility that acceptance of a post in a congregation in Manchester, England that had adopted Anglicized services would require him to wear canonicals. R. Horovitz solicited the opinion of R. Zevi Pesach Frank, then Chief Rabbi of Jerusalem. R. Frank responded by issuing a permissive ruling in writing. Consequently, R. Baruch Horovitz informed the Synagogue Board that, if wearing canonicals was a necessary condition of his employment, he would acquiesce to their request. However, upon assuming the post, he reiterated his reluctance, procrastinated, and, offering instead to wear “rabbinicals,” proceeded to don a rabbinic frock-coat. In the course of time, the members of the Board gradually, albeit unwillingly and grudgingly, came to terms with his recalcitrance.64 were less formal; there was no choir and the rabbi did not wear clerical garb. Thus, R. Joseph Breuer had not worn canonicals in Frankfurt. See David Kranzler and David Landesman, Rav Breuer: His Life and His Legacy (Jerusalem: Feldheim Publishers, 1998), 78, note 28. In the brief period, 1933–1934, in which R. Joseph Breuer served as rabbi of the small Hungarian community in Fiume, Italy, it is most unlikely that he wore a clerical robe. 64 Personal communication of Rabbi B. Horovitz, July 18, 2001.    Earlier in his career, Rabbi Arie Folger, since June, 2016, Chief Rabbi of Vienna, Austria, served for a six-year period as senior rabbi of the Jewish community of Basel, Switzerland. Rabbi Folger relates that during that time, despite his personal predilection not to do so, he wore canonicals in accordance with the regnant communal practice. Later, as senior rabbi of the Jewish community of Munich, Germany, he chose instead to don a rabbinic frock-coat (as had Rabbi Baruch Horovitz in Manchester). Recently, the question of the rabbi wearing a clerical robe was reconsidered in Basel. Ironically, Rabbi Folger received a halakhic query from a former congregant seeking clarification with regard to whether a change is appropriate or whether such a proposal should be rejected since it is contrary to the synagogue’s established practice or minhag. Personal communication of Rabbi Arie Folger, September 11, 2017.    It is noteworthy that in England, decades earlier, discomfort with canonicals was expressed by congregants who hailed from Russia and Poland. The Machzike Hadath synagogue in London was founded in 1891 by newly-arrived Eastern European immigrants who did not approve of the religious practices of the Anglo-Jewish community and sought to establish a synagogue that would adhere to more strictly Orthodox standards of worship. The Machzike Hadath ritual rules stipulated that “the Rav, Preacher, Reader or Shamas may not wear such Canonicals which may appear as if in imitation of non-Jewish clergy.” See Bernard Homa, A Fortress in Anglo-Jewry: The Story of the Machzike Hadath (London: Shapiro, Valentine & Co., 1953), 110. So strong was their antipathy to clerical robes that, in 1910, on the occasion of the reconsecration of the synagogue, when the then Chief Rabbi Hermann Adler was invited to speak, in deference to the Machzike Hadath practice, Rabbi Adler did not don canonicals for the ceremony. Ibid., 73.

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The unpublished correspondence between R. Frank and R. Horovitz merits citation in detail because it delineates nuances of the issue of clerical robes and places the matter in perspective.65 In his letter to R. Frank, dated Rosh Chodesh Tevet 5757 (December 4, 1956), R. Horovitz enumerates several relatively minor halakhic problems with regard to the rabbinic ­position he had been offered, including the height of the enclosure surrounding the women’s gallery, the use of an organ in conjunction with weekday weddings, and the request that the rabbi wear a clerical robe. Noting that there are both lenient and stringent views in the published halakhic literature with regard to each of those questions, R. Horovitz emphasized specifically that the majority of rabbis in Germany, including his own grandfather the Matteh Levi and R. Samson Raphael Hirsch, wore the Talar, but added that he was also aware of the stringent views recorded in Darkei Teshuvah 178:18. In a brief but immediate reply, dated Tevet 6, 5757 (December 10, 1956), R. Frank is explicit in ruling that, in light of the situation as described by R. Horovitz and particularly since the problems involved matters regarding which Matteh Levi and R. Hirsch had ruled leniently, it is permissible for him to accept the position. Indeed, R. Frank recommends that he do so posthaste in order that he may be enabled to “achieve great things and benefit the community.” It is, however, clearly evident that R. Frank viewed the matter as a sanctionable and necessary leniency rather than an optimal practice. He expresses the hope that “in the course of time,” when R. Horovitz “will become established and well-­ accepted by them [the congregants], he should do whatever is in his power” to improve the conditions of his service. In a second letter to R. Frank, written a year later (October 8, 1957), R. Horovitz again raised the issue of clerical robes but this time in a more nuanced and complex manner. He related that, initially, in accordance with R. Frank’s advice, he had informed the lay leaders of his congregation that if wearing canonicals was made an absolute condition of employment, he would be prepared to acquiesce in the matter. However, because of his discomfort and reluctance to wear the robe, he donned a rabbinic frock-coat and postponed dealing with the issue of wearing a clerical robe from month to month. R. Horovitz then spelled out the considerations that influenced his course of 65 I am indebted to R. Horovitz for his further personal communication of January 2, 2002 and for his graciousness in providing me with copies of this correspondence. All citations are my translation of this correspondence.

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action. “I felt,” he wrote, “that it was my obligation to oppose the trend of imitation of the [religious] customs of the [gentile] nations with every vigor for that is one of the chief causes of assimilation; accordingly, upon me, too, rests the obligation to refrain from anything associated with this.” Secondly, from a personal vantage point, R. Horovitz added, he simply found it difficult, or as he put it in quotation marks, “le-hitlabesh,” that is, “to costume himself ” or “to masquerade” in that manner, while performing his rabbinic functions because he felt that to do so would constitute “farcical conduct with regard to the words of the living G–d.” Finally—expressing a sensitivity in which he was ahead of his time— R. Horovitz commented that, quite apart from halakhic considerations, the practice “creates a barrier between the rabbi and his congregation” and results in a negative impact upon a rabbi’s effectiveness in ministering to the spiritual needs of his congregants. As a consequence of those various considerations, he had not acted on his original concession. The members of his congregation, however, maintained that the issue was causing strife and quarrelsomeness and might impede his efforts in dissemination of Torah teaching. R. Horovitz once more turned to R. Frank for advice, noting that his instinct was to continue to conduct himself in accordance with his own principles because, despite the ongoing contention, even the dissident members of the congregation desired him to remain as their rabbi and his tenure was no longer in jeopardy. From R. Frank’s second reply, dated 15 Kislev 5718 (December 8, 1957), it is abundantly clear that R. Frank strongly disfavored wearing robes and accordingly he recommended that R. Horovitz procrastinate with regard to implementation of the practice for as long as possible. R. Frank states forcefully, “Regarding what they ask of you to wear garments that are not in accordance with your spirit, as long as it is feasible to push off this matter and not to fulfill their demand, it is a mitzvah to be scrupulous with regard to this.” Nevertheless, continues R. Frank, R. Horovitz is certainly not obligated to resign his post on account of this issue because In my opinion, there is a benefit in your office, [i.e.,] to attract the heart of the youth to fear of Heaven and perhaps also to Torah and “this is all of man” 66 and the purpose of his creation for which he has come to this world. Because of this, it is worthwhile to expend great effort for the merit 66 Ecclesiastes 12:13.

Clerical Robes: Distinction or Dishonor?    Part Two of the community is a great beneficence to man and in this manner you will merit eternal bliss.

R. Horovitz’s personal perspective expressed in the late 1950s became a more common feeling among many members of the Orthodox British rabbinate decades later. A number of factors contributed to the attitudinal change. The Anglo-Jewish rabbinate was attracting more individuals who had studied for an extended period in yeshivot in England or in Israel and, accordingly, both identified with more staunchly traditionalist elements of the community and were more concerned with halakhic minutiae. Moreover, and perhaps even more significantly, the entire cultural fabric of society had undergone a profound transformation, with even conservative Britain becoming a country with less insistence on formality in dress and ritual. This development is evidenced in an interesting item included by the late R. Immanuel Jakobovits, former British Chief Rabbi, in Dear Chief Rabbi, a selection from his wide-ranging correspondence. In 1982, R. Jakobovits received a query from a rabbi serving in a United Synagogue pulpit who, together with his cantor, wished to dispense with the use of clerical gowns. Rabbi Jakobovits commented upon the tension that had begun to surround this practice and noted “the growing tendency among younger rabbis to discard clerical garb including cap and gown.”67 In his brief rejoinder, he also reported that he had been approached by the senior honorary officers of the United Synagogue who strongly urged maintaining the “traditional wearing of canonicals at all religious services.”68 Rabbi Jakobovits observed that, while the established practice enhanced the dignity of the rabbinate, in some instances, practices that had become “traditions” might well be counterproductive and alienate younger “more religiously committed” rabbis and laymen. He therefore suggested that the matter be deferred for further discussion among 67 Dear Chief Rabbi: From the Correspondence of Chief Rabbi Immanuel Jakobovits on Matters of Jewish Law, Ethics and Contemporary Issues 1980–1990, ed. Jeffrey M. Cohen (Hoboken, NJ: Ktav Publishing House, Inc., 1995), 275. Changing trends in the Anglo-Jewish rabbinate are evident in an article titled “On the Clerical Collar” published in the Jewish Review, vol. 7, no. 184 (September 30, 1953), 3, in which Chaim Pearl notes that in a 1925 photograph of British ministers, 40 of 48 wore Roman collars, part of the garb of the United Synagogue’s clergy, whereas in 1953, only 14 out of 60 ministers were wearing the clerical collar.    It should be noted that Rabbi Jakobovits himself, rather than the usual clerical black gown, wore a blue academic gown that to cognoscenti was recognizable as such. 68 Ibid.

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representatives of the rabbinate but recommended that, pending a consensus, individual rabbis not depart from the regnant practice. The salient point in Rabbi Jakobovits’s response is the clear recognition that it is the younger and religiously more committed who are uncomfortable with clerical garb and might, as a consequence, be discouraged from participating in worship at congregations of the United Synagogue and from serving in the ranks of its ministry.69 Shortly thereafter, the issue of canonicals became a heatedly debated topic among members of the British rabbinate.70 At the time, R. Jonathan Sacks, then Principal of Jews’ College, wrote candidly: In the case of canonicals it was originally and undoubtedly an imitation of the Church: a gesture which announced in the strongest possible terms that with civil emancipation, Jews were as good as the gentiles when it came to the external trappings of religion.71

He pointed out that opposition to the practice was most vociferous among those who viewed it as a hallmark of Reform Judaism. Presciently, he declared that in the coming years, even in the secular world, adherence to Establishment culture would wane and asserted that as far as Jewry is concerned, “We would serve ourselves and others better by recovering our authenticity.”72 In present-day England, the bylaws of the (Orthodox) United Synagogue continued to stipulate that canonicals were obligatory attire for clergy when officiating at services, but the regulation was more honored in the breach than in the observance. In 1998, imposition of this mode of dress upon guest rabbis officiating at weddings in synagogues that continued to adhere to the practice had become a source of contention.73 It was ironic—but perhaps hardly surprising—that, at a time when clerical robes had already been discarded by the great majority of functionaries among Reform clergy, they were still cherished by the British United Synagogue, which remained a bastion of conservatism.74 69 Ibid. 70 See R. Jonathan Sacks, “Response: The Rabbinate,” L’Eylah 2, no. 5 (Spring, 5743): 23–24; and “Zero Response: The Rabbinate,” L’Eylah 2, no. 6 (Autumn, 5744): 21–24. 71 Sacks, “Zero Response,” 22. 72 Ibid., 23. 73 See Ruth Rothenberg, “New Rabbis’ Distress Over Need to Dress to Impress,” The Jewish Chronicle (London), November 20, 1998, 19. 74 Accurate data on the wearing of robes in American Reform congregations is difficult to obtain but it is generally believed that, although the majority of Reform functionaries

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Nevertheless, some fifteen years later, upon stepping down from his position as Chief Rabbi, Rabbi Sacks, in a valedictory address articulating the role of religion in the twenty-first century, noted that the British synagogue had become transformed. Services were more informal and, “Rabbis no longer wear canonicals.”75 in the United States do not wear clerical robes throughout the year, many still do so on the High Holy Days. Personal communication of Sue Ann Wasserman, then Director of the Department of Religious Living, Union of American Hebrew Congregations (currently rabbi of Temple Beth David of the South Shore, Massachusetts), August 7, 2001. Several past surveys of worship practice in the Reform movement failed to address the question. However, “Unpublished Worship Survey 2000,” conducted by the Commission on Religious Living and the Commission on Synagogue Music of the Union of American Hebrew Congregations, included one question asking which of the following was used by worship leaders when conducting services: a kipah, a tallit, or a robe, and whether this was a matter of individual choice or congregational policy. The responses to this question indicated that 78% of worship leaders wore a kipah and a tallit while only 38% wore a robe. In terms of congregational policy, 14% of congregations required the worship leader to wear a kipah, 16% required a tallit and only 12% required a robe. I am indebted to Sue Wasserman for a copy of that unpublished survey. In 2001, this writer conducted a very informal and limited inquiry in the form of a brief e-mail questionnaire seeking information regarding the prevalence of robes among Reform and Liberal functionaries in the United Kingdom. I am very grateful to Dr. Tony Bayfield, then Chief Executive of the Reform Synagogues of Great Britain, currently President of what is now known as the Movement for Reform Judaism, who suggested the questionnaire and graciously assisted in forwarding it to members of the Reform and Liberal clergy in England. I received answers from 24 respondents, 8 of whom were women. The sample is too small to be significant but it should be noted, as Tony Bayfield commented, “I can’t think why those who do reply should be a biased sample on this issue, so whatever percentage response you get should reflect the whole” (e-mail communication of August 10, 2001). Nine of the twenty-four respondents wrote that they never wear clerical robes. Of those, two had worn robes in the past, but did so no longer. Nine respondents wrote that they wore a traditional kittel on the High Holy Days, while another nine answered that they wore white robes on the High Holy Days. Only seven of the twenty-four respondents replied that they wore robes when conducting weekly services. However, fifteen of the twenty-four noted that they wore robes when officiating at weddings and/or funerals (of these, only nine wore the robes for weddings, fifteen for funerals). Of interest, in response to the query of where the robes were purchased, most of those who wore robes replied that they obtained them from purveyors of religious supplies, three from purveyors of academic garments, and one directly from a supplier of the Church of England. One female respondent wrote, “I think you should have included a question ‘I don’t wear robes because, . . .’ and added the following pointed comment, “I do not wear robes because I do not feel that it is appropriate for me to wear special garments which separate me from the congregation. I am a rabbi and not a priest. On the High Holy Days I wear a Kittel because it is appropriate to the High Holy Days and which [sic] may be worn by any Jew at this time.” 75 R. Jonathan Sacks, A Judaism Engaged with the World (London: Office of the Chief Rabbi, 2013), 4.

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CONCLUSION Clearly, attitudes regarding the wearing of clerical attire by members of the rabbinate have undergone several changes. It is quite plausible that the initial adoption of distinctive clerical garb by rabbis in Holland and Italy aroused little objection because of the similarity of the garments adopted by rabbis to those of physicians and jurists. Later, when such professional clothing was no longer common, the similarity to Christian practice was more pronounced and hence was decried as emulation of gentile practices. As the attire became increasingly identified with Reform clergy, whose intention was indeed to pattern themselves upon church practice, Orthodox opposition became more vociferous. In contemporary times, in which formal attire by clergy of all denominations is increasingly abandoned, the rabbinic gown has fallen into disuse. It is not at all surprising that trends in clothing and apparel change rapidly over time. Elegant robes of yesteryear may today appear pompous and off-putting. One should not be astonished that ritual practices patterned upon popular modes of conduct are subject to shifts and fluctuations. Yesterday’s high fashion very soon becomes outmoded. But, from a Jewish point of view, are rabbinic robes a distinction or a dishonor? In Italy, the rabbinic clerical garb may have come to be viewed as Jewish rather than Catholic since “no priest ever dressed like an Italian rabbi.”76 Elsewhere, it was clearly seen as resembling Protestant garb and sometimes deemed an offensive imitation of church practice.77 In England, in particular, where Jewish ministers also took to wearing a Roman clerical collar, the practice was incontrovertibly patterned on the dress of the Christian clergy of that country. Asher Salah is correct in concluding that clerical garb was not a central issue in early counter-Reform debates, as may be inferred from the fact that some Orthodox authorities adopted such dress. He misses the point, however, in assuming that there were no objections to such attire during the first half of the nineteenth century.78 While not a central issue, refusal on the part of religious authorities to accept the wearing of clerical robes with equanimity predates the Michalowitz protests. Even the non-Orthodox commented ironically on the evolving sartorial style. As early as April 1823, in a letter to a friend, the sharp-witted Heinrich Heine, with his keen eye for hypocrisy, mocked the new 76 Salah, “Rabbinical Dress,” 63. 77 See Zeiss-Horlach, “Kleider machen Leute,” 71–118. 78 See Salah, “Rabbinical Dress,” 63.

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Reform preachers in his satirical bent. He was suspicious of their motivation and, admitting that “we no longer have the power to wear a beard, to fast, to hate, . . .” scoffed at the theatrical recostuming of Judaism “wearing white bands in place of a beard.”79 Some twenty years later, the Orthodox District Rabbi of Sulzburg wrote similarly that Beffchen may symbolize the white beards of rabbis of the past—beards that perhaps represented maturity and wisdom— but Beffchen may be worn by a callow youth and do not represent anything at all.80 More significantly, one should bear in mind the discomfiture with wearing the robe expressed by R. Bamberger81 and the critical reaction to specific details of the dress of R. Samson Raphael Hirsch.82 One may indeed wonder why R. Hirsch, who staunchly championed strict adherence to prescriptions of rabbinic law and reviled changes in ritual, scathingly excoriating even those who would eliminate recitation of piyyutim— poetic sections of the prayer service whose omission is not at all forbidden by Halakhah—should have embraced the wearing of a clerical robe. An insight into his motivation may perhaps be gleaned from a two-part article penned by his contemporary, R. Dr. Hermann Lipschutz, and published in R. Hirsch’s journal, Jeschurun. In his depiction of the rabbinate, “Die moderne Rabbinismus” (“The Modern Rabbinate”), Part I, “Wie er ist” (“As It Is”), Lipschutz derides the typical modern clergyman, bedecked in robe and white bands, proud possessor of a doctorate and elegant preacher, but lacking even a minimal competence in rabbinic or Talmudic learning.83 In a sequel, R. Lipschutz then articulates his vision of the ideal modern rabbinate, “Wie er sein soll” (“As It Should Be”), and depicts an individual learned in every aspect of rabbinic law in the manner of an old-time rabbi, but outwardly modern; an individual in essence, in thought, act, and teaching, identical to the traditional rabbi of yore but different in his external demeanor. In relating to the outer world the 79 Heinrich Heine, Säkularausgabe. Werke, Briefwechsel, Lebenszeugnisse. Vol. 20. Briefe 1815– 1831 (Berlin: Akademie-Verlag, 1970), 72. 80 See R. Emanuel Dreyfuss, “Über die Amtstracht des Rabbinen,” Der treue Zionswächter, II (1846): 296–98. R. Dreyfuss, the author of Orah Meisharim (Müllhausen, 1848) was the last rabbi of Sulzburg. Following his demise in 1886, the seat of the district rabbinate was transferred to Freiburg. 81 See Shnayer Z. Leiman, “Rabbi Joseph Carlebach—Wuerzburg and Jerusalem: A Conversation between Rabbi Seligmann Baer Bamberger and Rabbi Shmuel Salant,” Tradition 28, no. 2 (Winter, 1994): 60. 82 See Isaac Heinemann, “Ha-Yahas she-bein S. R. Hirsch le-Yitzhak Bernays Rabbo,” Zion 16 (1951): 87. 83 R. Lipschutz, “Wie er ist,” Jeschurun 10, no. 8 (1864): 277–83.

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old-time rabbi was ineffective; in that respect alone, argues R. Lipschutz, was his image deficient. But, unfortunately, this lack of understanding for the outer trappings of modernity and Western culture had alienated many and caused them, mistakenly, to view the traditional rabbi as irrelevant to their lives.84 It was this misperception that R. Hirsch was determined to correct. He was eloquent in his espousal of unadulterated religious practice and effusive in his reverence for rabbinic scholarship but was, at the same time, passionate in advocating a rabbinate that would demonstrate an understanding and acceptance of the cultural trends of the time. Thus, the idea of a rabbi garbed in the clerical attire of the day yet upholding Torah and mitzvot in all their splendor appealed to his imagination as but another way to render Orthodoxy attractive, to stem the then rising tide of defection to Reform and to demonstrate the viability of a forward-looking Orthodoxy. R. Hirsch’s intent in wearing the robe was le-hagdil Torah u-le-ha’adirah. In this context, one must emphasize that R. Hirsch’s teacher, R. Jacob Ettlinger, a preeminent Talmudist and unimpeachable, revered halakhic authority, had himself worn a robe. With that precedent, R. Hirsch need have had no qualms regarding the halakhic permissibility of the practice. Nevertheless, to many other Orthodox figures, the wearing of canonicals remained a distasteful, even servile, mimicry of other religions. They saw no merit in an attempt to change Jewish practice in any manner in order to make it more aesthetically appealing. In the years since the sociological and religious controversies of the nineteenth century, the Jewish people have experienced global catastrophe and cataclysmic upheavals. Among the many transformations that time has wrought, thankfully, many of today’s youth have regained a healthy measure of Jewish pride. The late Michael Wyschograd related that, several decades ago, a group of his peers used to travel regularly from their Brooklyn neighborhood to classes at Columbia University. Upon exiting the subway at Broadway and 116th Street, they would surreptitiously remove their yarmulkes before entering the awe-inspiring precincts of the campus. A generation later, however, his own son tells of regularly observing bareheaded students stepping out of the subway station and donning kippot as they near the Columbia campus. The distinctive head-covering is no longer perceived as a badge of shame and a source

84 R. Lipschutz, “Wie er sein soll,” Jeschurun 10, no. 9 (1864): 302–8.

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of self-consciousness but as a symbol of privileged identification and a claim to distinction.85 In the twenty-first century, in an era in which many among the Jews who visit the synagogue have rediscovered an appreciation of their heritage, they unabashedly seek to pray in the manner consecrated over the ages. Their garb—and the garb in which they see their religious functionaries attired—is a head covering, tallit and tefillin. Regarding Jews wearing such garb, the Talmud teaches86 that the scriptural passage testifies, “And all the peoples of the earth shall see that the name of the Lord is called upon you”87 and they may justifiably be hailed as “Israel in whom I will be glorified.”88

85 See also this writer’s comments on Jewish pride in “The Future of American Orthodoxy,” Jewish Action 59, no. 1 (Fall, 1998): 38. 86 See Berakhot 6a, Megillah 15b, Sotah 17a, Menahot 35b, and Hullin 89a. 87 Deuteronomy 28:10. 88 Isaiah 49:3.

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The Plight of the Agunah: The Proposal of the Union des Rabbins Français ZVI JONATHAN KAPLAN

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fter capturing the Senate in 1879, the republicans in France began to dismantle the relationship between church and state.1 The Ferry Laws of 1881–1882 secularized the public schools, and the 1882 burial law secularized municipal burial grounds. Then, in 1884, the republicans reestablished civil divorce, which Louis XVIII had abolished in 1816. While the Catholic right opposed all three republican measures, the consistorial representatives of French Jewry opposed only the burial law that sought to abolish confessional burial plots.2 Regarding the issue of divorce, Isadore Cahen, editor of Les Archives Israélites de France, noted that “the serious objections of the Church against the legal repudiation [of marriages] in accordance with its dogma of the indissolubility of marriage do not exist for Judaism. Divorce is inscribed in our Torah and is still used by our coreligionists in countries where it is legally recognized.”3 While there were no serious objections within the organized French Jewish community to divorce per se, there were Jewish spokespeople who raised questions about the specifics of the new divorce law. For example,   1 I would like to thank both Brill and Modern Judaism for granting me permission to reprint passages from my chapter “A Jurisprudential Quandary: Jewish Marriage in Post-Separation France” in The Jews of Modern France: Images and Identities, eds. Zvi Jonathan Kaplan and Nadia Malinovich (Leiden: Brill, 2016), 82-101 and from my article “Rabbinic Attempts to Resolve the Agunah Dilemma in Early-Twentieth-Century France,” Modern Judaism 37, no. 2 (2017): 216–30.   2 See Zvi Jonathan Kaplan, Between the Devil and the Deep Blue Sea? French Jewry and the Problem of Church and State (Providence, RI: Brown University Press, 2009), 85–87.   3 Les Archives Israélites de France (hereinafter A.I.), Vol. 45 (1884), 122.

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writing in L’Univers Israélite, legal expert J. Blumenthal raised two important issues. Although Jewish law allowed for divorce, would the new law force rabbis to grant religious divorces? Furthermore, leaving aside the question of coercion, at what point would rabbis be allowed to issue religious divorces, before or only after a couple received a civil divorce?4 Responding to his first question, Blumenthal concluded that just as the civil marriage law dating back to the French Revolution did not require rabbis to perform religious marriages, a civil divorce law could not impose on rabbis the obligation to grant religious divorces. Otherwise, the state could presumably force Catholic priests to grant divorces, which was unthinkable.5 Blumenthal was less certain about the answer to his second question. He presumed that a rabbi would be allowed to grant a religious divorce before a civil divorce, even though Article 199 of the French Penal Code subjected to a fine “every minister of any sect, who proceed[ed] to the religious ceremonies of a marriage, without having it proved to him that an act of [civil] marriage has been previously taken by the officers of the civil state.”6 As he explained, when it came to penalties, there was a legal principal of poenalia non sunt extendenda, penalties should not be broadly interpreted. In other words, one should not infer from the existence of a prohibition in a marriage law that the same prohibition applies in a divorce law.7 Nonetheless, in a footnote, the editors of the Univers Israélite added, “This is a delicate question, and the opinion reflects solely that of the author.”8 And, as it turned out, rabbis were not allowed to grant a religious divorce prior to a civil divorce.9 What was notably absent in either Cahen’s or Blumenthal’s analysis was the question of whether the French rabbinate should or would voluntarily modify Jewish law to accommodate the 1884 divorce law. This chapter will examine the extent to which French rabbis were prepared to harmonize traditional Jewish divorce law with the new French divorce law. The French divorce law decreed that either a husband or a wife could obtain a civil divorce from a French court on a variety of fault grounds.10 According to Jewish law, however, a husband’s consent was required to obtain a religious 4 L’Univers Israélite (hereinafter U.I.), Vol. 40 (1884), 44. 5 Ibid., 44–45. 6 See The Penal Code of France, Translated into English (London: Butterworth, 1819), 44. 7 U.I., Vol. 40 (1884), 45. 8 Ibid. 9 Roger Berg and Marianne Urbah-Bornstein, Les Juifs devant le droit français: Législation et jurisprudence fin 19e siècle à nos jours (Paris: Les Belles-Lettres, 1984), 216–18. 10 Roderick Phillips, Putting Asunder: A History of Divorce in Western Society (New York: Cambridge University Press, 1988), 424.            

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divorce. Even a husband who committed a serious matrimonial offense could refuse to give his wife a get (a religious bill of divorce), and she would remain religiously married to him. At best, a rabbinic court could attempt to persuade such a person to grant his wife a divorce. If he nonetheless refused, his civilly divorced wife could never religiously remarry. If she chose to civilly remarry, as was her French legal right, from the perspective of Jewish law, she would have status of an adulteress whose offspring from the second marriage would be deemed illegitimate. The problem of recalcitrant husbands who refused to grant their wives a religious divorce posed a moral dilemma and illuminated the discrepancy between the French divorce law, which empowered the civil courts to grant divorces, and Jewish law, which empowered husbands to grant divorces. It is not surprising, therefore, that within two years of passage of the divorce law, the consistorial representatives of French Jewry attempted to harmonize Judaism with the new civil divorce law. In 1886, R. Michel Weill, who had served as the first French chief rabbi of Algiers, proposed to R. Lazare Isidor, grand rabbi of France, that the rabbinate annul the marriages of those husbands who refused to grant their civilly divorced wives a get. R. Isidor rejected the proposal, but his successor, Grand Rabbi Zadoc Kahn, continued to pursue halachic solutions to the problem of recalcitrant husbands. By 1895, he gave up when he realized that he could not persuade prominent halachic authorities both within and outside of France to accept his proposal.11 However, two years after both R. Kahn’s passing and republican passage of the law concerning the Separation of the Churches and the State, French rabbis chose to reconsider the matter. On December 11, 1905, President Émile Loubet officially promulgated the law on separation, thus ending the official recognition and subsidization of religious bodies in France.12 This law, which marked the culmination of the republican secularist agenda, did not address the issue of religious divorce. Indeed, Article 1 proclaimed, “The Republic ensures freedom of conscience [and] guarantees the free exercise of religion.”13 Nonetheless, the growth of a spirit of secularism and personal liberty sharply contrasted with the static state of Jewish family law and the inability of Jewish women to divorce without the consent of their husbands. Although the separation law provided for the 11 Kaplan, Between the Devil and the Deep Blue Sea?, 93–95. 12 On secularization and the separation of church and state, see Jean-Marie Mayeur, La question laïque (Paris: Fayard, 1997) and John McManners, Church and State in France, 1870– 1914 (New York: Harper & Row, 1972). 13 See Journal officiel de la République française (December 11, 1905), 7205.

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e­ stablishment of unsubsidized religious associations to replace the existing official religious bodies, it deprived the Jewish consistories of their official status and funding. Furthermore, the consistories no longer possessed a monopoly on Judaism. Thus, the consistories soon faced new pressure from non-­consistorial institutions both on the left and the right. For example, in 1907, the Union Libérale Israélite de France was recognized as a religious association and opened a synagogue. That same year, the Union des Rabbins Français, the rabbinic body of the Jewish consistories, attempted to bridge the continuing gap between civil and Jewish law in the realm of divorce. On June 12, 1907, at a meeting of the Union des Rabbins Français, R. Joseph Lehmann, director of the École Rabbinique, introduced two resolutions that dealt with marital law. The first resolution addressed the plight of the childless widow who could not remarry because her deceased husband’s brother either could not or would not release her from the halachic obligation to marry him through a ceremony called halizah. The second resolution dealt with the refusal of husbands to grant religious divorces. This resolution, which noted the legalization of divorce in France and vividly described the hardship faced by civilly divorced women religiously chained to their recalcitrant husbands, proposed the introduction of conditional marriage. At the marriage ceremony, the bridegroom would proclaim that his bride is betrothed to him on the condition that she would not be left an agunah (chained woman) on account of him, and that if the French courts were to grant a divorce, the marriage would be retroactively void. The members of the Union adopted the proposal but voted to delay its implementation for six months.14 As R. Lehmann subsequently clarified in a letter published in the Archives Israélites, his proposal did not call for the abolition of religious divorce. Rabbis would still request that husbands grant their wives a get. They would only declare a conditional marriage void when a husband did not succumb to rabbinic pressure to grant his spouse a religious divorce.15 Reaction to R. Lehmann’s proposal for conditional marriages from nonUnion rabbis was swift. Even before R. Lehmann had formally introduced his proposal at the rabbinic conference, it was denounced by R. Judah Lubetzki, the Russian-born rabbi of the Orthodox Eastern European Jewish immigrant community in Paris.16 When R. Lubetzki heard that R. Lehmann intended 14 U.I., Vol. 62, Part 2 (1907), 430–33; Judah Lubetzki, Ein Tnai Be-Nisuin (Warsaw: KrinesKubelski, 1930), 12. 15 A.I., Vol. 68 (1907): 203. 16 There are many variations of the spelling of his last name. I have chosen the one that he used in his letters to the French Jewish press.

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to ­propose the introduction of conditional marriages, he wrote to him a long letter in Hebrew urging him to reconsider.17 R. Lubetzki did not see a need to reconcile Jewish and French divorce law. As he noted, the Catholic Church had not harmonized Catholicism with French law. On the contrary, Catholicism, unlike Judaism, did not permit divorce.18 Furthermore, he argued that a change in an area as sensitive as marital law required the input and consent of the renowned sages worldwide and not just a group of French rabbis.19 Both in his personal letter to R. Lehmann written before the conference and in an open letter published in the French Jewish press afterward, R. Lubetzki explained that rabbis, in the past, had employed conditional marriage very sparingly. In those few cases in which rabbis had permitted conditional marriages, the circumstances were totally different than they were in modern France. The Union des Rabbins Français wanted to uniformly introduce conditional marriages in France to prevent a potential problem associated with divorce; during the Middle Ages, the rabbis had allowed conditional marriages in very limited circumstances in order to prevent an unavoidable problem associated with c­ hildless widows.20 According to biblical law, when a man dies childless, his brother must either marry the widow (i.e., perform his leviratic duty) or release her through the ceremony of halizah (removal).21 If the brother-in-law does not wish to marry his brother’s widow and desires to release her, he must proclaim in front of the rabbinate, “I do not want to marry her,” and the widow must then remove his sandal, spit in his face, and proclaim, “Thus shall be done to the man who will not build up his brother’s house!”22 Some rabbinic authorities had permitted the use of a conditional clause in the declaration of marriage when, at the time of the marriage, it was already known that the bridegroom’s brother was either missing or an apostate and so could not or would not perform halizah. As Rabbi Moses Isserles’s gloss on Shulchan Aruch states, “He who marries a woman and has an apostate brother, he can marry on the condition . . . that were she to [require halizah] from the apostate, she would not be married.”23 This clause retroactively annulled the marriage in the event that circumstances required halizah. R. Lubetzki stated 17 Lubetzki, Ein Tnai Be-Nisuin, 5–11. 18 Ibid., 6. 19 Ibid., 9–10. 20 Ibid., 8–9; U.I., Vol. 62, Part 2 (1907), 494–95. 21 French law prohibited Levirate Marriage. See Berg and Urbah-Bornstein, Les Juifs devant le droit français, 171. 22 Deuteronomy 25:5–10 (NJPS). 23 Rabbi Moses Isserles, Shulchan Aruch, Even ha-Ezer 157:4.

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that unlike those authorities who had permitted the use of a conditional clause in ­limited circumstances, the Union wanted to introduce a conditional clause in all marriages in order to prevent a potential problem associated with divorce. In addition to presenting his halachic objections to conditional marriage, R. Lubetzki also voiced concern that the Union’s proposal threatened the morals of the community. In his view, subjecting the solemn act of marriage to conditions would weaken respect for the institution. He asked, “What authority will the sanction of religious marriage have in the eyes of Jewish spouses and families if a court composed of non-Jews is enough to break the sacred bonds?”24 While dismissing the solution proposed by the Union des Rabbins Français, R. Lubetzki acknowledged the problem of recalcitrant spouses. As he concluded, “Civilly divorced women whose husbands refuse them a religious divorce are entitled to the sympathy of the rabbinic establishment, but it is a question of finding another solution. This proposal of the rabbinic conference is contrary to the essential laws of our religious legislation.”25 Another non-consistorial rabbi, Moïse Weiskopf, leader of the Communauté Israélite de la Stricte Observance, also voiced his opposition to the Union’s proposal. Like R. Lubetzki, he derided the attempt to uniformly introduce a conditional clause in all marriages. Aside from his halachic objections, he too believed that a conditional clause would degrade the institution of marriage by undermining the permanent nature of the marital covenant.26 By performing a conditional marriage, a rabbi was effectively telling the couple that “the union that you are contracting at this moment before God and man will be dissolved even after years of communal existence by the effect of these fateful words, and each of you will regain your complete and entire freedom.” 27 Furthermore, R. Weiskopf contended that conditional marriage would dampen the joy of the marriage ceremony. As he lamented: At the moment when one celebrates the union of two hearts beating as one, where feelings of security and hope in a happy future fill the soul of the young couple, we would tell them: This is the sad eventuality that may one day break the union and happiness that await you.28

24 U.I., Vol. 62, Part 2 (1907), 495. 25 Ibid., 496. 26 Ibid., 524. 27 Ibid., 525. 28 Ibid.

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In a series of letters to the Univers Israélite, Mathieu Wolff, rabbi of Sedan and a member of the Union, responded to the opponents of conditional marriage. He asserted that the absence of harmony between civil and Jewish law in the area of divorce had created an intolerable situation for the divorcee. (Presumably, he meant that every divorcee was a potential victim of a recalcitrant husband and was not suggesting that every divorcee was an actual agunah.) He emphasized that the purpose of a conditional clause was not, as the opponents of conditional marriage had proclaimed, to dispense with religious divorces. Rather, the purpose was to enable the rabbis to annul marriages in those cases in which a civilly divorced husband refused to grant his wife a get. He argued that it was not the French (consistorial) rabbinate that threatened the sanctity of marriage but rather the short-sighted and faint-hearted rabbis who did not appreciate the gravity of the situation. To shun the formula would force the victims of recalcitrant husbands to choose between remaining alone or remarrying civilly without a get, violating the laws of adultery, and giving birth to illegitimate children.29 While R. Lehmann’s proposal for conditional marriage, not surprisingly, received support from fellow consistorial rabbis such as R. Mathieu Wolff, it also received support from very different quarters.30 The Univers Israélite cited and translated an article from the German Jewish periodical Populär-Wissenschaftliche Monatsblätter zur Belehrung über das Judenthum für Gebildete aller Confessionen. Under the heading “Jewish Reform in France,” the Monatsblätter praised the “important reform” of the Union des Rabbins Français.31 According to the Monatsblätter’s version of events, the Union had decided that henceforth both halizah and a get would be optional and that the absence of either would pose no barrier to remarriage.32 The Monatsblätter proclaimed that “in taking this measure, which will apply even retroactively, the French rabbinate has made a reform of considerable importance in the area of matrimonial law.”33 As the Monatsblätter reported it, the French rabbinate had finally adopted the practical approach of the Reform movement that had already abolished halizah at the 1871 Synod of Augsburg.34 “With these timely resolutions,” the journal declared, “French Judaism shows that it is called from this day forward to march at the head of the reform movement. . . .”35 29 30 31 32 33 34

Ibid., 553–58, 588–91. Ibid., 683–85. Ibid., 683. Ibid., 683–84. Ibid., 684. Ibid., 683. On the Synod of Augsburg, see Michael A. Meyer, Response to Modernity: A History of the Reform Movement (Detroit, MI: Wayne State University Press, 1995), 190. 35 U.I., Vol. 62, Part 2 (1907), 684.

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The ­centenary of the 1807 Parisian Sanhedrin, it concluded, could not be more appropriately commemorated than by the reformist actions of the French rabbinate and by the founding of the Union Libérale Israélite de France.36 The Univers Israélite published a response to the Monatsblätter’s article. The unnamed respondent criticized the Monatsblätter’s attempt to equate the French proposal with Reform Judaism and the Union Libérale Israélite. He correctly noted that the Monatsblätter had inaccurately reported that the proposed measure would apply retroactively. In fact, those already married would still require a get or halizah depending on their situation. Only in the future, with the implementation of the new conditional marital formula, would women be able to remarry without a get or halizah.37 And furthermore, as the respondent failed to mention, even then the rabbis would only annul a marriage in the rare case in which a husband refused to grant his wife a get or the brother-in-law refused to perform halizah. Unlike the 1871 Synod of Augsburg, the French rabbinate had not abolished any ceremonies. As the respondent explained, the French rabbinate were assuming their traditional moderate stance of working within the framework of Jewish law to resolve a specific issue.38 “French Judaism,” he proclaimed, “marches neither to the left nor to right; it marches straight ahead.”39 While consistorial rabbis presumably did not appreciate comparisons of the Union’s proposals with Reform Judaism, several consistorial rabbis did appreciate the objections of R. Lubetzki and R. Weiskopf and sought to find a different halachic solution. R. Haim Stourdzé, who had not participated in the rabbinic conference, recommended the use of a conditional divorce.40 The Shulchan Aruch states that “one who ascribes a condition to a divorce, if that condition is fulfilled, that woman is divorced, and, if not, she is not divorced.”41 The Shulchan Aruch outlines two kinds of conditional divorces.42 In a simple conditional divorce, the divorce becomes effective only from the time that the condition is met. Thus, the husband may change the terms of the condition at any time prior to its occurrence. Furthermore, if the get is lost before the condition is met, it is rendered invalid. However, if the husband grants what 36 Ibid. 37 Ibid. 38 Ibid. 39 Ibid., 685. 40 Ibid., 654–57. 41 Shulchan Aruch, Even ha-Ezer 143:1. 42 Ibid., 143:2.

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is called a conditional divorce meachshav (from that moment), then, if the ­condition is met, the divorce becomes retroactively valid from the moment it was granted. The husband cannot change his mind before the condition is met, and the woman is divorced even if the get was lost or destroyed. What R. Stourdzé proposed was that, upon marriage, all husbands grant their wives a get that would apply from that moment (meachshav) if they were to later receive a civil divorce.43 Unlike R. Lehmann’s proposal, which was based on his extrapolation from a passage in the Shulchan Aruch about marriage to a man with an apostate brother, R. Stourdzé’s proposal was based on a passage regarding conditional divorce. Responding to R. Stourdzé’s proposal, another consistorial rabbi, Simon Debré, noted that the possibility of using a conditional divorce was raised at the rabbinic conference, which R. Stourdzé had not attended, but that it was rejected.44 R. Debré noted that the Shulchan Aruch states that if a husband grants his wife a conditional divorce, he is not supposed to be alone with her because of the suspicion that they will have sexual relations, which invalidate a divorce.45 Therefore, R. Debré believed that R. Stourdzé’s solution was untenable because obviously one could not expect all married couples to refrain from spending time alone together.46 In an open letter, Isaac Bloch, grand rabbi of Nancy, revealed that R. Debré had alluded to his (R. Bloch’s) proposal in his response to­ R. Stourdzé.47 However, R. Bloch explained that the proposal he had raised at the rabbinic conference was actually different than that of R. Rabbi Stourdzé. R. Stourdzé had proposed a conditional divorce, which—as R. Debré had noted—being alone together would invalidate. R. Bloch claimed that what he had suggested at the conference was not actually a conditional divorce but rather a deferred divorce. 48 The Shulchan Aruch states that “one who divorces his wife after a fixed period of time, she is considered divorced after that period of time passes.”49 Unlike a conditional divorce meachshav, which is retroactively effective from the moment the husband granted it, the deferred divorce is only effective from the time stipulated. 43 U.I., Vol. 62, Part 2 (1907): 657. 44 Ibid., 724–25. 45 Shulchan Aruch, Even ha-Ezer 148:2. 46 U.I., Vol. 62, Part 2 (1907), 725. 47 Ibid., 754. 48 Ibid., 755. 49 Shulchan Aruch, Even ha-Ezer 146:1.

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R. Stourdzé had proposed that all husbands grant their wives a ­conditional divorce as soon as they got married. R. Bloch proposed that, following marriage, husbands should grant a rabbinic court the authority to later proceed with a religious divorce in the event of a civil divorce. Being alone together, proclaimed R. Bloch, would not invalidate this kind of divorce because, unlike conditional divorce, the divorce is not actually pronounced after the marriage but is merely regarded as a future possibility. The crucial action, the delivery of the get to the wife, if it occurs, takes place in the future and would not be invalidated by the couple being alone together in the present. Furthermore, as R. Bloch concluded, the use of a deferred divorce to resolve the agunah problem, in contrast to conditional marriage, would not require a change to the traditional formula for marriage, which R. Lubetzki and others had opposed.50 R. Debré, who in his response to R. Stourdzé had alluded to R. Bloch, now openly challenged R. Bloch. R. Debré cited the section of the Shulchan Aruch that delineates the process of granting a deferred divorce. “One who says to his wife, behold this is your get, and you will not be divorced by it until after thirty days, she is not divorced until after thirty days.”51 As R. Debré noted, that pas�sage requires the immediate deliverance of the bill of divorce. Yet, R. Bloch had proposed that the husband merely instruct a rabbinic court to deliver a divorce on his behalf at some future date in the event that the couple civilly divorced.52 R. Bloch’s proposed divorce formula, R. Debré contended, was not actually a deferred divorce but rather a delayed conditional divorce. As R. Debré rhetorically asked, “How would it not have the character of a conditional divorce since one is obligated to tell the husband to authorize a rabbinical tribunal to proceed with a divorce if such and such a condition occurs?”53 Once the divorce is tied to a condition, R. Debré asserted, by definition it is a conditional rather than a deferred divorce. However, he acknowledged that R. Bloch’s proposed conditional divorce was different from an ordinary conditional divorce because the husband does not instruct the rabbinic tribunal to perform the religious divorce until the day of the civil divorce.54 In theory, then, perhaps being alone together would not invalidate such a divorce. While R. Bloch’s proposal, R. Debré admitted, demonstrated much “inge�nuity” and “deep knowledge of Talmudic casuistry,” it suffered from a fatal 50 U.I., Vol. 62, Part 2 (1907), 755–56. 51 Shulchan Aruch, Even ha-Ezer 146:1. 52 U.I., Vol. 62, Part 2 (1907), 817–18. 53 Ibid., 818. 54 Ibid.

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flaw, the possibility of the husband withdrawing his consent.55 A husband may annul a conditional divorce prior to the delivery of a get. While R. Stourdzé’s proposal called for a conditional divorce meachshav (from that moment), which the husband could not annul, R. Bloch’s proposal relegated the act of divorce to the future, and the husband could always withdraw his consent. Even a pledge by the husband not to retract his authorization would not dispense with the need for his ultimate consent. As Chapter 134 of the Shulchan Aruch stipulates, until the moment that a wife receives her get, the husband can withdraw his consent and invalidate the divorce.56 And, as R. Bloch himself acknowledged, being alone together would invalidate a regular conditional divorce and was therefore not an option. Thus, R. Debré concluded that nei�ther R. Stourdzé’s proposal nor R. Bloch’s proposal would resolve the problem of recalcitrant spouses.57 While R. Debré outlined problems with both R. Stourdzé’s proposal and R. Bloch’s proposal, R. Stourdzé expressed his disappointment that R. Bloch had gone out of his way to distinguish their proposals instead of working together to find a solution. 58 After all, they both wanted to resolve the problem of recalcitrant spouses using a formula for divorce rather than conditional marriage. Moreover, R. Stourdzé asserted that if R. Bloch assumed that his solution was better, he was sorely mistaken. In his response to R. Debré’s first letter, R. Bloch had argued that while a husband being alone with his wife would invalidate a conditional divorce, which R. Stourdzé had proposed, it would not invalidate a deferred divorce, which he (R. Bloch) had proposed. However, R. Stourdé pointed to the Shulchan Aruch, which states that One who sets a condition that his wife will be divorced from him if he is away from her for thirty days, and he goes and comes and goes and comes but is not alone with her, when he goes and stays away thirty days, she is divorced. And even though he went and came within the (initial) thirty days, because he was not alone with her, it is a valid get.59

The implication of this passage is that had the husband been alone with his wife, he would have invalidated the divorce. And because R. Stourdzé believed 55 56 57 58 59

Ibid., 818–19. Shulchan Aruch, Even ha-Ezer 134. U.I., Vol. 62, Part 2 (1907), 819. U.I., Vol. 63, Part 1 (1907), 15–16. Shulchan Aruch, Even ha-Ezer 144:7.

The Plight of the Agunah    Part Two

that the scenario described in the passage was effectively a case of a deferred divorce, he concluded that being alone together would invalidate a deferred divorce. Furthermore, like R. Debré, R. Stourdzé raised the possibility of the husband withdrawing his consent to the divorce.60 R. Bloch responded to both R. Debré and R. Stourdzé’s objections. He conceded that his deferred divorce differed from a traditional deferred divorce. His proposal did not call for the immediate delivery of a divorce. Rather, it called for the husband to commit to providing his wife with a divorce should a civil divorce occur. To ensure the fulfillment of that commitment, the husband must instruct a rabbinic court to draft and deliver a get on his behalf should it become necessary.61 Citing his earlier letter to R. Debré, R. Bloch noted that he had described this kind of divorce as “ESSENTIALLY a deferred divorce.”62 Nor was his proposed divorce a traditional conditional divorce, which being alone together would invalidate. As he explained, for a regular conditional divorce, the husband must stipulate the condition when he delivers the get to his wife. In this case, however, the condition is stipulated immediately after the wedding, and if that condition is met, the court, then acting on behalf of the husband, arranges for delivery of the get.63 While being alone together casts doubt on conditional divorces, this only applies from the time the husband instructs the scribe to write and the witnesses to sign the get. As the Shulchan Aruch states, “Someone who is alone with his wife after he instructed a get to be written, signed, and delivered to her, they should not write [the get]. And if they wrote and gave it to her after he was alone with her, her divorce is questionable.”64 In the case described by R. Bloch, however, the newly married husband has not instructed a get to be written, signed, and delivered to his wife. He has merely authorized the court to request that a get to be written, signed, and delivered at some point in the future should the couple civilly divorce. By the time court arranges for the writing, signing, and delivery of the get, the couple has civilly divorced and is no longer living together.65 R. Bloch, of course, addressed R. Debré’s concern that the husband might annul the consent that he had granted to the court to issue a divorce on his 60 61 62 63 64 65

U.I., Vol. 63, Part 1 (1907): 16. Ibid., 107. Ibid. (emphasis in original). Ibid., 108. Shulchan Aruch, Even ha-Ezer 149:7. U.I., Vol. 63, Part 1 (1907): 109.

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behalf. He recommended the use of a penalty clause to prevent the w ­ ithdrawal of consent. When the newly married husband grants the rabbinic court the authority to issue a religious divorce to his wife should the couple civilly divorce, he promises to not withdraw his consent on pain of paying a penalty. The penalty should be set relatively high to dissuade the husband from reneging on his promise. R. Bloch recommended a figure of ten times the amount of the dowry. (In a case for which there was no dowry, the figure would be determined according to individual circumstances.) Because according to Jewish law, a husband must grant his wife a religious divorce of his own free will, the penalty, though heavy, would not be insurmountable because many husbands turn their dowries into small fortunes.66 As R. Bloch explained, the husband commits to the rabbinic court to pay his wife a certain sum if he later withdraws his consent to divorce her. If one month following the civil divorce he has not paid her, he allows the court to proceed with a religious divorce. The husband’s commitment would be put in writing in an official record. Ultimately, the husband has three options. He can grant the divorce himself, the court can issue the divorce on his behalf as he previously agreed, or he can pay the penalty. In the final case, the wife would not gain her freedom, but at least she would receive compensation.67 R. Bloch emphasized that a get granted under his proposal would not fall into the halachic category of “a forced get,” that is, an invalid bill of divorce that is not given by the free will of the husband. While it is true that the Shulchan Aruch rules that “if the husband takes an oath to give a get, they need to make him renounce it beforehand in order that it not look like he is being compelled,” that case is different.68 Under R. Bloch’s proposal, the husband does not promise to give his wife a get in the event of a civil divorce. Rather, he willingly agrees to either grant a religious divorce or to pay a compensatory penalty if, at some future point, he and his wife civilly divorce. He could always choose to pay the penalty instead of granting a divorce. R. Bloch cited R. Moses Isserles who, in his gloss to the Shulchan Aruch, specifically states that “if [the husband] accepts a fine if he does not divorce, this is not called compulsion, since . . . he can pay the fine and not divorce.” 69 R. Bloch concluded his letter on an optimistic note. As he recounted, when he initially had presented his deferred divorce proposal at the June r­abbinic 66 Ibid., 109–10. 67 Ibid., 110. 68 Shulchan Aruch, Even ha-Ezer 134:4. 69 Ibid.; U.I., Vol. 63, Part 1 (1907): 110.

The Plight of the Agunah    Part Two

conference, he had not addressed the issue of continuing consent and the use of a penalty clause. He surmised that had he initially laid out his proposal in detail and explained how a penalty clause would help to persuade, although not coerce, the husband to maintain to his consent, R. Debré might not have objected to it. He ended his letter on a note of hope, confident that he had found a genuine and acceptable solution to the agunah problem.70 Notwithstanding R. Bloch’s optimism, three months later, the six-month deadline for a solution passed, and no resolution was introduced. In June 1908, the Association (formerly Union) des Rabbins Français held its annual conference.71 On the morning of June 30, R. Lehmann addressed the assembly and reminded those in attendance of the decision made the previous year to introduce conditional marriage.72 That afternoon, during a break from their meeting, Baron Edmond de Rothschild, the lay president of the Central Consistory, addressed the rabbis. While he apologized for his intervention at a rabbinic assembly, he urged the rabbis to exercise caution in areas relating to religious divorce. He noted that the decisions they made at their previous conference had raised strong protests from the rabbinate abroad. He advised the rabbis not to alienate the traditionalist core. “The role of rabbis,” Rothschild proclaimed, “is to be conservative.”73 And, according to the account reported in the Archives Israélites, he spoke with great conviction, and his speech made a deep impression on the rabbis.74 At the resumption of the meeting, R. Lehmann announced his intention to consult with rabbis from Germany, Hungary, and America. Once the proposals had been examined by all sides both abroad and in France, a final decision would be made. R. Bloch then asked that his own proposal be considered.75 In the end, the 1908 rabbinic conference did not yield any practical results in the area of divorce, and, in the face of opposition from leading European rabbinic authorities, the Association des Rabbins Français eventually dropped all proposals.76 The consistorial rabbis simply could not act effectively in an area as halachically complex and sensitive as marriage and divorce without the 70 U.I., Vol. 63, Part 1 (1907): 111. 71 In 1907, the Union des Rabbins Français changed its name to the Association des Rabbins Français. 72 A.I., Vol. 69 (1908): 228–29. 73 Ibid., 229. 74 Ibid. 75 Ibid., 235. 76 Ibid., 233–35.

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wide approbation of rabbinic authorities outside of France. Furthermore, the ­decentralization of the rabbinate resulting from the separation of church and state hindered the ability of the Association des Rabbins Français to act alone even within France. Nonetheless, the efforts of French rabbis to resolve tensions and contradictions between civil and Jewish law in the thorny area of marriage shed light on the extent to which many traditional French rabbis were once prepared to moderately reform Judaism and to harmonize Judaism with French civic norms. Both the attempts of French rabbis to tackle the agunah dilemma and the resistance from forces within and without reflect the complexities of balancing fidelity to halacha with modern sensibilities and in reformulating positions in response to the challenges of the times.

Changes in the Circle of Relatives for Whom One Was Required to Mourn: A Sociological Analysis of Talmudic Sources NISSAN RUBIN

THE PROBLEM

W

  hen a person dies, there will be others who will receive the status of mourners and be required to adopt special behavioral norms.1 Society expects them to behave in a way befitting mourners. Who are the individuals that are expected to adopt mourning behaviors? The mourners vary in different cultures: from all the members of a territorial unit to the members of the nuclear family alone.2 It is reasonable to assume that the circle or number of m ­ ourners   1 For a previous discussion on this topic, see N. Rubin, “For Whom Does One Mourn?” Bar Ilan Annual 10, vol. II [Hebrew] (Ramat Gan: Bar Ilan University, 1972): 111–122.   2 A nuclear family is defined a family that includes the father, mother (or one of them), and their children before they leave their parents’ home. The extended family is defined as a unit composed of two or more nuclear families, living in one joint household as one joint economic unit. The patriarchal extended family includes the nuclear family of the p­ arents and the families of their married sons, their wives, and children. The relations in the extended family are hierarchical, headed by the father, his first-born son, then the rest of the sons until the youngest. The women are under the supervision of the mothers-in-law. For more on this definition, see M. Zelditch, Jr., “Family, Marriage and Kinship,” in Handbook of Modern Sociology, ed. R. E. L. Faris (Chicago, IL: Rand McNally, 1964), 680-733; and B. Yorburg, “The Nuclear and Extended Family: An Area of Conceptual Confusion,” Journal of Comparative Family Studies 6 (1975): 5–14. Also, see N. Rubin, The Beginning of Life: Rites of Birth, Circumcision and Redemption of First-Born in the Talmud and Midrash [Hebrew] (Tel Aviv: Hakibbutz Hameuchad, 1995), 14.

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will be connected to the density of their social network. In other words, in a tight-knit social network—generally found in traditional societies, where everyone knows everyone else—we would expect a broad circle of mourners, including the extended family and even other social circles. In contemporary urban society, social networks are generally more loose knit; an individual may have social relations with many other individuals, but those individuals do not necessarily know each other. In such a case, we would expect a smaller circle of mourners. The mourners will be mainly members of the nuclear family. An examination of the circle of mourning relatives in Jewish society during the period of the Mishnah and Talmud reveals an interesting phenomenon. Tannaitic sources from the third Tannaitic generation (the first third of the second century CE) apply mourning customs to extended family circles. In other words, all the relatives sharing the same household mourn as well as a number of relatives who usually do not belong to that household. However, in later sources from the fifth Tannaitic generation (the end of the second century and beginning of the third century CE), we find a gradual reduction in the number of relatives required to adopt mourning customs. By the time we get to the Amoraic sources, mourning obligations remain within the confines of the nuclear family alone. This phenomenon raises the hypothesis that this change came about because the structure of the Jewish family underwent change, from that of an extended family to a nuclear family. This change in structure necessarily led to a loosening of the social network and, with it, a narrowing of the circle of mourners. In order to prove that there was a transition from an extended family to a nuclear one, let us examine a number of indexes. The first index is the phenomenon above: the reduction in the circle of mourners from an extended family to a nuclear family. Additional indexes will be: the transition from bride price (mohar) to dowry (nedunya), the de facto transition from polygyny to monogamy (not yet reflected in halakhah), according precedence to halitzah (removing of shoe under levirate law) over yibum (levirate marriage), and changes in the Laws of Inheritance to the daughter.3 All these changes, I hypothesize, are signs pointing to changes in the family structure. Not all these modifications took place simultaneously, but over the long term they coalesced to leverage significant changes. An institutional change like this in the family structure is necessarily connected to changes in other social institutions and factors outside the family.   3 Yibum and Halitzah are referenced in Deuteronomy 25:5 and 25:9.

Changes in the Circle of Relatives for Whom One Was Required to Mourn    Part Two

It seems that two sets of factors can explain the changes that occurred in the family structure. The first are political-economic pressures whose source is external to Jewish society, such as the eviction of farmers from their lands, heavy taxation burdens, and terror during both the Herodian period and during the period of Roman administrators. The second is connected to developments within the social structure of Jewish society, such as the process of urbanization and the reduction in size of family estates from generation to generation, due to the laws of inheritance.

Taking the Role of the Mourner Before proving the above hypothesis, let me examine who are the people generally viewed to be “bereaved.” In contemporary Western culture, when an adult married person dies, the persons viewed as bereaved are his parents, his brothers and sisters (family of orientation), and his spouse and children (family of procreation). Members of those two nuclear families are generally viewed as the people who suffer the loss the hardest. When additional relatives such as uncles, aunts, cousins, fathersand mothers-in-law, brothers- and sisters-in-law, and others feel bereaved and also suffer from the loss, this is because of a special relationship they shared with the deceased, not because they are part of the family system. In modern society, these relatives are (usually) nominal family members but not in a functional way. Another group of people, says Sudnow, is a group whose members are not viewed as mourners but are close enough to the family to assume the burden of dealing with the various needs and issues of the mourners.4 This is where we usually find the friends and neighbors who are expected to help. Sudnow says that the mourner in the nuclear family notes the fact of his bereavement with the help of the genitive case “mine.” What this means is that the mourner does not have to add an adjective such as “the good one” in order to receive the status of mourner. A son says, “my father passed away” and not “my most beloved father” or “my wonderful father.” Anyone who does not receive the automatic status of bereaved by the possessive case “of mine” and wants to be recognized as a mourner will add an adjective (“My best friend just passed away”). Or he might use adjectives from familial terminology as a

  4 D. Sudnow, Passing On: On Social Organization of Dying (Englewood Cliffs, NJ: Prentice Hall, 1967), 156.

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substitute for “mine.” For example, “We were like two brothers,” or “She was like a mother to me.” In this way, he receives the status of a quasi-mourner.5 In most historical societies, we find the same abstract system of statuses with regard to the family (father, mother, son, and so on). However, there are differences between types of families in the different societies regarding the content of these statuses, and also with regard to the psychological value accorded to the relationships between the bearers of these statuses. The same status may bestow greater or lesser importance on the individual in different societies in accordance with cultural denotations. For example: in some societies, the family structure may be such that an uncle from the mother’s side or aunt from the father’s side may be accorded greater sociological and psychological importance than the biological parents. Studies have shown that the development of the self is greatly affected by the number of statuses in the family with which the individual shares emotional identification, from the strength of these emotional relationships and their duration over time.6 Spiro, in his observations of the Infaluk in the Central Carolines, found that members of the nuclear family express their sorrow only until the conclusion of the funeral.7 Afterwards, the mourners act as if they had not had a loss. Spiro assumes that this is connected to the socialization process of the Infaluk. In this society, the child does not create exclusive emotional connections with the nuclear family during the socialization process. Instead, this process includes contact with many people outside the nuclear family, who are as important to the individual as the family members. Thus, the psychological significance of a nuclear family member to the rest of the nuclear family is relatively weak. Identification is not exclusively directed at specific figures in the nuclear family, and the child’s emotions are very broadly diffused throughout the extended kin group. Among the Infaluk, the alter is not valued by the ego as a single figure that is indispensable. A large changing team that fulfills the same functions for the individual provides psychological anchors in the individual’s social   5 Ibid., 161–62. Fulton distinguishes between “mourners,” which generally includes close relatives of the deceased, and those who suffer “grief,” that is, who are affected by the death of the person and experience sorrow, but are not required to mourn. See R. Fulton, “The Sociology of Death,” Death Education 1 (1977), 15–25. Also, see N. Rubin, “Unofficial Memorial Rites in an Army Unit,” Social Forces 63 (1985), 795–809.   6 H. Volkart and S. Michael, “Bereavement and Mental Health,” in Death and Identity, ed. R. Fulton (New York: Wiley, 1965), 279–93.   7 M. Spiro, “Ghosts, Ifaluk, and Teleological Functionalism,” American Anthropology 54 (1952), 497–503.

Changes in the Circle of Relatives for Whom One Was Required to Mourn    Part Two

environment. When a person dies, other functioning actors remain; thus, the significance of the loss is weakened.8 We see the contrast in the modern small, urban, middle-class family. The family usually lives detached from extended family ties, kinship, and relatives, and has only relatively limited contact with neighbors. In this family, the child invests all emotional resources in parents and siblings. Small families tend to overidentification and overdependency because familial roles, which are executed in the extended family by uncles and aunts, relatives and neighbors, are consistently carried out by the parents alone. There is not much chance here for diffuse emotions. When a person loves the nuclear family and this is viewed as a cultural value, the person will feel great loss when one of them dies.9 In the social structure of the small family, every adult belongs to two nuclear families: the family of orientation (into which the person was born) and the family of procreation (in which the individual is a spouse and/or parent). The separate residences of those nuclear families serve to reduce opportunities for interaction and emotional investment in parents and siblings from the family of orientation, so that the individual is less emotionally affected by the death of a physically distant family member. Simultaneously, the involvement of the ego in the person’s procreational family is directed at the spouse and children. The relationships in this family become exclusive, just as they were in the family of orientation. Membership in two small families does not have the same psychological effect as prolonged habitation in the extended family, in which intimate daily contact with all members of the family is greater.

Changes in the Circle of Relatives Who are Required to Mourn These discussions elucidate for us why the circle of relatives who conduct mourning customs in Jewish society was greatly diminished in the period   8 Also see W. L. Warner, Black Civilization: A Social Study of an Australian Tribe (New York: Peter Smith, 1969). This deals with the Murengin society, in which the death of the father is not perceived as a difficult loss because the uncles on the father’s side are called “father” and are treated as fathers. For an interesting example of the relations between the generations in the extended family, see Rachel Kimmor, “The Samaritan Family—Tradition and Modernity,” in Families in Israel, eds. L. Shamgar-Handelman and R. Bar-Yosef [Hebrew] ( Jerusalem: Akademon, 1991), 211–39.   9 About emotional dependency in the small nuclear family in modern urban society, see T. Parsons and R. E. Bales, Family, Socialization and Interaction Process (New York: Free Press, 1954), chap. 1. This is also true for the contemporary single-parent family, in which offspring are strongly dependent on their parents.

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under discussion. The mourning, which initially was required for the entire extended patriarchal family circles, gradually decreased in number to the nuclear family alone. According to Tannaitic sources, one is required to mourn seven relatives in the nuclear family: one’s father, mother, brother and sister from the family of orientation; and one’s spouse, sons, and daughters from the family of procreation. The rule is: “For all [nearest-of-kin] mentioned in the Priest Section (‫ )תורת כהנים‬for whom a Kohen (priest) is to defile himself—a mourner is to observe [formal] mourning.”10 In addition to those mentioned in the Torah, the Sages added the requirement to mourn a married sister (who moves from her parents’ house to that of her husband’s), and halfsiblings: brothers or sisters from the same mother.11 He certainly mourns for half-siblings from his father.12 The sources mentioned here enlarge the circle of relatives over which one has to mourn and include relatives from a more distant generation as well as relatives by marriage (“the seven relatives” are all blood related, except for the wife, who is related by marriage). However, the “seven relatives” are mandated by the Torah, while the other relatives were added by the Sages. R. Akiva (of the third Tannaitic generation, first third of the second century CE) is one of those who mandate a larger circle of relatives. In his words: “And just as he observes [formal] mourning for these [seven relatives], he likewise observes [formal] mourning for their relatives in the second degree.”13 In other words, one should mourn for additional relatives on the same level as the father and mother and for an additional generation in a bilinear 10 According to Leviticus 21: 1–3: “Each of you shall not contaminate himself to a [dead] person among his people, except for the relative who is closest to him, to his mother and to his father, to his son, to his daughter, and to his brother; and to his virgin sister who is close to him, who has not been wed to a man; to her shall he contaminate himself.” The Baraita in BT, Yevamot 22b emphasizes that “relative who is closest to him” is his wife. Also see JT, Mo’ed Katan 3:5, 82d; BT, Mo’ed Katan 20b; Tractate Mourning 4:1. And see discussion on “close relative” (“‫ )”שארו‬and the place of the wife among the seven mourners, in S. B. Hoenig, “The Wife-Sister Motif: Its Effect on Tannaitic Laws of Mourning,” in A Garland for 80th Birthday: Submitted to Zalman Shazar, ed. B. Luria [Hebrew] ( Jerusalem: Kiryat Sefer, 1973), 742–45. 11 JT, Mo’ed Katan 3:5, 82d; BT, Mo’ed Katan 20b; Semachot 4:1. 12 See Tosaphot on BT, Mo’ed Katan 20b starting from “and his married sister.” Regarding a married sister, the JT asserts simply, “married sister.” But the BT maintains: “and his married sister, whether from his father or his mother.” Also see Maimonides, Laws of Mourning, 2:5 and his commentators there. 13 BT, Mo’ed Katan 20b; Semachot 4:1.

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descent line: parents of the father and mother, children of sons and daughters, children of brothers and sisters (i.e., nephews and nieces), the wife’s parents, and the wife’s children. This is a very wide range of relatives that includes all the relatives of the extended family household. It also includes relatives who do not live in the same household but are related via the lineage of the person’s wife or sister, such as the family of his mother’s parents, his sister’s family, and daughter’s family.14 According to R. Shimon ben Eleazar (of the fifth Tannaitic generation, the end of the second/beginning of the third centuries CE), the circle of mourning narrows: “[Extended, formal] mourning is not observed except for one’s son’s child and a father’s father.”15 In other words, mourning follows the linear line of the family of procreation and orientation and not additional relatives; the man does not mourn over his wife’s family. The outlook of the Sages in those same sources is, “Whomever one’s immediate relatives mourn for, he should mourn with the immediate relatives.”16 (One mourns in sympathy with his father on the death of his father’s father, and so on.) Each of the “seven relatives” who cause him to become a mourner join him in his mourning as well. Ostensibly, there is no difference between R. Akiva’s version and that of the Sages. The Babylonian Talmud Mo’ed Katan proposes a difference: According to R. Akiva, one mourns second-degree relatives whether they live in the same household of the individual or not. But according to the Sages, one participates in the mourning only if the relatives live in the same household as the individual. If they live elsewhere, the person is exempt from doing so. (This interpretation emphasizes what I mentioned above—that the less interaction there is in the family, the less the emotional connection.) Let us view additional Baraitot [pl. of baraita, an external Mishnah], and see how the “mourning circle” becomes smaller and smaller. We learn in the Jerusalem Talmud: “If his father-in-law or mother-in-law died or one of his wife’s relatives died, the husband may not compel his [mourning] wife to put 14 In a traditional patriarchal society, it is usually accepted that the married sons live in the same household with the husband’s family (“extended family”), while the woman leaves her parents’ home and goes to live with the family of her husband’s parents. In exchange for the woman, a bride-price is paid to the woman’s father as compensation for the labor-force and her potential offspring taken from the parents’ house. See Zelditch, “Family, Marriage and Kinship,” 680–733; Yorburg, “The Nuclear and Extended Family,” 5–14; and Rubin, The Beginning of Life, 14. 15 See the version in Dikdukei Sofrim. 16 BT, Mo’ed Katan 20b; Semachot 4:1.

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on kohl or do her hair [as usual], but observe formal mourning with her.”17 This is also true should her father-in-law, mother-in-law, or another of her husband’s relatives die: she “does not put on kohl or do her hair, but acts as he [her husband] does.”18 This Baraita corresponds to Rabbi Akiva’s opinion, or the opinion of the Sages, regarding “who live in the same household as he.” In the corresponding Baraita of the Babylonian Talmud, we find a different version: “If his father-in-law or mother-in-law died, the husband may not compel his [mourning] wife to put on kohl or do her hair, but he should overturn his couch and observe [formal] mourning with her. And should her father-in-law or mother-in-law die, she is not allowed to put on kohl or do her hair. . . .”19 In the latter Baraita, the wording changed from “his father-in-law or mother-in-law or one of his wife’s relatives . . . her father-in-law or mother-inlaw or one of her husband’s relatives” to just the corresponding fathers-in-law and mothers-in-law. In other words, “he mourns with her” was reduced to only the parents of the spouses. Again, another Baraita in the Babylonian Talmud says, “Although they said: No man has a right to force his wife to paint [her eyes] or rouge [her face], in truth they said: She mixes him the cup and she makes him the bed and she washes his face, his hands and his feet.”20 The Talmud in Mo’ed Katan finds a contradiction between the two Baraitot in Ketubot (“overturn his couch and observe [formal] mourning” in the first, “she makes him the bed” in the second) and resolves it in this manner: “Hence infer from this, that the one Baraita refers to [the death of] a father-in-law or mother-in-law, while the other to [the death of] other near of kin. It is also taught thus [explicitly]: They did not lay down [that one should observe formal mourning] out of deference to his wife, save [at the death of] his father-in-law or his mother-in-law alone.”21 According to the second Baraita in Ketubot, it would seem to imply that not only does he not mourn with her, but she herself does not carry out the mourning laws. But this is not reasonable that the Sages, who usually were strict about 17 JT, Mo’ed Katan, 3:5, 83a. 18 The corresponding version in Tractate Mourning 11:8 has a slightly different wording: “The woman whose father-in-law dies, or one of her husband’s relatives . . . Or the man whose father-in-law or other relative of his wife dies. . . .” In these versions, “or father-in-law” and “or mother-in-law” is removed. 19 BT, Ketubot 4b; Mo’ed Katan 20b. 20 BT, Ketubot 4b; BT, Mo’ed Katan 20b. See the version in the Munich MS for BT, Ketubot and Dikdukei Sofrim on BT, Mo’ed Katan. 21 BT, Mo’ed Katan 20b.

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maintaining the woman’s dignity, would exempt her from mourning over her parents. Therefore, this must refer to the other relatives, and not her parents. It seems that the second Baraita we quoted from Ketubot, starting from “Although they said . . .” precedes the first Baraita in Ketubot that starts with, “One whose father-in-law died. . . .” As mentioned previously, the second Baraita starts with “Although they said . . .” and afterwards adds the words, “in truth they said . . .” in the manner of adding a revision [‫ באמת אמרו‬. . . ‫]אף על פי שאמרו‬. The import of this is as follows: Evidently, the halakhah brought by the Jerusalem Talmud was a relatively old custom, including the obligation of the husband or wife to participate in the mourning of the other spouse for all the spouse’s relatives. The first Baraita in Ketubot, which is evidently later than that in the Jerusalem Talmud, obligates participation in the mourning of only the parents of the couple, while the second Baraita in Ketubot (according to the interpretation of the Babylonian Talmud in Mo’ed Katan) requires the husband to “mourn with her” only with regard to her parents. Regarding her other ­relatives, she herself is exempt from mourning laws, and only forbidden from putting on kohl and doing her hair.22 In a later period in Babylonia, Shmuel says

22 The issue of “in truth they said” [‫ ]באמת אמרו‬in this Baraita needs clarification. This expression appears several times in the Mishna (Killayim 2:2; Terumot 2:1; Shabbat 1:3; Shabbat 10:4; Nazir 7:3) and in Baraitot (BT, Berakhot 20b; Betza 17a and more). In the Babylonian Talmud, they used to say: “Every [statement of] ‘In truth they said’ is the halachah.” Shabbat 92b; see Diktukei Sofrim there. Also see JT, Killayim 2b, 27d; BT, Bava Metzia 60a: “Rabbi Eleazar said: From this it may be concluded that wherever it is stated ‘in truth they said,’ that is the halachah.” Also see Rashi’s commentary on the BT, Sukkah 38a, and Bava Metzia 60a, and Maimonides’s introduction to his commentary on the Mishnah in the places quoted above. Zechariah Frankel, Darkei ha-Mishnah (Warsaw, 1923), chap. 3, 304, concludes that “in truth they said” refers to an old halakha. This is also the opinion of Albeck in his commentary on these Mishnayot. See Mordechai HaCohen, “They said . . . in truth they said,” in Jubilee Volume in Honor of Chanoch Albeck, eds. Y. L. Ha’Cohen-Maimon, A. Weiss and E. A. Finkelstein [Hebrew] ( Jerusalem: Mosad Harav Kook, 1963), 177–87, who also holds this view. However, see F. Rosenthal, “On ‘In Truth They Said,’” Jubilee Volume in Honor of David Hoffmann’s Seventieth Birthday (Berlin, 1874), 34–42 and David Weiss Halivni’s Sources and Traditions [Hebrew] (Tel Aviv: Dvir, 1969), 691, note 2. According to Halivni, “in truth they said” should be explained as “but.” All of these opinions contradict my opinion that the Baraita with “in truth it was said” in Ketubot is chronologically later. But it seems to me that the wording of “in truth they said” in Ketubot is different than the same expression when used in other places. Here, the variant “even though they said . . . in truth they said” is a unique wording that is found only here and in its parallel source in Mo’ed Katan; it does not appear anywhere else. From the context here, it is clear that before us is a relatively later Baraita. (It is interesting that all the scholars who discussed “in truth it was said” do not quote the source in Ketubot).

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(in continuation of the Jerusalem Talmud source on the Baraita) that “this only refers to his father-in-law or mother-in-law, and not the other relatives.”23

Political and Economic Changes Let us return to the hypothesis we raised at the beginning. It is likely that the different traditions in this halakhah, from the large range of mourners to a more limited range, is connected to changes that occurred over time to the family structure as a result of economic and political changes. The Halakhot in the name of R. Akiva and the Sages evidently reflect a reality of extended families that existed in the past. Perhaps those traditional Halakhot continued to exist due to inertia even though there was no longer a sociological justification for it. However, after the generation of R. Akiva—in other words, after the Bar Kokhba revolt—the extended family gradually dissolved and shrunk to a nuclear family, thus the scope of mourners shrunk as well. I shall briefly summarize the gist of the political and economic change. The Return to Zion era begins with a small agricultural-village settlement in Judea. In a short time, this settlement found itself in debt to wealthy creditors, prompting Nehemiah to renewed shmita (the seventh year in a seven-year cycle during which land in Israel must lie fallow and debts are canceled).24 Throughout the Hellenist and Hasmonean eras, the Eretz Yisrael population continued to consist mainly of farmers. The farmer worked his plot of land together with his family members. Here and there, we occasionally hear about large estates and large-scale tradesmen (such as Zenon [Ζήνων] and Tobiah), whose estates were usually outside the borders of the small Jewish ­settlement.25 We also hear about an urbanization process in the Ptolemaic era by the founding of Greek poleis (cities; sing. of “polis”). The urbanization process intensified during the Hasmonean period: Jerusalem became an important national center; diplomatic relations and foreign trade broadened when the

23 JT, Mo’ed katan 3:5, 83a. 24 Nehemiah 5:3–6. 25 See S. Klein, “Large-Scale Land Tenancy in Eretz Israel,” Bulletin of the Palestine Exploration Society 1 (1933–34), 3–9; and S. Klein, “Large-Scale Land Tenancy in Eretz Israel” [Hebrew], Bulletin of the Palestine Exploration Society 3 (1935–36), 109– 116. We have no knowledge about the proportion of large and small estates, but it seems that, in Eretz Israel, there was no concentration of lands by individuals, as did the latifundium in Italy.

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Hasmoneans annexed the coastal cities. In general, Eretz Yisrael prospered and thrived economically in this period.26 When Pompey conquered Eretz Yisrael in 63 BCE, he disconnected the coastal towns, Transjordan, the Jezreel Valley, and more, from Judea. This worsened the economic situation. Herod and the Roman procurators following him collected taxes with an iron hand. This led to the impoverishment of the masses. Many abandoned their lands because of the heavy yoke of taxes and because of increasing terror. Instead, they became tenant farmers. Some people migrated to the cities and became urban proletariats.27 Nevertheless, Eretz Yisrael became an important transportation and commercial center during Herod’s era, something that intensified the urbanization process. It was in this era that Hillel instituted the Pruzbul (‫פרוזבול‬, a mechanism that allowed the poor to receive interest-free loans before the Sabbatical year while protecting the investments of the lenders) for the population engaging in trade.28 During the First Revolt (66 CE) and the Bar Kokhba Rebellion (135 CE) against Rome, pressures against the agricultural population intensified. In principle, all the lands now belonged to the emperor and the Jews worked them as tenant farmers. Many lands were given to Roman war veterans and to Jewish collaborators. Those farmers who were given permission to remain on their lands were oppressed by high taxes. Judea was almost emptied of its residents during the revolts, and the agricultural settlement moved to the Galilee.29 In the last quarter of the second century CE, under the Severus regime, the economic situation in Eretz Yisrael improved somewhat; this was true mainly 26 See S. Baron, A Social and Religious History of the Jews (New York: Columbia University Press, 1937), chap. 8; Joseph Klausner, History of the Second Temple [Hebrew] (Tel Aviv: Dvir, 1930), 42–104; A. Tcherikover, Hellenistic Civilization and the Jews (Philadelphia, PA: Jewish Publication Society of America, 1959); and S. Appelbaum, “Economic Life in Palestine,” in The Jewish People in the First Century, eds. S. Safrai and M. Stern, II (Assen: Van Gorcum, 1976), 634–700. 27 See, for example, the testimony of Flavius Josephus in Antiquities of the Jews, 17: 204–5; 17: 307–8. 28 Mishnah Sheviit 4:3; BT, Gitin 36a. 29 See S. Applebaum, “The Struggle for the Soil and the Revolt of 66–73 CE” [Hebrew], Eretz Israel 12 ( Jerusalem, 1975), 125–29; Baron, A Social and Religious History of the Jews, chap. 8 on Eretz Israel economics under Trajan and Hadrian; also see G. Allon, History of the Jews in Eretz Israel in Mishnaic and the Talmudic Age, vol. I [Hebrew] (Tel Aviv: Sifriyat Hapoa’lim, 1954), chap. 2. On the average size of a plot of land, see ibid, 93. Also see A. Faust and Z. Safrai, The History of Settlement in Eretz Israel [Hebrew] (Ramat Gan: Bar Ilan University, 2015), 204. For processes of change, also see Z. Safrai, The Economy of Roman Palestine (London: Routledge, 1994); and J. Pastor, Land and Economy in Ancient Palestine (London: Routledge, 1997).

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with regard to the farmers in the Galilee. We already hear about isolated cases of wealthy families (such as Rabbi Tarfon) and upper-class pedigreed families (such as the Nasi’s [‫נשיא‬, president of the Sanhedrin] family). Commerce gradually moved from the hands of the Greeks, who were deterred from doing business in Eretz Yisrael during an economic crisis, to Jewish hands. 30 The third and fourth centuries saw heavy inflation in the Roman Empire. The value of currency deteriorated, thus farmers preferred owning land. But the Roman army demanded its share in taxes in non-cash form, such as valuables. Many of the wealthy people that were “informed to the boule (βομλή)”—the municipality council responsible for taxation—simply fled the country and leased their lands to tenant farmers.31 Allusions regarding the difficulties of farmers of the era appear in the words of R. Yanai, who announced the option of plowing and sowing during shmita, due to the heavy financial burden of Roman governmental taxes.32 This political-economic system led to two phenomena: the formation of numerous large estates on the one hand and the rise of land-leasing to tenant farmers on the other hand. Family estates of independent farmers were gradually diminished from generation to generation through the laws of inheritance. This is despite the fact that the firstborn son inherits twice as much as the others, a practice that somewhat slowed down the disintegration of the family estate. Clearly, the more that the family estate shrinks in size, the more difficult it becomes for an extended family to eke out a living from it. Thus, the extended family must split up. The small plot of land that remains to the owner is barely enough to sustain a nuclear family. This situation requires that the married sons must leave the family plot. These become hired laborers or tenant farmers. The conditions of tenant farmers only allow for maintenance of a nuclear family.33 30 See a detailed description in Allon’s History of the Jews in Eretz Israel, chap. 2 [Hebrew]. 31 Rabbi Yohanan said: “If you were informed to the municipal council, may the Jordan be the master of your border.” JT, Mo’ed Katan, 2:3, 81b. Regarding fleeing from the land in the third century and the problem of right of possession of those who took over the fields of the “escapees,” see D. Sperber, “Anachoresis and Usucapio,” in Bar Ilan, vol. I, ed. H. Z. Hirschberg [Hebrew] (Ramat Gan: Bar Ilan University, 1972) 290–96. Also see M. Avi-Yonah, The Jews under Roman and Byzantine Rule [Hebrew] ( Jerusalem: Mosad Bialik, 1952), chs. 1 and 3; S. Baron, A Social and Religious History of the Jews (New York: Columbia University Press, 1937), chap. 8; and G. Allon, History of the Jews in Eretz Israel, vol. II, chaps. 5 and 6 [Hebrew]. 32 See BT, Sanhedrin 26a: “Rabbi Jannai’s proclamation, ‘Go and sow your seed [even] in the shmita year, because of the [collectors of] Arnona [taxes paid in kind],’” and compare to JT, Shvi’it 4:2, 35a. 33 See Baron, A Social and Religious History of the Jews (New York: Columbia University Press, 1937), chap. 8 and E. E. Urbach, “The Laws of Inheritance and Everlasting Life,”

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If so, it is to be assumed that all these phenomena—the leaving of the land, urbanization, the increase in the population, and the continued subdivision of farmers’ estates according to the laws of inheritance—resulted in the fact that the remaining land was insufficient to provide livelihood to an extended family and, consequently, the extended family was split up into nuclear units.34

Changes in the Family Structure and the Circle of Mourners Concomitantly, changes occurred in funeral practices. Now, let me examine some more indexes that confirm the hypothesis that the extended family became smaller over time. I will discuss the shrinking of the family structure in detail, because this change is central to the theory mentioned above that connects the structure of the family network to mourning customs.

Transition from Bride-Price to Dowry Usually, economic arrangements precede the establishment of a family. Two of the accepted arrangements are the bride-price (mohar, ‫ )מוהר‬and the dowry (nedunya, ‫)נדוניה‬. The social structure determines which one is used. The brideprice is the payment given to the father of the bride. It serves as an exchange mechanism in the extended patriarchal, virilocal (living near the husband’s father’s household) family in an agricultural society.35 In such a social structure, a woman is valued for her potential for bringing children into her husband’s in Proceedings of the Fourth World Congress of Jewish Studies [Hebrew] ( Jerusalem: Magness, 1967), 138. On a similar process that took place in Arab villages in Palestine from the beginning of the twentieth century, see H. Rosenfeld, They Were Peasants: Social Anthropological Studies on the Arab Village in Israel [Hebrew] (Tel Aviv: Hakibbutz Hameuchad, 1964), 74–92. 34 Although the transition from an extended family structure to that of a nuclear family is not always connected to urbanization, it often is. See S. M. Greenfield, “Industrialization and the Family in Sociological Theory,” American Journal of Sociology 67 (1961): 312–22. In his article, Greenfield shows that the nuclear family may be a pre-condition for industrialization processes; he shows how the narrowing of the extended family to the nuclear family is mainly conditioned on the transition from private ownership of land to hired work. Also see N. Rubin, The Joy of Life: Rites of Betrothal and Marriage in the Talmud and Midrash [Hebrew] (Tel Aviv: Hakibbutz Hameuchad, 2004), 39–40; P. Laslett, The World We Have Lost: England before the Industrial Age (New York: Scribner, 1971); and P. Laslett and R. Wall, eds., Household and Family in Past Time (London: Cambridge University Press: 1972). 35 Virilocal marriage refers to the social system in which a woman moves from her parents’ home to those of her husband’s parents’ household; uxorilocal residence is when the husband moves from his parents’ household to that of his wife’s parents’ household.

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family and constitutes a workforce in the agricultural household. When she goes to live with her husband’s extended household, she and the children that will be born to her contribute to this household and not to the woman’s family of orientation. Thus, the bride-price is given to the bride’s father as compensation for the labor-force taken away from the family of orientation. He, in turn, uses this bride-price to compensate the family from which he will take a bride for his son. Thus, the bride-price is considered as an exchange mechanism for wives.36 The dowry exists in a society in which the land held by the parents of the groom is not sufficient to support an additional family and the families do not have land resources to enlarge the family estate. Thus, the new couple must build its own home, external to the parents’ house. The woman’s family gives a dowry that serves as the initial economic base, while the husband contributes his part in his work to support the family (In traditional cultures, the woman is usually not permitted to work outside the home to support the family).37 In an agricultural society based on the extended-family structure, the bride-price system loses its relevance when the land is not enough to support the extended family. This usually happens when an estate has been subdivided among the heirs over generations or because of a transition to an urban lifestyle. In the case of a poor farming family, their young couple cannot join them as the latter cannot contribute to the livelihood of the extended family. Under such circumstances, the bride-price has no meaning. This also happened in Eretz Yisrael. The more that society became urbanized, the more people abandoned agricultural land. And when the land could not support the landowners due to the laws of inheritance over the

36 One of the variations of the bride-price is “work service”: The husband works in the home of his wife’s father’s household for a number of years, as compensation to her father. See, for example, the work performed by Jacob for the household of Laban in exchange for his daughters, Leah and Rachel. Genesis 29: 18–30. 37 For more detailed information about the bride-price and dowry, see R. O. Blood, The Family (New York: Free Press, 1974), and look up the “bride-price” and “dowry” entries in the index. For information about marriage and economic arrangements, see W. J. Goode, E. Hopkins, and H. M. McClure, Social Systems and Family Patterns (New York: Bobbs Merrill, 1971). Look at the “marriage payment” entry in the book. For information about the bride-price in an Arab family in Eretz Israel at the beginning of the century, see Rosenfeld, They Were Peasants, 117–22 [Hebrew]. Also see the structural differences between the Zulu and Luzi in South Africa and the differences in economic arrangements in marriage in M. Gluckman, “Kinship and Marriage among the Lozi of Northern Rhodesia and the Zulu of Natal,” in African Systems of Kinship and Marriage, eds. A. R. Radcliffe-Brown and D. Forde (London: Oxford University Press, 1950),166–206.

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generations, the bride-price lost its significance.38 According to Salo Baron, we find an echo of this in the following Baraita in BT Ketubot: “At first they used to give merely a written undertaking in respect of [the ketubah of] a virgin for two hundred zuz, and in respect of that of a widow for a maneh (one hundred zuz), and consequently they grew old and could not take any wives.”39 The solution was to exchange the bride-price for the ketubah (‫תּובה‬ ָ ְ‫כ‬, “written thing,” a prenuptial agreement). In other words, payment was made not to the woman’s father but to the woman herself, to support her in her widowhood or after a divorce.40 True, the Mekhilta says, “The bride-price and ketubah are one and the same.41 This process was finally institutionalized in the days of Shimon ben Shetah, “who ordained that the husband must insert the pledging clause, ‘All my property is mortgaged to your ketubah.’”42 Over time, an additional change took place. Not only did the bride’s father not receive the formerly customary bride-price, but he was required to give a dowry to his daughter. This served as an economic foundation for the 38 See Urbach, “The Laws of Inheritance,” 138: “The legal system of land inheritance that over generations led to subdivisions of the land by the inheritors, limited the amount of land in the hands of the farmer, until he could no longer support himself and his family members by working the land.” 39 BT, Ketubot 82b. 40 BT, Ketuboth 82b. 41 Mekhilta de-Rabbi Ishmael, Mishpatim 17, 308. Also see JT, Ketubot 3:5, 27d. It is clear that the bride-price and ketuba are two separate concepts, but the bride-price gradually received the meaning of the ketuba. The Mekhilta de-Rabbi Ishmael talks about one who seduces a young girl, who is then obligated to marry her and pay a fine like the “bride-price of the virgins” (Deuteronomy 22:29). But the Sages interpreted this to mean that he does not pay the bride-price close to the wedding, but that the fine is added to the ketuba that he is obligated to pay if he divorces her, but not immediately. 42 BT, Ketubot 82b and JT, Ketubot end of chapter 8, 32c. Ostensibly, the ketubah preceded Shimon ben Shetah chronologically since a ketubah is mentioned in papyruses from Elephantine in the fifth century BCE. However, Reuven Yaron has already showed that the document found in Elephantine only resembles a Talmudic ketubah in the fact that it involves marriage, “the subject almost certainly dictates that certain related things will be discussed in both places. But beyond that, there is no similarity [of the Elephantine document to the ketubah].” See R. Yaron, The Law of the Elephantine Documents [Hebrew] ( Jerusalem: Akademon, 1968), 56–60. Even if the ketubah was customary in Elephantine, it might be explained that this was due to a different social structure in which the woman was granted a relatively large degree of independence. Actually, it was customary in Elephantine to pay a bride-price, but this bride-price was returned to the bride by the bride’s father and constituted part of her dowry (nedunya). Yaron correctly learns from this that “over time, the bride-price payment became a fiction.” On changes among urban Bedouins in Israel, see also G. M. Kressel, “Bride-price reconsidered,” in Families in Israel, eds. L. Shamgar-Handelman and R. Bar-Yosef [Hebrew] ( Jerusalem: Akademon, 1991), 135–216.

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new couple without them having to join the family of the husband’s parents.43 The minimal dowry for an impoverished father was fifty zuz.44 If the father couldn’t afford even that, the community would supply the dowry from its charity funds. “So, too, if one [i.e., the treasurer of a charity fund] married off an orphan, she must be given not less than fifty zuz. If [charity] funds are available, she is to be provided [with funds for the wedding] in accordance with the dignity of her position.”45 An example of a well-known dowry was the legendary dowry provided by Nakdimon Ben Gurion to his daughter on the eve of the destruction of the Temple.46 The Babylonian Talmud also tells us about R. Eleazar ben Birtah (a third-generation Tanna), who “went to the market to buy a trousseau (dowry) for his daughter.”47 Thus, we have followed the transition from bride-price to dowry over the generations. Henceforth, the term “bride-price” does not appear in Talmudic literature.48

Transition from Polygyny to Monogamy Societies in which women’s work have value tend be polygynous in nature. This is because the additional wife and her children contribute to the livelihood of the household with their work. Therefore, a man will take additional wives if this will bring him economic benefit. Since the numbers of men and women 43 See, for example, Mishnah Ketubot 6:2–6. 44 Mishnah, Ketubot 6:5. Compare to Tosefta, Ketubot 6:4 and Tosefta Kif-shuta on Ketubot, 274. 45 Mishnah, Ketubot 6:5. See Baron, A Social and Religious History of the Jews (New York: Columbia University Press, 1937), chap. 14, who was the first to address the sociological significance of the transition from bride-price to ketubah. Allon, History of the Jews in Eretz Israel, vol. I, 309, believes that after the Bar Kokhba rebellion, the wedding costs [of poor brides] (‫ )הכנסת כלה‬became one of the obligations of the community. 46 See Tosefta, Ketubot 5:9; JT, Ketubot end of chapter 5, 30c; BT, Ketubot 66b; Lamentation Rabbah, 1:48. 47 BT, Taanit 24a. 48 It is interesting that a similar process took place in contemporary Arab society in Israel. The bride-price ceased being important due to changes that took place following a rapid process of urbanization. Now there is a distinction between the immediate bride-price (in advance) and the deferred bride-price. The immediate bride-price is a minor symbolic sum. The deferred bride-price is paid in the event of divorce. This is exactly the same process that took place in Jewish society in the Talmudic era. The deferred bride-price is actually a ketubah. For more information about changes in Arab society, see Rosenfeld, They Were Peasants, 117–22 [Hebrew] and G. M. Kressel, “Bride-price reconsidered,” in Families in Israel, eds. L. Shamgar-Handelman and R. Bar-Yosef [Hebrew] ( Jerusalem: Akademon, 1991), 135–216.

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in society are approximately equal, it is not possible that all males marry more than one woman. Therefore, even in polygynous societies, most of the families are monogamous. Only wealthy, prestigious men, or those whose wives are barren, will take additional wives. Some historians and Talmudic scholars discussed the issue of polygyny in Jewish society in the Talmudic period. Most adopted an a priori moral point of view that views polygyny as undesirable. Therefore, they adopted apologetic opinions49 or viewed polygyny as anomalous.50 Salo Baron is the only one who believes that social factors facilitated polygyny.51 Lowy, who does not agree with Baron, also adopts the viewpoint that the Sages preferred monogamy for ethical reasons.52 Thus, he is forced to explain every polygynous instance in the Talmud as an exception to the rule. Lowy views discussions of the Sages regarding halakhot that presuppose polygyny to be purely “academic.” Of course, the adoption of a values-based viewpoint regarding the morality of polygyny cannot be constructive from a scientific point of view. To me, it seems that polygyny was practiced in Eretz Yisrael during a specific period. Then when family estates were reduced in size and families became smaller as a result, polygyny disappeared in practice though not in halakhah. By contrast, conditions in Babylonia were more conducive to polygyny, so the practice continued there. As we know, polygyny is permitted by the Torah.53 There are some Tannaitic sources in which it is self-understood that a man may marry more than one woman.54 Clearly, polygyny was practiced in the Tannaitic period, but we can assume that even when it was accepted in theory, it was not widely practiced in poor urban families or among small farmers. If it was practiced, it certainly appeared among wealthy and upper-class families, and also perhaps 49 See, for example, Z. Frankel, “Grudlinien der Mosaisch-Talmudischen Eherechts,” Jahresbericht des Judisch-Teologischen Seminars (Breslau, 1860), 10–11; Reuven Margaliot, “Who Will be Mine for a Day (‫[ ”)מאן הויא ליומא‬Hebrew], Sinai 21 (1947) 176–79; and Aharon Pitzenick, “The Problem of Polygamy in Talmudic Sources,” Shana BeShana [Hebrew] ( Jerusalem: Heichal Shlomo, 1973), 220–25. 50 For example, L. Löw, “Eherichtlisch Studien,” Gesamelte Schriftten (Szegedin, 1893), 14. 51 S. Baron, A Social and Religious History of the Jews (New York: Columbia University Press, 1937), chap. 14. 52 S. Lowy, “The Extent of Jewish Polygamy in Talmudic Times,” Journal of Jewish Studies 9 (1958): 115–38. 53 See, for example, Deuteronomy 51:15. The entire Bible reflects a society characterized by polygyny. 54 Mishnah, Yevamot 4:11; Kiddushin 2 6–7; 3:9; Tosefta, Yevamot 6:2; 13:7, and more.

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when the first wife was barren and the husband took a second wife to fulfill the commandment of procreation. In any case, we do not find opposition in principle to polygyny in the period from before the destruction of the Temple until almost the end of the second century CE. Flavius Josephus says, “. . . for it is the ancient practice among us to have many wives at the same time.”55 “The major domo [epitropos] of King Agrippa [II, 27–92 CE] asked Rabbi Eliezer, [A man] such as I am . . . who have two wives, one in Tiberias and one in Sepphoris. . . .”56 That same epitropos used to ask many question of the Sages, and it does not seem that they expressed disfavor over the fact that he was married to two women.57 R. Yehoshua testifies to the fact that sons of zarot (rival wives married to the same man) were High Priests.58 Also, the daughter of Rabban Gamliel was married to Abba his brother, and he had two wives.59 In the Jerusalem Talmud, we read: “Rabbi Tarfon (second Tannaitic generation, end of the first century CE and beginning of the second), Father of all Israel . . . married three hundred women during a time of famine, so that he could feed them terumah.”60 The Talmud views this as an act of circumvention, but the polygamous situation itself is not portrayed negatively. Other quotes from the Talmud testify to the existence of polygyny as an accomplished fact without negative connotation,61 though without positive connotation either.62 55 Flavius Josephus, Antiquities of the Jews 17:1–2. Compare this to Flavius Josephus, Wars of the Jews, 1, 477: “Now those wives of his [Herod] were not a few; it was being of old permitted to the Jew to marry many wives.” Flavius Josephus feels that he must apologize to the non-Jewish reader, because Roman society forbade polygyny by law. 56 BT, Sukkah 27a. 57 Lowy tries to explain this act according to Graetz, that perhaps he married two women for political reasons or that R. Eliezer ben Hyrcanus did not oppose polygyny, but R. Eliezer ben Ya’akov—who is quoted as saying that “No man should marry a woman in one country and then go and marry a woman in another country lest they [their children] might marry one another with the result that a brother would marry his sister or a father his daughter”— is in the opinion of opposing polygyny. But from the words of R. Eliezer ben Ya’akov, it seems that he did not oppose polygyny in principle (BT, Yoma, 18b). 58 Tosefta, Yevamot 1:10. Lowy did not understand the Tosefta correctly. The Tosefta talks about High Priests who were the sons of zarot (wives of the same man), and Lowy understood that the High Priests themselves married zarot (second wives), since they were childless. 59 The daughter of Rabban Gamliel was, indeed, an aylonit (woman who cannot have children). 60 JT, Yevamot 4:12, 6b. Also see Tosefta, Ketubot 2:1. 61 Also see, for example, Mishnah, Kiddushin 2:7, about one who betroths five women with a basket of figs; JT, Yevamot 4:12, 6b about R. Yehuda Ha-Nassi, who ruled that a yavam must marry the widows of his twelve brothers. 62 See, for example, the words of R. Yehuda Ha-Nasi in the BT, Ketubot 62b.

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It is at the beginning of the Amoraic period that we find the first negative expressions regarding polygyny. “He [Rabban Gamliel the son of Rabbi Yehuda Ha-Nasi] said: . . . The more wives, the more witchcraft.”63 Also, the Mishnah on Yevamot stated: “Where four brothers who were married to four women died [and there were more brothers], the eldest may, if he desires, contract levirate marriage with all of them.”64 The Babylonian Talmud asks: And is he allowed? (“how will he support them all”—Rashi). Surely it was taught: ‘Then the elders of his city shall call him and speak unto him [Deut. 25:8]’ teaches that he is given suitable advice. If he, for instance, was young and she old, or if he was old and she was young, he is told, ‘What would you want with a young woman?’ or ‘What would you want with an old woman? Go to one who is [of the same age] as yourself and create no strife in your house!’—This is applicable to that case only where he [is rich and] can afford it. If so, even more wives also?! Sound advice was given: Only four but no more, so that each may receive one marital visit a month.65

The very fact that the question was asked and the answer given shows that if a man cannot support more than one wife he must avoid marrying numerous women. It is possible that this question was asked in Babylonia, where the Amoraim permitted a man to marry more than one wife if he were able to support all of them: “Rava [fourth Amoraic generation in Babylonia, first half of the fourth century CE] said: A man may marry wives in addition to his first wife; provided only that he possesses the means to maintain them.”66 This was accepted in Babylonia because Jewish society in Babylonia was largely agricultural in nature, based on family plots and very large estates.67 Therefore, there was a significant part of Jewish society that could support polygyny. However, in the Eretz Yisrael of the third Amoraic generation (the end of the third century to the beginning of the fourth century CE), parallel to the era of Rava in Babylonia, we hear Rav Ammi say, “I maintain that whosoever 63 Mishnah, Avot 2:7. 64 Mishnah, Yevamot 4:11. 65 BT, Yevamot 44a. 66 BT, Yevamot 65a. 67 See M. Beer, The Babylonian Amoraim [Hebrew] (Ramat Gan: Bar Ilan University, 1975), chap. 2.

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takes in addition to his present wife another one, must divorce the former and pay her the amount of her ketubah.”68 The midrashim also reveal opposition to polygyny: The Bible tells us that Elkana had two wives.69 “Says Rabbi Levi (third Amoraic generation in Eretz Yisrael) in the name of Rabbi Hama bar Hanina: “The text begins with [Elkana’s] praise, and ends with finding fault in him,” due to the fact that he took two wives.70 Two more figures who were criticized for having two wives were Lemech71 and Job.72 A similar approach is also found in a later source, in the Targum Yonatan of Ruth. The redeemer, who does not want to redeem Ruth, explains his refusal by saying, “I already have a wife, I have no permission to marry another one in addition.”73 As previously mentioned, in Babylonia there was no great opposition to polygyny.74 Rava advises to divorce an evil woman, but if the amount of her ketubah is large, she “should be given a rival at her side”—in other words, he should take an additional wife.75 Rava is the one who permits a man to take an additional wife if he can support her. We know that Rav and Rav Nahman used to announce “who will be mine [my wife] for the day” when they reached a different city, Rav to Dardeshir and Rav Nahman to Shekunzib.76 Such an announcement would be impossible in a place where public opinion rejects the existence of polygyny.

68 BT, Yevamot 65a. 69 Samuel I 1:2. 70 Midrash Samuel 1:7. Also see Psikta Rabati 44:6, 157a. 71 Genesis Rabba 23:19; compare to JT, Yevamot 6:5, 7c. 72 Avot d’Rabbi Natan, version B, 2. 73 Targum Yonatan of Ruth, 4:6. 74 However, this was not especially encouraged either, due to marital harmony (‫)שלום בית‬ issues, such as Rav’s advice: “And don’t marry two women [lest they conspire against you]. And if you did take two wives, marry a third one [because if the first two conspire against you, the third one will reveal it to you].” 75 BT, Yevamot 63b. There was a case in Rava’s court of a man who married two women. See BT, Ketubot 80b. 76 BT, Yevamot 37b and BT, Yoma 18b. S. Lowy, “The Extent of Jewish Polygamy in Talmudic Times,” Journal of Jewish Studies 9 (1958): 128–29, attempts to show that each incident of polygyny was an exception, thus he argues that Rav and Rav Nachman had evil wives. Therefore, they went to other cities when they could no longer suffer their situation and announced what they announced as a warning to their wives. But “of course” no one seriously addressed this proposal in a monogamous society, because (in his opinion) Babylonian Judaism was also monogamous. This, I believe, is merely a casuistic statement, because such a statement has meaning only in a polygynous society.

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The difference between Eretz Yisrael and Babylonia in this respect may also stem from the attitudes of the respective government authorities to polygyny. According to Baron, the Persians in Babylonia were themselves polygynous, while Roman society was monogamous. In 212 CE, Roman citizenship was given to all residents of the empire, meaning that Roman law now applied to all the residents of Eretz Yisrael.77 Thus, the Jews were subject to prosecution for polygyny. The question is whether the Jews were really judged in Roman courts and to what extent they took upon themselves this Roman law. It is known that they transgressed Roman law. In any case, citizenship rights created an uncomfortable situation for Eretz Yisrael residents since polygyny now turned them into lawbreakers.

Preference of Halitzah (Removal of Shoe under Levirate Law) Over )Yibum (Levirate Marriage According to Torah law, if a man dies without offspring, his brother has an obligation to enter into levirate marriage (yibum, ‫ )יִּבּום‬with the widow of the deceased so that “the firstborn which she bears, shall succeed in the name of his brother who is dead, that his name be not wiped out in Israel.”78 If the brother (yavam, ‫)יָבם‬ ָ does not want to marry her, the woman (yevama, ‫)יְב ָמה‬ ָ is released from her bond of yibum by the halitzah ceremony. Afterwards, she is permitted to remarry. We have already seen in the Baraita of the Babylonian Talmud that the Sages gave him “suitable advice” to carry out halitzah instead of yibum when the match is not proper.79 When we peruse the sources, we see that different viewpoints were held— in different times and in different places—regarding the question: Is halitzah preferable to yibum, or the reverse? Almost certainly, the issue depends on the social structure of the time. In an agricultural extended family society, the inherited patrimony symbolizes the perpetuation of the family household from generation to generation. In such a social structure, yibum has great significance for the person who dies without sons. The son born from levirate marriage (yibum) carries the name of the deceased husband on the inherited property— the deceased who is, in essence, his sociological father and not his biological 77 See S. Baron, A Social and Religious History of the Jews (New York: Columbia University Press, 1937), chap. 8. 78 Deut. 25:5–6. 79 BT, Yevamot 44a.

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father who begat him.80 By contrast, in a non-agricultural society, or when there is not land to bequeath or when the land is only rented—there is no real meaning to yibum; therefore, I assume that they preferred halitzah over yibum. We must also remember that there is a close connection between polygyny and yibum. If conditions exist for polygyny, then the yibum commandment may be carried out and the brother can enter into levirate marriage with his sister-in-law in addition to his own wife. When there is no polygyny then, in many cases, there will be no yibum and halitzah must take its place. From the third Tannaitic generation (the first third of the second century CE), we have testimony of R. Yehoshua ben Bateira that levirate marriages were conducted: “Rabbi Yehoshua ben Bateira testified concerning Ben Megusat, who was a man-made saris (eunuch) living in Jerusalem, that his wife was allowed to be married by the levir (yavam).”81 This testimony confirms the opinion of R. Akiva, that the wife of a manmade saris (someone castrated by humans, as opposed to saris-hama, castrated from birth)—may undergo halitzah or yibum. Abba Saul (contemporary of R. Akiva and R. Yehoshua ben Bateira) said, “If [a levir] married his sister-inlaw on account of her beauty, or in order to gratify his sexual desires or with any other ulterior motive, it is as if he has infringed [the law of] incest; and I am even inclined to think that the child [from such a union] is a bastard.”82 In other words, he permits levirate marriage, only if the man does it purely to carry out the commandment and not for any other reason. This is a severe reservation or restriction on levirate marriage, but still testifies to its existence in his time. Bar Kappara (fifth Tannaitic generation, beginning of the third century CE) already preferred halitzah over yibum. He taught, “A man should cling to the following three things: halitzah, the making of peace, and the annulment of vows.”83 However, in Bar Kappara’s generation, we hear the following from R. Yeudah HaNasi: When the husbands of twelve wives died without children, Rabbi Yehuda permitted the thirteenth brother to enter into levirate marriage 80 For the distinction between a sociological father and a biological one, see B. Malinowski, “The Principle of Legitimacy,” in Kinship, ed. J. Goody (Harmondsworth: Penguin Books, 1971), 38–41. 81 Mishnah, Yevamot 8:4. 82 BT, Yevamot 109a. R. Yossi ben Halaftah performed Yibum with his deceased brother’s wife but “He cohabited through a sheet [‫ ”]דרך סדין בעל‬in order to minimize the physical pleasure he experienced while performing the yibum act and to fulfill the commandment of yibum. This is consistent with Abba Shaul’s view that yibum must be performed with pure intent for the sake of the mitzvah. JT, Yevamot 1:1, 2b. Compare this with BT, Shabbat 118b. 83 BT, Yevamot 109a.

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with all twelve widows.84 Amoraim who cited the words of Bar Kappara in the Talmud also believe that halitzah takes precedence over yibum, even though, “We learned elsewhere: At first, when the object was the fulfilment of the commandment, the precept of the levirate marriage was preferable to that of halitzah; now, however, when the object is not the fulfilment of the commandment, the precept of halitzah, it was laid down, is preferable to that of the levirate marriage. The commandment of yibum takes precedence over halitzah.”85 The Talmud distinguishes between the ancient practice (“at first”) and the later practice (“now”). The explanation is ethical-religious: “Once upon a time” people were more ethical. But it is clear that the issue is firmly grounded in reality: in the past, yibum had social significance; in the present, it no longer has this significance.86 The Babylonian Amoraim did not prefer halitzah. Instead, they left the choice open to the yavam as to whether to perform halitzah or yibum. “When they came before Rav he addressed them thus: ‘If you wish, submit to halitzah; if you prefer, contract the levirate marriage; the All Merciful has given you the choice.’ Over time, there were those who returned to say, ‘Said Rami bar Hama in the name of Rav Isaac: It was re-enacted that the precept of the levirate marriage is preferable to that of halitzah.’”87 Again, we return to our conclusions. With regard to Eretz Yisrael, as we move chronologically from generations of Tannaim to those of Amoraim, halitzah becomes preferable over yibum due to the lack of sociological meaning of yibum in the changed social structure in Eretz Yisrael. But in Babylonia, by contrast, the commandment of yibum remains in force because it has social significance.88

Changes in the Laws of the Inheritance Another index that points to changes in the family structure is the change that took place regarding women’s rights to inherit property. The changes began at 84 JT, Yevamot 4:12, 6b. Even if this act is a fable and not a historic reality, it is important to know that the Sages did attribute this story to R. Yehuda Ha-Nassi. 85 BT, Yevamot 39B. 86 Also see BT 64a and Bechorot 13a. 87 BT, Yevamot 39b. 88 Regarding the question of yibum and halitzah in Talmudic literature, see A. Gulak, Foundations of Hebrew Law (Berlin: 1933), vol. 3, 30-33 [Hebrew]; and H. Tchernowitz (Rav Tzayir) History of Halakhah, vol. 3 [Hebrew] (New York: 1939), 186–203.

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the end of the Second Temple period, and became consolidated in the period of Usha. Urbach notes that, according to the Bible, the daughter inherits her father’s land when she has no brothers, only under the condition that she marries within her father’s tribe.89 Now, however, she is no longer limited in her choice of marital partner.90 According to Urbach, this change in halakhah followed the change in social structure, “since the tribal element was no longer relevant, though it is true that the earlier ruling could have continued even when the original halakhah was no longer relevant.”91 Moreover, even in an agricultural society that is not tribal-based, there is still justification for this law to prevent the land from being shifted from the family to strangers.92 However, in a society where there is no or little land to inherit, the old laws of inheritance are no longer binding. In all the indexes examined so far, I have found that starting from the destruction of the Temple, more and more Jews became urban proletarians and fewer remained farmers. For those who did remain on their lands, the small sections they owned were barely sufficient to support one nuclear family alone. After the destruction of the Temple, the numbers of landowners decreased while tenant farmers, leaseholders, hired workers, and agricultural laborers increased.93 It is almost certain that these were nuclear families. It is important to note that not all of the indexes above, which point to change, took place simultaneously. It seems that issues connected to the immediate loss of money, such as the transition from bride-price to dowry and changes in the laws governing the daughter’s inheritance, underwent a more rapid change, beginning dozens of years before the destruction of the Temple. 89 Numbers 36, 6–9. See also Urbach, “The Laws of Inheritance,” 135. 90 Sifra Emor 4:3; BT Bava Batra 120a. 91 Urbach, “The Laws of Inheritance,” adds that this change occurred not only due to socioeconomic factors but also due to changes in the theology on Divine reward and punishment. 92 Compare this, for example, to a family of farmers in Ireland. In order that the land not be divided among the inheritors, only one son inherits the land (not necessarily the firstborn, but the most talented of the brothers). If there are no sons, only one daughter inherits the property. The man she marries must change his name to the name of her father, and the land continues to carry the family name. See C. N. Arensberg and S. Kimball, Family and Community in Ireland (Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press, 1940). 93 For information about the different types of agricultural workers who make a living by working the land for others, see Allon, History of the Jews in Eretz Israel, vol. I, 95–98; Meir Ayali, Nomenclature of Workers and Artisans in the Talmudic and Midrashic Literature [Hebrew] (Tel Aviv: Hakibbutz Hameuchad, 1985); and Meir Ayali, Workers and Artisans: Their Occupations and Status in Rabbinic Literature [Hebrew] (Givatayim: Massada, Yad Latalmud, 1987).

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Other changes in other spheres unrelated to immediate monetary loss, such as preference of monogamy over polygyny, of halitzah over yibum, and changes in mourning customs—all these began later and were adopted more slowly (even though the conditions for change had come to fruition). These changes became institutionalized only after the Bar Kokhba revolt and after the Hadrian Decrees. This is due to the inertia connected to social values and norms.

Shrinking of the Extended Family and Narrowing of the Circle of Relatives for Whom One Was Required to Mourn Let us return to the issue of mourning. We still hear about broad circles of mourning even in the relatively late period of R. Akiva, who said: “And just as he observes [formal] mourning for these [seven relatives], he likewise observes [formal] mourning for their relatives in the second degree,” whether these family members live with him in the same household or not. 94 The opinion of the Sages of R. Akiva’s generation is, “Whomever he mourns for, he should mourn with.” He “mourns with” those with whom he lived in the same household; but he does not have to mourn those “who are not in the same household as him.” The opinion of the Sages regarding mourning differs from the traditional customs espoused by R. Akiva. According to the Sages, the obligation depends on the extent of interaction within the bereaved family. The less the interaction, the less emotional involvement there is in the extended family. Thus, relatives who do not live together with the nuclear family members do not mourn. We have already seen above that, according to Rabbi Shimon ben Eliezer (two generations after Rabbi Akiva), a person must mourn only for his father’s father and his son’s son. The narrowing of the circle of relatives for whom one was required to mourn is also clear from several later Amoraic sources until the whole issue of “Whomever he mourns for, he should mourn with” remains only a symbol of identification with a number of special mourning customs. R. Yehuda HaNasi (end of the second century CE) and R. Yohanan (second generation of Eretz Yisrael Amoraim, second half of the third century CE) forbid only shaving to “those mourning with him” (thus this obligation falls on men and not women). R. Abbahu (third generation of the Eretz Yisrael Amoraim) requires only tearing the garment at the funeral (keriah). R. Mana (first generation of Eretz Yisrael Amoraim, first half of the second century CE) did not adopt the prohibition of not cutting his hair when his grandson died, for 94 BT, Mo’ed Katan 20b; Semacot 4:1.

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the reason that “We weren’t [living] with him,” very similar to what the Sages said that “if you do not live in the same household as him, you are exempt [from mourning].” Another incident concerning Rav Mana tells us that when the sons of his brother Rav Hanina died, the halakhah of “Whomever he mourns for, he should mourn with” was already weakened: “They came and asked Rabbi Yossi: Should I overturn my couch? He said: It is not necessary.”95 Why did these limitations take place only after the decrees of Hadrian, and not extend till a later period when, for example, the laws of halitzah also changed? During the Hadrian decrees, Jews were also prohibited from certain mourning customs, for example: “Rabbi Yehudah says: ‘It happened in the days of Harsum that clothes were rent at the bottom and at the sides [instead of renting the clothes between the two seams of the neck].’ They said to him: ‘A time of emergency cannot be cited as a proof.’”96 We also know that the victims of war were not allowed to be buried 97 and the mourning customs could not be carried out,98 because there was no “place in Eretz Yisrael where the dead were not thrown down” (therefore, the Sages permitted to “steal away” the dead and bury them).99 It is altogether likely that many other customs were voided due to the great troubles of the era. After the decrees were abolished, the people returned to the mourning customs just like the other halakhot that had been formerly prohibited. But, evidently, the halakha of “Whomever he mourns for, he should mourn with” did not return to its earlier strength. It had no real justification any longer, once the extended family ceased to exist. Therefore, R. Shimon Ben Eleazar, who lived 95 For all these cases, see JT, Mo’ed Katan 3:5, 82c–83a. 96 Semachot 9:18. 97 “But what happened on the fifteenth of Ab? . . . Rav Mattenah said: It is the day when permission was granted for those killed at Bethar to be buried. Rav Mattenah further said: On the day when permission was granted for those killed at Bethar to be buried [the Rabbis] at Jabneh instituted [the recitation of] the benediction, ‘Who art kind and dealest kindly, etc.’; ‘Who art kind’: Because their dead bodies did not become putrid; ‘And dealest kindly’: Because permission was granted for their burial.” BT, Ta’anit 30b–31a. See also JT, Ta’aniyot 4:8, 69a; BT, Berachot 48b; Bava Batra 121b; Midrash Tanhuma Numbers, Masa’ei, 5 (Buber ed., 164). 98 JT, Ta’aniyot 4:8, 69a; BT, Berakhot 48b. R. Nathan probably refers to this time in order to console the relatives of the slain Jews: “Rabbi Nathan said: It is of good omen for the dead when he is punished [in this world] after death. E.g., if one dies and is not mourned, or [properly] buried, or if a wild beast drags him along, or if rain drips down on his bier, it is a good omen for him.” BT, Sanhedrin 47a. See also M. Beer, “An ancient saying regarding martyrdom in Hadrians time” [Hebrew], Zion 28 (1963), 228–38. 99 See, for example, Semachot 8:9 and Semachot 2:9.

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sometime after Hadrian’s religious decrees, brings down the opinion that one mourns only for one’s father’s father and for sons of sons. Evidently, this opinion had become acceptable in his time. Now we understand why the Baraita in the Jerusalem Talmud (“one whose father- or mother-in-law or other relative of his wife dies”) changes its formulation in the parallel Baraita in the Babylonian Talmud (only “one whose father- or mother-in-law dies”). The circle of mourners constricts in size in line with the reality of the nuclear families, and one only mourns for the father- and mother-in-law. As mentioned earlier, in the Amoraic period, the custom was to participate in only a limited number of mourning customs; the same was true in Babylonia. We have already seen that, in Babylonia, Shmuel obligated “mourns with him” only for the father- or mother-in-law. Mar Ukba (first-generation Babylonian Amoraim) felt that he should adopt the shiva and shloshim customs on the death of his ­brother-in-law, his wife’s brother, but Rav Hunna notes: “They [the Sages] did not say that [one should observe formal mourning] out of deference to his wife only in the case of [the death of] his father-in-law or his mother-in-law.”100 Thus, we see that in Babylonia they did not follow the rule, “Whomever he mourns for, he should mourn with.” But according to our theory, we would think that they should follow this rule since Jewish society in Babylonia was agricultural, based on family land plots and very large estates.101 However, this phenomenon can be explained in reference to the attitude of the Sassanid authorities, mainly the Persian religious priests, toward the Babylonian Jews. Among other issues, the Sassanids were very negative about Jewish burial traditions. We hear this in the Babylonian Talmud: “King Shapor asked Rav Hama: From what passage in the Torah is the law of burial derived? The latter remained silent, and made no answer.”102 The Persians only buried their dead after the flesh had been consumed by birds, so as not to defile the land with the flesh of the dead. By the time of King Ardashir I, this custom had negative repercussions on the Jews. For example, it was told to R. Yochanan that the Persians were “digging and searching among the graves of the dead.”103 100 See the directives given by Rav to his son Hiyya, when Rav’s sister passed away: JT, Mo’ed Katan 3:5, 82d. Slightly changed wording in BT, Ketubot 4b; Mo’ed Katan 20b. Also see directives of Rav Huna to his son Raba, BT, Mo’ed Katan, ibid.; and the incident involving the son of Amimar, BT, Mo’ed Katan 20b–21a. 101 Beer, The Babylonian Amoraim, chap. 2. 102 BT, Sanhedrin 46b. 103 BT, Yevamot 63b. Compare to BT, Baba Batra 58a: “There was a certain Gueber [Persian fire worshippers] who used to rummage among graves.” Because Persian fire worshippers considered it sinful to defile Mother Earth with graves, they used to pry open graves of the

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We assume that the Jews had to hide their burial customs and not bury their dead publically due to the religious persecution of the time.

SUMMARY The circle of people for whom a person must mourn is not dependent on “natural” emotions of grief but rather is a function of the nature of the relationships in the structure of one’s social network, which is conditional on the overall social structure and cultural system. When most of Jewish society in Eretz Yisrael was an agricultural one, consisting of farmers with extended families, then the circle of relatives over which one mourned was relatively large and included “Whomever he mourns for, he should mourn with.” Afterwards, however, many factors came into play, including population increase, continued subdivision of farmers’ estates, fleeing from land because of terror, heavy taxes, economic crises, urbanization, and the emergence of a large urban proletarian group. All of these caused the narrowing of the typical family circle, which, in turn, led to constriction of the boundaries of familial obligations connected to mourning customs. From then on, the identification of relatives beyond the nuclear family with the bereaved ones mainly took the form of symbolic participation alone. Evidently, there were no unified customs for even these expressions of limited bereavement.

dead; and BT, Beitza 6a: “Ravina said: ‘But nowdays when there are Gueber we apprehend.’”

The Rabbinic Response to Modern Medicine: Two Types of Piety ALAN KADISH

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his chapter will examine two particular responses to the age-old dilemma of the relationship between faith and reason, between religious authority and secular science, and between static cures and advancing medical treatment. We will consider the role of realism in addressing modern science–based therapies, as traditional rabbinic figures grapple with premodern religiousbased sources. In the first five or six centuries CE, the teachings of the leaders in Babylonia and the Land of Israel were collated to form the Talmud Bavli and the Talmud Yerushalmi. We attempt to expose the divergent paths of those Jewish authorities who espoused a discerning stance of what these works proposed concerning magic and folklore and those who loyally embraced everything related as a matter of belief and trust in the pronouncements of the Talmudic rabbis. The former view not only dismisses the apparent faulty science of the Talmud, it also dismisses the faulty metaphysics of those who proposed more sophisticated understandings of cosmology. The first view remains open to advancements in knowledge, while the other view maintains the absolute that the Talmudic rabbis were privy to infallible sources of truth. This latter view is more consistent with the universally acknowledged authority given the rabbis in the realm of religious law and ethics. The faith-centered view will not limit this authority, while the more reason-centered view will freely dismiss the medical and scientific opinions of the Talmudic rabbis.1   1 H. Norman Strickman, Without Red Strings or Holy Water: Maimonides’ Mishne Torah (Brighton, MA: Academic Studies Press, 2011), 98.

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INTRODUCTION At some points, challenged with prima-facie claims that these two versions of the Talmud represented societies long antiquated and primitive, some later rabbis developed narratives positing that the Talmudic composers were divinely inspired and that their teachings derived either from Moses directly or from divinely guided rabbis. These views quickly entered the massive body of responsa, codifications, and commentaries adding to the already voluminous legal literature. With the onset of medieval and renaissance enlightened learning leading to the growth of modern secularism and nationalism, religious mind-sets, both Christian and Jewish, began to falter.2 For many, biblical exposition and ecclesiastical pronouncement no longer held the power they once had. The authority of rabbis gave way to voluntary obedience as nations established secular orders of governance, leaving ecclesiastical leadership to hold only moral and ceremonial authority. The general waning of Talmudic governance gave way to new forms of religious observance. In turn, a severe backlash (recalling the crises of the Inquisition’s battles to preserve Church doctrine) claiming da’as torah (“infallible” rabbinic) leadership rose to counter the many Jews turning away from Talmudism; an early nineteenth-century leadership gradually arose, particularly in Eastern Europe, aiming to limit contacts of Jews with current secular ideas. The attempt failed to counter the lures of Yiddishism, modern Hebraism, socialism, Zionism, haskalah, and Jewish Wissenschaft. Toward the end of the twentieth century, the shaky Eastern European model of the previous century found deep roots in the State of Israel (the theological meaning of which was rejected by the hard-line Haredi sages). As the twenty-first century ushered in unprecedented growth in technology, allowing modern ideologies and ideas to be instantly available, some Jewish communities—rejecting social and intellectual integration as being spiritually dangerous—turned inward to insulate themselves from the lure of modernity and its anti-Talmudic “heresies.” Today, at the extreme end of rejectionist Jewish ideology—and this is now true for thousands of Jews—community authority resides within a body of sages representing the ideal offices that had once held power. In obeying the rabbinic dictates of these sages, the communities   2 With Spinoza’s free thinking, the ensuing Enlightenment, and the growing trend towards secularism (branded as Darwinism) Talmudic teachings and methods were being looked at as antiquated, false, and obsolete. Rabbinic reaction saw the crisis as severe enough to defend Talmudic authority by threats and bans (Spinoza himself had been placed under the ban or herem), as the new movements of Reform and Haskalah threatened established power, rabbinic authority, and the loss of autonomy of the Kahal to govern itself.

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partake in a transcendent/poetic experience called Haredi Judaism. The word refers to those who “fear and tremble” at the word of the Lord and connotes a fundamentalist approach not too different from classic Christian and Moslem fundamentalisms. Friedman describes their outlook as stemming from age-old imperatives to follow the commandments of the Torah as interpreted in every generation by the recognized authorities of the community.3 These are (in Haredi parlance) the Gedolei Yisrael (great sages), and they speak for God. For them, faith in God embodies zealous acceptance of their dictates, without which one cannot be a believer. They adhere to a doctrine instantiated in the words, “Not like other nations is the nation of Israel”—the shared experience of Israel, yearning to pass from exile to redemption, as given expression in presecular and premodern Europe as the fullest expression of Jewish society; its venerable structure is taken as the model social construct for Jewish fulfillment.4 To be sure, there are schisms and splits in Haredi society, but, in general, this picture can be taken as standard.5 Some Haredi groups might not recognize the Haredi self-identification of groups more willing to accept the notion of a significant degree of scientific advancement over the concepts held in antiquity. While Friedman focuses on the Israeli Orthodox community, many of his insights apply to Orthodox communities worldwide. It might seem axiomatic that an Orthodox modern professional would, as a matter of course, adhere to the more flexible groups within Orthodoxy and accept the layering of prescientific materials amid the binding legal discussions in the Talmud. That is, one would generally label these materials as “aggadic” or nonbinding narratives and experience no dissonance at all. But such suppositions are not supported; further in this chapter, in an excursus, we cite the views of Dr. A. Steinberg, a competent and knowledgeable physician who can rationalize the rabbis’ awareness of modern science within Talmudic lore that his Orthodox colleagues dismiss as antiquated and mythological.

  3 Menachem Friedman is Professor Emeritus of Sociology at Bar-Ian University, Ramat Gan Israel. His work concentrates on the controversies of secular and religious Jews on the one hand and the process of deciding halachic rulings on the other.   4 See Numbers 23:9.   5 Menachem Friedman, “Jewish Zealots: Conservative Versus Innovative,” in Jewish Fundamentalism in Comparative Perspective: Religion, Ideology and the Crisis of Modernity, ed. L. Silberstein (New York: New York University Press, 1993), 152. He deals with the bifurcation within the Israeli Orthodox communities.

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But Dr. Steinberg appears to be in the apologetic minority as his colleague, Dr. Ch. Jacob, suggests. Thomas Kuhn has written much in portraying scientific revolutions and their paradigm shifts in the latter half of the twentieth century. Others noted that academics in the humanities assumed that their fields were open to paradigm shifts too, and Kuhn was uneasy about the wider application of his findings beyond the realm of science. There is no warrant to discard perfectly good operative views just because the models are old. There is fear within Orthodox rabbinic circles, certainly following the European Enlightenment and its critique of religion, that, if one permits cracks to appear, the system as a whole will collapse. While one need not search far for historical and sociological studies seeing all modern movements as a reaction to the Enlightenment, there is a growing fascination with documenting rabbinic reactions to Talmudic science from the time of the Muslim Golden Age (the tenth through twelfth centuries) in Arab lands and the later Copernican Revolution (the sixteenth through eighteenth centuries) in Christian lands. Our interest lies in the more modest inquiry into the history of a modern split. We begin our inquiry by examining the divergent recorded attitudes to modern medicine within Orthodox Jewish society: both the totally selfghettoized purists and the partially acculturated traditionalists. The rabbinic authorities within these two groups displayed broad and deep mastery of sacred texts and consequently held positions of leadership with substantial followings. The literary tracks of the factions stretch back to the earliest rabbinic records. They bespeak two personality types that are blatantly present throughout the gamut of Jewish legal literature. What we study here is the response of the two personality types to disease and healing. Talmudic sources needed to justify human interventionist healing, since Jews widely subscribed to the view that disease was divine punishment for sins. Yet, Scripture seemed to give warrant to medical practitioners without preference for any consideration save results. “Thou shalt bring him to be thoroughly healed” is given as warrant in Bavli Baba Kamma 85a for human healing of ailments.6 Our questions now must be: who has the authority to heal, and what knowledge is required of the healer? Is the doctor constrained to follow the Talmudic cures for various ailments or does the doctor have license to diagnose and prescribe according to modern doctrines of scientific research?

  6 Exodus 21:19.

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The Talmudic Period (Second Through Sixth Centuries) The earliest Talmudic rabbis did not alter the wording of ancient scriptures and they claimed God-given authority to interpret them against their literal sense.7 They and their successors developed the notion of a divinely sanctioned chain of tradition stretching back to Moses. These mechanisms of close reading interpretation and inherited custom formed a systematic rationale to set aside scriptures in favor of rabbinic pronouncements. This rationale did not go unchallenged by the Sadducees and by the later Karaites, and a stronger rationale developed in the later Middle Ages. Whereas the Talmud claims that rabbinic sages were greater than prophets, it was later claimed that these rabbis were themselves prophets guided by God: their final decisions were said to be infallible.8 The Talmudic view of medicine did include the idea that rabbis could perform operations. We might suspect there is an apologetic motif in the Talmudic story of the medical operation upon Rabbi Eleazar and that the aggadah is meant to convey a salient point rather than a historical event. Almost everyone knows the story of Shimon Bar Yochai and his son, Eleazar, who hid in a cave to evade the Romans in the time of the Bar Kochba persecutions.9 It is therefore of some surprise to hear that Eleazar became an agent for the Romans, handing over to them Jewish tax evaders. It would seem that the story of his operation in Bavli Baba Metzia 83b is meant to show his great piety and so prevent criticism of his reported friendship with the Roman authorities. According to the story, the sages operated on him and removed parts of his innards to see if they would rot in the sun. According to Talmudic belief, the bodies of the righteous do not rot. Eleazar’s fats did not rot, showing that heaven approved of his activities. Later, when he died, it is told that his body was preserved for eighteen years without burial. One easily sees that his doings were deemed by God to be wholly righteous. But, for our purposes, the point remains that it was, at least, considered feasible that rabbis had the skills and knowledge to perform operations. It need hardly be said that the historicity of the story was and is accepted literally by all camps, although new approaches

  7 See Michael Berger, Rabbinic Authority (New York: Oxford University Press, 1998), 86–96.   8 Bavli. Baba Batra 12a. See the extensive study of Alon Goshen Gottstein, ‘“The Sage is Superior to the Prophet’: The Conception of Torah through the Prism of the History of Jewish Exegesis” [in Hebrew], in Study and Knowledge in Jewish Thought, ed. Howard Kreisel, vol. 2 (Beer Sheva; Ben-Gurion University of the Negev Press, 2006), 37–77.   9 Bavli Shabbat 33b.

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are beginning to appear in the integrationist schools, and it might well be that Maimonides and others understood aggadah in literary context.10 The Talmud itself was far from monolithic. The Palestinian Tannaim, in Roman times, were split between the conservative Shammaites and the progressive Hillelites. Their successors, the Babylonian Amoraim, divided between two types of mind-sets: the conservative Pumbedithaeans and the progressive Mehozaeans.11 The later period of Geonim, in Muslim times, also saw a divide between the conservative scholars and the progressives, who responded to the conservatives by saying “fools believe everything.”12

A Brief History of the Controversy over the Efficacy of Talmudic Cures from the Close of the Talmud until the Sixteenth Century )Jewish Renaissance( The critical view of Talmudic medicine was first propounded (as far as we know) by the early tenth-century rationalist Rav Sherira Gaon (906– 1006), who held that the sages were not physicians; thus, they were only recommending procedures that were effective for their time.13 One would be a fool to blindly use these procedures without properly examining them. Rabbi Moses Maimonides (1135–1204), the twelfth-century physician and rabbi extraordinaire, considered the bulk of Talmudic remedies to be without any scientific merit.14 He does not subscribe to Talmudic remedies in his Mishneh Torah. His son, Rabbi Avraham ben HaRambam (Ma’amar Al Ha’agadot), stated that Talmudic rabbis used the medical knowledge of their time.15 Since they were not based on scriptural references, they were devoid of scientific or spiritual authority and did not have to be followed. It is curious that he 10 See, for example, the comprehensive work: Yehudah Brandes, Agadah Le-Ma’aseh ( Jerusalem: Bet Morashah Li-Yerushalayim, 2005), 211. 11 Y. Elman, “A Tale of Two Cities: Mahoza and Pumbedita,” in Torah Lishma: Essays in Jewish Studies in Honor of Professor Shamma Friedman, eds. D. Golinkin, M. Benovitz, M.A.Friedman, M. Schmeltzer, and D. Sperber (Hebrew; Jerusalem; Bar Ilan University Press/Jewish Theological Seminary of America/Schechter Institute of Jewish Studies, 2007), 3–38. 12 J. Trachtenberg, Jewish Magic and Superstition (New York: Behrman’s Jewish Book House, 1939), 88; also, see “Responsum of R. Hai Ga’on,” Tachkemoni, ed. B. M. Lewin, vol. I ( Jerusalem: Druck, Lewy & Co., 1910), 41. 13 See Otzar Hageonim Gittin 68b, responsa section no. 37b. 14 Mishneh Torah, Hilkhot De’ot 4:18. 15 See Ma’amar al odot Hazal, Milhamot Adonai, ed. R. Margulies ( Jerusalem: Mossad Ha-Rav Kook, 1954), 84.

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refers to the proper sources of knowledge as not only scientific observation but also scriptural exegesis. His father, apparently, relied only upon scientific speculation with no consideration for scriptural interpretation at all.16 Indeed, his father was drawn to Aristotelian rationalism and rejected Talmudic stories of demons, astrologers, and folk cures, which gave rise to a split in opinions in evaluating Talmudic ideas of science.17 For him, these supernatural musings were not really based on anything in the tradition but came from pagan sources or deficient information. He wrote: Do not ask me that all that is mentioned on the subject of astronomy be compatible with the facts of the matter, because scholarly knowledge at that time (when the Talmud was written) was deficient. They (the sages) did not speak of these matters as a tradition from the Prophets, but rather because they were the scholars of the generation in these matters, or because they learned them from the scholars (i.e., Aristotle) of the era.18

Although Hippocrates, whose cures were often based on careful observation and rational thought, lived some 600 years before the Talmudic rabbis, most Babylonian rabbis saw illness as the result of evil spirits, magic, and other irrational causes. Not surprisingly, medieval rabbis fell into two camps, Rationalists and Anti-Rationalists.19 The battle line was clear. Even a cursory glance at the 16 David Ruderman, Jewish Thought and Scientific Discovery in Early Modern Europe, 29. Also, see Mordechai Breuer, who published a letter of Rabbi Hirsch in the same vein: “Our Sages were the scholars of the Godly religion and were recipients, transmitters and teachers of God’s guidance, ordinances, commandments and statutes; they were not especially natural scientists, geometers, astronomers or physicians except as it was necessary for their comprehension, observance and performance of Torah—and we do not find that this knowledge was transmitted to them from Sinai.” Mordechai Breuer, “Letters of Samson Rafael Hirsch to Pinchas M. E. Wechsler, 1876,” Hama’ayan, 16:2, Jerusalem (Tevet 5736 [1976]), 1–16. 17 See M. Halbertal, Maimonides: Life and Thought (Princeton, NJ: Princeton University Press, Hebrew 2009, English 2014), 221ff. Also, see J. Sarachek, Faith and Reason: The Conflict over the Rationalism of Maimonides (New York: Hermon Press, 1935, reprint 1970). 18 Maimonides, Guide for the Perplexed, 3:14. 19 See Arukh La-Ner, by Rabbi Jacob Ettlinger (nineteenth century); in his comments to Bavli Baba Metzia 27b he discusses the Guide for the Perplexed 3:37. The comments say explicitly: “All that pertains to medicine does not pertain to ‘Amorite usages’ (Bavli Shabbat 67a). They mean by this that all that is required by speculation concerning nature is permitted, whereas other practices are forbidden . . . You must not consider as a difficulty certain things that they have permitted . . . For in those times these things were considered to derive from experience and accordingly ‘pertained to medicine’ and

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Talmudic texts will show that most of the ancient rabbis of the Talmud were not at all interested in scientific investigation. They conducted no scientific experiments and sought out no results from the men of science of their day. Instead, they relied upon the usual cures of their times or naïve folklore their efficacy may be ranged with the purgative action of laxatives.” Ettlinger goes on to suggest that the Amoraim used medicines that were not derived from scientific, empirical speculation but were exempted from the prohibition of “Amorite practices,” that is, magic and superstition. He cites Torat Hayyim (Hayyim Schor, seventeenth century) who mentions that it is only “Amorite usage” if an amora stipulates a magic reason for his action, but if he says nothing, the action is permissible. We also note that the eighteenth-century Rabbi Yonatan Eibshutz (Kreti Ufleti, 188:105) was not bothered by halachic rules that ran counter to scientific laws “for we have the laws of our Torah which are the fundamental natural laws governing all life. And with the light of the divine countenance He gave us a Torah of life in comparison to which all the principles and medical knowledge of doctors of science are crumbling stones. What one adduces as a principle now will be refuted by another later.” This is similar to Rabbi Avraham Yitzhak Kook concerning meziza bepeh, a risky procedure at circumcisions. “They say that according to medicine [sucking the penis tip during circumcision] is not to be risked now . . . their words are contradicted by the Talmudic rabbis who said that a ritual circumciser who does not suck the circumcision blood causes danger (Bavli Shabbat 133b) . . . we do not listen to them at all . . . for when they come to contradict the words of the rabbis they are not trustworthy at all, and of course their judgment is in error . . . But in truth it seems that [the physician’s] words are considered doubtful, for they themselves cannot hold their own words with any certainty . . . for all their words are nonsense; what this one builds the other contradicts, and so their words are only estimations, not certainties . . . Therefore, even if there is a violation of the Sabbath in the sucking, it is clear: we are required to [suck], for without doing this is always suspect of being fatal, and any suspicion of fatality supersedes the Sabbath.” The rationalist, Rabbi David HaLevy, in his Turei Zahav glosses cautions about worrying about rabbinic views of science. In his comments to Yoreh Deah, 116:5 he notes, “I found it written that one should beware drinking water at the time of the tekufa (solstices) because it is dangerous, lest one be harmed and damaged . . . but the wise Ibn Ezra said that this is just a superstition and there is no danger in it at all. Some of the Geonim said that snakes cannot harm the Jews, and that the early sages only spoke of this to frighten the people into returning to the Lord, so that the Lord would save them from the four tekufot of the year.” See the study of rationalist versus nonrationalist approaches to empiricism in N. Slifkin’s “Messianic Wonders and Skeptical Rationalists,” Hakirah, 6 (2008), 197–221. He is well aware that the sages of Babylon knowledge of medicine, scattered throughout the sea of the Talmud, is a random anthology of what they had heard from their nannies or passers-by, from experts in the writing of amulets and sorcerers expert in incantations, from physicians skilled in healing herbs, and from legends of Jewish folklore. A historiographer dealing with the history of medicine will not find mention in the Talmud of “Jewish medicine” as he will find mention of local medicine in the writings of Egypt, Greece, and Rome. He will find no school of research, no medical texts, and no details of healing as he will find in the medical texts of Greece and Rome (such as those by Hippocrates and Galen).

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conceptions based on incantations or witchcraft.20 They considered prayer, accompanied by homebrewed concoctions or herbs, as effective.21 They believed salamanders were born from fire and their blood was impervious to flames.22 They believed there were rodents that were half flesh and half mud.23 Maimonides remarked that such creatures had been reported.24 The rabbis thought mold, dung, and rotten food could generate mites and lice and so could be killed on the Sabbath.25 Maimonides accepts this process.26 Lacking microscopes, medieval scientists accepted what the naked eye perceived.27 Although the logic of his teaching here is blatantly faulty, Maimonides upholds Talmudic laws of treifot even when the reasons for declaring an animal unfit appear scientifically untenable (this approach is codified by all decisors without exception).28 Kesef Mishna (Yoseph Karo, 1488–1575) comments here that this is due to “nature’s” having been entirely different in Talmudic lands from anywhere else; this approach seems a last ditch effort to preserve the credibility of rabbis in regard to the laws of nature.29 Furthermore, one might assume the treifot laws are based on ancient realities and not current ones. But that seems not to be the case for Maimonides. He and others legislated that, although the ancient rabbis might not have been accurate in their scientific explanations, nevertheless their traditionally received prohibitions (declaring matters of kashrut) were unassailable. The Talmudic laws of kashrut were inviolable. Maimonides put rational understanding before blind acceptance of authority. He began his earliest writings by proclaiming that one should recognize truth whatever its source—trust the tale, not the teller.30 Then he 20 For instance, the cure for abnormal vaginal bleeding required dung from a white mule (Bavli Shabbat 110b). 21 See Julius Preuss, Biblical and Talmudic Medicine, ed. and trans. Fred Rosner (Lanham, MD: Jason Aronson, Rowman and Littlefield Publishing, 2004, Original German Edition, 1911). 22 Bavli Sanhedrin 98b. 23 Bavli Hulin 126b. 24 Commentary to Mishna, Hulin 9:6. 25 Bavli Shabbat 107b. 26 Maimonides, Guide for the Perplexed, 1:72. 27 See Mishneh Torah, Forbidden Foods, 2:13 and Sefer ha-Mitzvot (Negative 179). 28 Mishneh Torah, Laws of Slaughtering, 10–13. Also, see Zvi Yehuda Berlin, Ha’amek She’elah (to Bamidbar 125a). 29 The word teva is not originally Hebrew in its sense of “nature.” That meaning was invented by Shmuel ibn Tibbon to translate the Arabic “tabiya” used by Maimonides in his Guide for the Perplexed. There is a Hebrew word tiv, meaning “habitual mannerism,” such as in Song of Solomon 7:1. In popular usage, the two have become synonymous, that is, one’s normal behavior is one’s nature. 30 See the beginning of his preface to Shemoneh Perakim (Eight Chapters) introduction to his commentary on Mishnah Avot, ch. 4 (Rabbi Yosef Qafiḥ edition 247). And note Guide for

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informed his audience that much of what he wrote was taken, sometimes verbatim, from “philosophers” (his term for the philosophic schools of the Greeks and Muslims) but that he would not identify them because there is no use in confusing true statements with extraneous considerations that could cloud issues. He also mentioned that the Midrash and Talmud would be cited in his work without identifying them as sources. In sum, he does not differentiate between the origins of his statements regardless of the background of their proponents. They are, in his view, expositions of truth, and that is all that counts.31 The controversy over Maimonides’s rational approach, that is, dismissing superstition and magic, all but disappeared with the advent of Kabbalism (the Anti-Rationalists winning out) until relatively modern times.32 Even in Talmudic times it was noted that, in times of persecution and pressures, the Jewish response has been to insist even on the most inconsequential customs of bygone days.33 Where the sages of the second through the fifth centuries of the Talmud had affirmed certain observable facts presumably known to any shepherd or farmer, the twelfth- and thirteenth-century Ba’alei Hatosefot took note that their common experience contradicted some of these declarations.34 These latter rabbis speculated that some natural processes observable in Talmudic Babylonia were now different in thirteenth-century Germany.

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the Perplexed, 2:22: “From here we learn that a man should study anything to determine the nature of the world—and is obligated to do so—for all things are the work of God and one should understand them and recognize through this his Creator . . . .” See also Judah Loewe (Maharal) Netivot Olam, Netiv Ha-Torah, ch. 14. Four centuries later, Rabbi Abraham ibn Migash (1589) took note of the smashing of images and crucifixes in his day by Luther’s Protestants. He saw them as embodying the teachings of the twelfth-century Maimonides, who railed (despite opposition) against attributing physicality of any sort to God. He saw Christianity as moving closer to the pure teachings of Judaism. Rabbi Abraham ibn Migash, Sefer Kvod Elohim ( Jerusalem: Jewish National and University Library Press, 1976). David Ruderman, Jewish Thought and Scientific Discovery in Early Modern Europe (Detroit, MI: Wayne State University Press, 2001), 26–31. Like changing the traditional color of “Jewish shoelaces.” Bavli Sanhedrin 74a-b. Talmud Avodah Zarah 24a: “A calf of a cow (and donkey) who is 3 years old certainly is a (first born) which must go to a priest.” Tosafot: “Which means for sure before age 3 a cow cannot give birth. And this [is] a surprising statement because every day we see cows at age 2 years giving birth. Surely now times have changed from what they were in earlier generations, such as the rose lobe on the lung which the Talmud (Hulin 47a) claims is found only on beasts which pasture outdoors while now it is found in all our animals.” See also Tosafot Moed Qatan 11a: Talmud: “Fish close to being putrid are healthiest.” Tosafot: “These days fish (kavra) close to becoming putrid are dangerous to eat and also ‘drinking water with it’ which is said to be beneficial is not the case now. Perhaps changes have happened like the cures mentioned in the Talmud which are not beneficial in these days; or, perhaps the rivers in Babylonia make it more beneficial.”

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These rabbis, German and French Talmudists, reasoned that since the Talmud proclaimed one reality while their experience dictated another, it follows that there must have been a “change in nature,” nishtaneh hateva, between their days and the days of the Talmudic sages.

Brief Excursus At this point, we need to elaborate upon the term “nishtaneh hateva,” as it surfaces time and again in the writings of commentators and decisors (those who had to decide Jewish Law for their communities). In modern times, the issue was debated not only by rabbis but also by doctors. As often happens over time with word usage, the term “change in nature” broadened and eventually incorporated the sense of changes in knowledge. The rationalist debate began in the Middle Ages with the opposing positions of Rabbi Yehudah Ha-Levi and Rabbi Moses Maimonides in the twelfth century. Dr. Avraham Steinberg champions the views of Ha-Levi, while his debating opponent, Dr. Chaim O. Jacob, champions Maimonides. Steinberg puts forth his views and, in an effusive tirade, defends them.35 Judaism, he claims, is an indisputable belief system in an objective revelation holding indisputable revealed truths. He tells us that Judaism (as if personified) must believe in facts of nature since they are— well, factual. But Judaism is based on faith, while science is rooted on a shifting base of empirical, recordable observations leading to speculative theories. Judaism commands its faithful to believe, worship, and obey the God who made himself known at Sinai 3,300 years ago. Steinberg goes on to cite lists of “mythological” creatures mentioned in Midrash, Talmud, and Zohar with little regard for their understanding through anthropological studies of antiquity and the Middle Ages. Dr. Jacob challenged many of his assertions, showing that not every rabbi and not every commentator adhered to Steinberg’s simplistic caricature and that belief systems were far more varied and idiosyncratic than Steinberg allows.36 We note that Steinberg falls back on the idea that “nature has changed,” as if this were a reference to the findings of Darwinian Evolution and as if all rabbinic authorities acknowledged the veracity of this medieval attempt to harmonize past observations with current realities. Steinberg says that “the concept of intraspecies changes was well accepted in Jewish thought 35 Avraham Steinberg, “A Jewish Perspective of the Theory of Evolution,” Rambam Maimonides Medical Journal (2010); 1(1):e0008. doi:10.5041/RMMJ.10008. 36 Chaim O. Jacob, “Reflections on Darwinian Evolution—Is there a Jewish Perspective?” Rambam Maimonides Medical Journal (April 2011), 1–9.

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and law.”37 It is not at all certain that these changes noted by rabbis were ever understood in the Darwinian sense of mutation, nor that the concept was accepted by the major authorities, the preeminent one being Rabbi Yosef Karo. It is nowhere clear that Maimonides himself believed any such thing. As an Aristotelian, he must have accepted Aristotle’s “chain of being” hierarchy rather than a Darwinian model. Again, in his defense, Steinberg asserts the existence of “extinct species described in ancient Jewish sources to point out the fact that the findings of fossils of extinct creatures were well known and accepted in ancient Jewish sources.”38 Does Dr. Steinberg believe in the existence of animals composed of half-earth and half-flesh, or in the legendary salamander that is impervious to fire (his examples), and in the fact that they have left behind fossils that the rabbis had seen? Chaim Jacob’s response castigates Avraham Steinberg’s naïve credulity; the latter’s defense falls flat.39 This excursus shows how broadly the notion of “nature changed” can be used and perhaps even abused. Dr. Jacob accused his opponent of engaging in “white-washing apologetics” and claimed that, “There is no unique Jewish perspective on evolution, as there should not be a singular Jewish position on any other theoretical scientific issue.”40 He intimates that Dr. Steinberg is in the fundamentalist “Creationist Camp,” to which no reader of respectable peerreviewed journals gives credence. One feels Steinberg’s dilemma in trying to be both a man of science and a man of faith: a doctor and a rabbi. Jacob adheres to the model of the Geonim, Maimonides (father and son) and Rabbi Yaacov Moelin, the Maharil, Steinberg to the school of the Baalei Hatosafot and Rabbi Moshe Isserles. One is surprised to read such a hostile debate between two trained physicians, both knowledgeable and practicing Jews. The debate is an ancient one and shows no sign of abatement in the twenty-first century. With relentless, deathly persecutions and expulsions in Spain, Germany, and France in the twelfth to fifteenth centuries at the hands of zealous Christians and Moslems, as well as ideological pressure from Karaites, the Jewish leadership saw the chain of their rabbinic traditions weakening and reacted against those who would critique the Talmud on any grounds, including rational secular conceptions. 37 Avraham Steinberg, “Jewish Perspective of the Theory of Evolution—a Response,” Rambam Maimonides Medical Journal (April 2011), 1–5. 38 Ibid., 4. 39 See the more cogent Jonathan Sacks, The Great Partnership: Science, Religion, and the Search for Meaning (New York: Schocken Books, 2014). 40 Steinberg, “A Jewish Perspective of the Theory of Evolution,” 8.

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The best known opponent of the rationalist approach to Talmudic medicine was Rabbi Isaac bar Sheshet Perfet (1326–1408), a Spanish rabbi of the fourteenth and fifteenth century also known as the Rivash. Although not critical of secular knowledge as long as it did not contradict the tenets of Judaism, he wrote in a responsum:41 You should know that we are not to evaluate the laws of the Torah and its commandments because of the teachings of the doctors of science and medicine. Should we give credence to their words then the Torah is not divine (far it from me to say this). For thus they suppose and offer false proofs. And if you scrutinize the laws of treifot according to the doctors of medicine you should earn a pretty penny from the butchers.42 For these doctors in fact, for the most part, exchange the rules of what will live and what will die and vice versa by confusing the criteria of life with death. Doubtless when the liver is partially removed such that a kezayit (the volume of an average olive) remains and we permit it to be eaten they would say it will die within the hour and likewise if the animal is frightened by some unnatural happening. And there are many other cases which we forbid because the animal is unhealthy like all specified lung tumors or disqualifying appearances in the lung; and likewise with animals pouncing on others (said to poison them) and the like. For these, they doubtless mock our traditions, may boiling gold be cast into their mouth. Maimonides erred somewhat in saying that the intertwining of the leg sinews are in the lower bone in the leg of birds. No one could agree with him because, according to the Talmudic teaching, they are in the middle bone. Indeed the Talmud makes no distinction between animals and fowl. Even though Maimonides was a doctor in the science of medicine and nature and an expert surgeon—we do not derive our laws from natural science and medicine. We depend for our knowledge on our sages—even should they tell you what is right is left for they have received true traditions and true explanations of commandments, one from the other, going back to Moses at Sinai.43 We do not have faith in the doctors of the Greeks 41 Responsa of Rabbi Yitzchak ben Rabbi Sheshet (Constantinople: Eliezer Soncino Printing, 1546-1547), responsum 447. 42 An animal that will not live twelve months and on this account is forbidden to be eaten. 43 But see Rabbi Moshe Schreiber in his Hiddushei Hatam Sofer (Niddah 18a), who states that Maimonides’ medical training resulted in his greater precision in discussing anatomy than both Rashi and Tosafot. Elsewhere, he championed the Rivash’s anti-rational claims—not only

The Rabbinic Response to Modern Medicine    Part Three or of the Muslims.44 They only speak from the dictates of reason and from experimentation, yet remain unmindful of the many uncertainties that weaken the findings of their testing. As the Talmud remarks (Bavli Nida 90b), “I adduce proof from the Torah and you bring proof from the fools.” And in some matters pertaining to embryonic formation they reach conclusions that differ from the teachings of our sages. The sages taught the human shape comes only at forty days after conception but prior to this the embryo is mere fluid; they tell us the father produces a white sperm which develops into bones and sinews etc., but the doctors say that that all bodily components come from the mother; they hold the sperm of the father congeals and binds female seed—much as a stomach congeals milk. They (also) differ in the case where the sages taught that if a woman has an orgasm first a male results while their doctors say the opposite.

The Rivash continues to discuss various lengths of terms of pregnancy according to the Talmud, of which some are said to result in viable births while others are not viable. In this regard, he treats apparent contradictions between common observable facts and what the rabbis taught by claiming that one can never know if the woman had committed adultery leading to a conception date earlier or later than she had told her husband. Alternatively, the Rivash suggests that the rabbis’ teachings were operative for their locales only. Nevertheless, he insists that tenets of Talmudic medicine are to be followed because rabbis did not invent them but inherited them as part of the Oral Law from Sinai. One might note that he remains silent about Talmudic “cures” not transmitted by rabbis and, by his silence, seems to suggest they might be ignored.45 Since did God guide the Talmudic sages, he also guides rabbinic decisors in their pronouncements. See Hatam Sofer al HaTorah, Leviticus 20:25. See also “Torat Mosheh to parashat Shemot” in Yekutiel Kamalhar, HaTalmud UMadaei Tevel, 11. He cites sod Hashem liyreyav (God reveals His secrets to those who fear Him, Psalms 25:14) in support of the notion that information discovered by modern science was already made known to the sages of the Talmud. 44 Compare this with Moses Maimonides, Mishneh Torah: “Since all these matters are [corroborated] by clear evidence in which there is no blemish and regarding which it is impossible for a person to have afterthoughts, one should not be misgiven regarding the author, whether prophets composed [the work] or [other] nations composed it. For regarding anything whose reason is revealed and whose truth is known by clear evidence in which there is no blemish, one relies not upon the individual who stated it or taught it, rather upon the evidence that was revealed and the reason that was known.” Kiddush Ha-Chodesh 17:24. 45 The Rivash was not immediately dismissed by the rationalist camp of his day and his approach was mitigated by some modern European decisors. Refael Efraim, a direct descendent of Rabbi Yaacov Emden, in Amsterdam in his Halachot: Veshev Urefah no. 31 sidesteps

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he knows the writings of the Baalei Hatosafot yet does not acknowledge their suppositions of changes in physical or geographic influences on bodily behaviors, one might think that he thought the ancient rabbis were aware of such issues and did not qualify their teachings. They were meant to be eternal. His contemporaries in Germany also had no use for such theories and simply banned the Talmudic prescriptions for current use. Indeed, the preeminent authority in fourteenth- and fifteenth-century Germany, the Maharil (Rabbi Yaacov Moelin, 1365–1427), forbade the practice of all Talmudic cures since the procedures seemed ambiguous and embarrassing and would bring scorn upon the rabbis for prescribing such things.46 The one exception is the cure found in the Talmud for a fishbone stuck in the throat. It is recommended by the Talmud that, if one has a bone in his throat, he should bring another bone of that kind, place it on his head, and say: “One by one go down, swallow, swallow, go down one by one,” and this is not considered the ways of the Amorites.47 The Maharil claims that this is permissible because it has been tried and tested and found to be effective. It is useful to note that, unlike Maimonides, he did not forbid the practice of incantations where the procedures had reportedly shown visible results. Rabbi Avraham Gombiner (1635–1682), the author of Magen Avraham to Orakh Haim 173:1, on the other hand, stated a position consistent with the teachings of Avraham, Maimonides’s son. These teachings were made available by the German scholar Rabbi Yaacov Reischer (1661–1733), who might well have known Rabbi Gombiner.48 In his Iyyun Yaakov introduction to Ein Yaakov, Rabbi Gombiner does not privilege the statements of ancient traditions over the findings of contemporary doctors of medicine and blatantly rejects Talmudic opinion in matters of health lore that were at odds with current medical knowledge. On this basis (apparently agreeing with Maimonides, who remains silent on the matter), he allowed the consumption of fish and meat together, despite Talmudic prohibitions against it. In his opinion, contrary to the teachings of Yosef Karo’s Shulhan Arukh, one need not separate

the Rivash’s rulings. Likewise, Rabbi Yaacov Breisch (twentieth century) Helkat Yaacov vol. 1 siman 107 summarizes the relevant sources and softens the ruling of the Rivash. But Rabbi Menashe Klein, She’elot U’teshuvot Mishneh Halakhot 13:217 would even go further than the Rivash in claiming that the Talmudic rabbis knew anatomy better than did Maimonides. 46 Rabbi Akiva Eiger, in his hiddushim to Yoreh Deah 336:1, cites this from the writings of Rabbi Yaacov Moelin, the Maharil. 47 Bavli Shabbat 67a. 48 Rabbi Gombiner’s student, Elijah Spira, was Rabbi Reischer’s brother-in-law.

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them.49 Many rabbis following the Talmud claimed that this combination was medically dangerous. Rabbi Gombiner knew people who had consumed these together without incident and so, experientially, determined that the rabbinic prohibitions were not applicable. Elsewhere, he relies on the notion that nature had changed, thus preserving the integrity of Talmudic observations for its day while dismissing some rules.50 He seems to rely on contemporary observations and not antiquated ones.

Premodern Europe (Sixteenth Through Nineteenth Centuries) When the Italian Azariah del Rossi (1511–1578) showed reason to think that the Talmud had erroneous ideas about chronology and history, he was opposed by none other than his contemporary, Rabbi Yosef Karo (1488–1575), the composer of the Shulhan Arukh compendium of law. Rabbi Karo was about to sign a ban on Del Rossi’s Meor Eynaim when he passed away. Rabbi Karo’s fear was that if the Talmud were open to challenges, so was the authority of the Torah and all its sages. But Rabbi Shmuel Edels (1555–1631), the Maharsha, would adapt Maimonides’s approach concerning Torah verses that opposed reason, applying them to the teachings of the sages of the Talmud. That is, he did give the impression that Talmudic sages understood nature, were even infallible in their knowledge of it, but “obviously” spoke allegorically where their teachings were not consistent with those of the doctors of natural science.51 The Maharal (Rabbi Yehudah Loewe of Prague, 1520–1609) attacked Del Rossi’s Meor Eynaim in his sixth part of the Be’er HaGolah. The former’s use of non-Jewish sources and flippant attitude in belittling the sages illustrated an approach that was—to his mind—bereft of learning. The Maharal sought the remote, initial cause of a phenomenon, which rabbis expressed dramatically, as opposed to Del Rossi’s proximate, literal, historical approach, which he saw as heresy. 49 Karo’s compendium of Jewish law has remained, since its appearance in 1565, as the ­standard authority for legal issues. It has been augmented by classic commentaries to make it applicable throughout the world. 50 Orah Hayyim 139. 51 See Hiddushei Aggadot of the Maharsha (Rabbi Shmuel Edels) to Bavli Shabbat 77b, in which he mentions that the words of the Talmud are not confirmed by natural scientists (hokhmei hateva) and proceeds to give an allegory, derekh mashal, to explain away the conflict. Maimonides writes: “Everyone knows that scholars are not expected to rehearse homilies and the curious tales of the sort that women tell one another in their condolence calls. What is wanted is their interpretation, and an exposition of their implied meaning, so that they conform to a rational position, or at least approximate it.” Maimonides, “Essay on Resurrection,” Epistles of Maimonides, trans. H. Halkin (Philadelphia: Jewish Publication Society, 1985), 218.

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Rabbi Moshe Isserles (1520–1572) remarks: There are some who say in this time a birth even one day into the ninth month is considered viable although the Gemara says such is not viable. Many have previously questioned this since our direct experience contradicts such, so we must conclude that matters have changed. This is the case in a number of matters. However, pregnancy months are calculated on the basis of a 30 day month, not a calendrical month.52

There is a rabbinic debate whether or not Rabbi Moshe Isserles’s above ruling of the rationalist school, “There are some who say,” represents his own decisive opinion or not. The consensus is to accept it now as pragmatic, empirical reality. Yet, Rabbi Elijah of Vilna, known as the Vilna Gaon (1720–1797), set an often quoted position in the mid-1700s to uphold the teachings of the Babylonian Talmud against Maimonides’s scientific critiques adopted by the rationalist school. The Gaon’s notes on Yoreh Deah 179:13 protest: “All those who came after [Maimonides] disagreed with him, for there are many incantations in the Talmud. [Maimonides] was drawn to the philosophy and therefore wrote that witchcraft and incantations and demons and amulets are all false.”53 R. Shabbetai ben Meir Cohen, better known as the Shakh (1621–1662), and R. Yaakov Emden (1697–1776) suggest that the rabbis gave their reason according to what happens most of the time and fixed the law accordingly: exceptions must be considered miracles.54 In 1651, Rabbi Simone Luzzatto (1583–1663) wrote a treatise entitled Socrate overo dell’humano sapere discussing the question of the priority of the Talmudic sages (based on revelation), “where human reason is deficient and defective of power, does not arrive with its argument.”55 Rabbi Luzzatto denied the authority of the sciences together with knowledge based on the senses and logical inferences. He appealed to a systemic doubt within the whole enterprise of scientific inquiry. In this regard, he echoes Judah Loewe, the Maharal (1520–1609).56 Rabbi Moshe Shimshon Bachrach (1607–1670)

52 Even Ha’ezer, 156: 4. 53 For example, dropsy is supposedly due to witchcraft: Bavli Shabbat 33a. On Rashi’s lack of knowledge of mathematics, geography, and the like, see Achikam Keshet, Kovetz Yesodot ve-Chakirot HaShalem (Netanya: self-published, 2007), 762. 54 Yoreh Deah, 47:48; Iggeret Bikoret, 18–20. 55 Giuseppe Veltri, Renaissance Philosophy in Jewish Garb (Boston: Brill, 2009), 195–225. 56 Ibid.

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attempted to uphold the efficacy of wives’ tales, superstition, and folk medicine whether found in the Talmud or not: In practical terms, of whatever has spread amongst the women we have found it said what is popular amongst Israel has probably been proven by experience, and we have been taught to permit such things as encircling a child whose fever has risen and is starting to show signs of pox, though not eruptions, with a ring taken off the finger of one dead.57

His son, Rabbi Yair Bachrach (1638–1702), justified the ban on using Talmudic cures, referring to their inefficacy as resulting from changes in nature over time and changes in geography from the Talmudic lands.58 For codified law, Rabbi Chaim Hizkiyahu Medini (1834–1905), in his encyclopedia Sedai Hemed (9:5), insisted that the Rashba rejected the idea that nature changed only in respect to the laws of treifot. As regards all other matters, however, he certainly accepted the notion of change and dealt with current realities.59 By the eighteenth century, rabbis were aware of hermaphroditic reproductions that were not spontaneous reproductions from inert objects. The status of these creatures was a matter of controversy.60 Such discoveries did not automatically bring about changes in law.61 Rabbi Yehudah Brial maintained that halakhah should be static. For him, by definition, the Talmudic rabbis must be considered infallible.62 He permitted the killing of lice on the 57 Responsa Havot Yair, 234. 58 Ibid. Rabbi Yair Bachrach manages to relate his father’s stance on common superstition and his own skepticism on Talmudic cures without any hint of tension. 59 “Nature changes over time. Medicine in ancient times was dealing with different facts than we do today. There was no paradigm shift but a shift in actual facts of nature.” See Rabbi Dovid Cohen, “Shinnuy Hateva: An Analysis of the Halachic Process,” The Journal of Halacha and Contemporary Society, vol. 31, 38–61. 60 See Yitzhak Lampronti’s (seventeenth–eighteenth centuries) encyclopedia Pahad Yitzhak (entry: tseda) citing his teacher, Rabbi Yehudah Brial of Mantua, who mentions that it makes no difference as to the scientific origin of the lice—they are considered as spontaneously generated. Also, see M. Krasner, Kuntres Sod liyre’av (Lakewood, NJ, 2012), 30–35; L. Levi, The Science in Torah: The Scientific Knowledge of the Talmudic Sages (New York: Feldheim, 2004), chapter 7. 61 This topic is the subject of Neria Gutel, Sefer Hishtanut Hatevaim b’Halacha, Sifre Kodesh ( Jerusalem: self-published, 1995), chapter 24. 62 Rabbi Eliezer Waldenberg follows this path. It seems to me he is not consistent in these views. “One must not rely upon doctors. They change their views from generation to generation. We must adhere to the teachings of the Talmudic rabbis even if they say right is left.” Rabbi Eliezer Waldenberg, She’elot U’teshuvot Tzitz Eliezer (10, 25:4).

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Sabbath. His student, Rabbi Lampronti (1679–1756), in his Pahad Yizhak (see his entry: tzedah ha’asurah), after citing the relevant nonscientific authorities reached his own conclusion. In spite of his teacher’s views to the contrary, he leaned toward the scientific view that sees such lice as being viable living organisms no different from any other insect. He ruled that, consequently, one is forbidden to kill them on the Sabbath just as one is forbidden to kill insects. He noted that Talmudic rabbis did not know biology or astronomy. Growing scientific knowledge should influence halakhah in all cases of stringencies, and error should be on the side of doubt. On the other hand, Abraham ben Ze’ev Nahum Bornstein (1838–1910) limited claims that nature has changed only to those cases specifically mentioned in Shulhan Arukh.63 In a responsum, Rabbi Moshe Schick (1807–1879) notes that modern medicine works by utilizing statistical averages for treatments.64 He also states that saying nature has changed over time cannot be accepted in circumstances in which present doctors of medicine cannot be trusted. His objection not only takes account of the history of medicine, in which unsubstantiated theories were postulated on poorly controlled experimentation leading to eventual repudiations, as happened with Aristotle’s and then Galen’s remedies, but revolves to a large extent around trust of reporting observations. Even though medicine presently does not claim to be an absolute science, its tools have been refined, and we might think that modern scientific findings can be trusted since instrumentation is precise and anyone can physically observe the results. He is bothered not by the science, which, if done honestly, has much to recommend it, but rather by the ramifications of believing the resulting opinion of medical research. Since he suspects medical professionals of being outright liars, he claims that what they propose is dangerous to follow and so must be avoided. Consider the sucking of blood from a circumcision.65 Talmudic rabbis advised in favor of the procedure because of the risk of death. He wonders if anyone can ignore their advice even if doctors claim there is not any danger. He claims that the doctors are speaking from a place of general experience but not guaranteeing that the risk is zero, only minimal. Even one in ten thousand is significant in his opinion.66 Since the sages said there is a risk, no matter how slight, one must do 63 Avne Nezer Yoreh Deah, 238. 64 She’elot U’teshuvot Maharam Schick Yoreh Deah, 244. 65 See Rabbi Yaaov Neuberger, “Halakhah and Scientific Method,” The Torah U-Madda Journal (1992), 82–89. 66 The position may be somewhat exaggerated or even open to dispute, as shown in Sh’eelot U’teshuvot Hatam Sofer (Moshe Schreiber, Yoreh Deah: 338, Mitzvot RAIH (Rabbi Abraham Isaac haCohen [Kook]) 3:17, Prisha Orah Hayyim 170, Reshash commentary to Berakhot 33a,

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the procedure. We do not know how the sages determined their rules, but the custom is well entrenched and an integral part of the circumcision ceremony. His invective betrays a strong bias against medical researchers, which likely stems from the taunts of enlightened critics who ridiculed Talmudic medicine. One wonders what he would say were he to know that there is a minimal, if not greater, risk in doing the procedure and that trustworthy sources have confirmed complications and deaths directly resulting from exposing the cut penis to mouth infections.67 Would he still insist that even slight risks are to be taken seriously and abandon or modify mouth sucking? Although he was not always consistent in his position, Rabbi Moshe Schreiber (1762–1839) thought that, despite the gentiles’ extensive experiments and empirical investigations, their knowledge of anatomy and physiology was still eclipsed by that of the Talmudic sages, which he states is “entirely due to sod Hashem liyreyav.”68 There is a clear line of such pronouncements up to modern-day legal determinations, in which Rabbi Eliezer Waldenberg, one of the greatest legal authorities in halakhah, echoes Rabbi Schreiber and the aforementioned Rivash: We do not judge the laws of our Torah and its commandments based on the sages of nature and medicine; they are not faithful in their words and say the Torah is not, heaven forbid, from the Heavens, and they give false proofs . . . we will rely upon Chazal, even if they tell us right is left and left is right, for they received the truth and the interpretation of the commandments one from the other back to Moses our teacher.69

The Modern Period (Twentieth–Twenty-first Centuries) Rabbi Avraham Yeshaya Karelitz (better known as the Hazon Ish, 1878–1953) paraphrases the Rivash: “[Maimonides’s] words are opaque, for it seems he verifies what the physicians say, and if this is so, how does he reconcile them with the words of our sages, which are as nails driven forever?”70 and Shulhan Arukh, Orah Hayyim 329:2). Sefer Hishtanut Hatevaim b’Halacha, Sifre Kodesh ( Jerusalem: self-published, 1995), 207, n. 491 points out inconsistencies in the positions of those who at times reject change in nature (i.e., normal behaviors—see above, n. 23) and uphold Talmudic teachings but at other times do not, even when there is a risk of death. 67 See Neria Gutel, 212. 68 Hatam Sofer al HaTorah, Leviticus 20:25. 69 E. Waldenbrg, Tzitz Eliezer, Vol. 10, 25:4:6. 70 Avraham Yeshaya Karelitz (Hazon Ish), Yoreh Deah, “Laws of Ritual Slaughter,” section 5

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The Hazon Ish apparently upholds Talmudic medicine and anatomy as decisive, contrary to modern scientific knowledge. For instance, he considers the rabbis’ observations as precise when they said there are two canals in a penis, one through which a man releases urine and one through which he releases sperm, and there is only the thinnest of separations between them.71 If they should leak one into the other, he would be sterile. But he goes on to say that, although that was true then, now nature has changed and there is only one canal.72 He is aware of successful operations whereby maladies incurable in the time of the rabbis can now be cured so that the patient can procreate. The Hazon Ish considers that the ancient rabbis might have known the theory of the operations but might also have known that they would not work in those times. Again, in accord with the Talmud, which says an animal can live a healthy life with just an olive’s size of a liver which, if left alone, would certainly regenerate, Rabbi Karelitz permits one to eat from such an animal. It is known that, scientifically, livers of such small sizes will not regenerate and the animals left in this state will quickly die. The Talmudic rule is that an animal that cannot survive a year due to its medical condition cannot be permitted for slaughter and consumption. But, even so, poskim follow Talmudic notions—even if the science is incorrect, at least the law remains as stated, the science being said by some to be irrelevant to the decided law even if the Talmud linked it. Others claim that the Talmudic rabbis’ knowledge of veterinary ailments was absolutely unassailable. It is of interest to note that the twentieth-century Rabbi Karelitz’s Hazon Ish Yoreh Deah 5:3 and Yoreh Deah 155:4 contains an apparent contradiction. In general, Rabbi Karelitz held a very conservative view and claimed Talmudic rabbis had prophetic powers and foresaw modern advancements, yet still proclaimed their views. In the present case, the Hazon Ish does “allow for changes in nature” in permitting an eight month old to be handled on Shabbat and to undergo life-saving operations on the Sabbath.73 Yet, in general, Rabbi Karelitz is very strict in following Talmudic rabbis—and does not seem impressed with medical knowledge beyond what is immediately able to be seen.74 Remarkably, (Bnei Brak: Harav Greiniman, 1976). 71 Bavli Bekhorot 44b. 72 Hazon Ish, Even Ha’ezer 12:7. 73 Rather than increased knowledge as per R. M. Feinstein in Iggerot Moshe, Even Ha’ezer vol. 2 3:2. 74 Esti Leff, “Like a Stone: Scientific and Halakhic Solutions to the Eighth-Month Infant Phenomenon,” B’or Hatorah vol. 23 (2014–2015), 56–70. Accessed May 11, 2017, http://

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in his works, the Hazon Ish claims that God constantly reveals new forms of scientific information for our use in addition to what the rabbis prescribed. In this framework, perhaps we ought to see his direct teachings on the infallibility of Talmudic rabbis as political and ideological statements and the permitting, if not embracing, of modern science in the medical field as practical theology.75 But he also writes: And it is yet possible that it is not only the discoveries of medicinal drugs and their singular effects that have altered in our times but also there are physical changes of the human body. Take for example changes in the volume of blood. Earlier authorities maintained that blood-letting was beneficial and later ones ruled this was dangerous. Likewise changes in climate and other natural . . . and it is possible that modern operations would not have worked in earlier times. And it is also possible that these are not even now effective in all climates of [extreme] heat or cold.76

Then again, he advances a rigid view: As a principle of faith it is incumbent to accept all that is said in the Talmud, whether Mishnah, Gemara, Halakhah, Aggadah. These comprise the matters revealed to us by the prophetic faculty by which this capability merges with the emanated mind, with the mind that is grafted into the physical body, at the time when a prophetic message is envisioned.77

Thus, not only are two views discernible in Haredi culture but there are even inconsistencies within the words of one authority that are difficult to reconcile. Rabbi Shlomo Zalman Auerbach (1910–1995) claimed some day we may discover that what the Talmudic rabbis were talking about and the findings of modern science are not contradictory.78 So both Rabbis Moshe Feinstein (1895–1986) and Yishayahu Karelitz accepted that nature had changed but that the laws had been formulated for all times either at Mount Sinai or in the ancient Talmudic academies. They both

75 76 77 78

www.jct.ac.il/sites/default/files/English_site/Bor_Hatora/BHT23/Neff%20BHT%20 23%20FINAL.pdf. Hazon Ish, Yoreh Deah 5:3; Hazon Ish, Even Ha’Ezer 27:3. Hazon Ish, Even HaEzer 115:4 See his Kovetz Iggerot vol. 1: 15. See Rabbi Shlomo Zalman Auerbach, Lev Avraham, 2:19.

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accepted the idea of changes in nature. For instance, Rabbi Feinstein permits priests to give their communal blessing when having been subject to testicle injuries, which had disqualified priests in the time of the Talmud since the priest could not have children.79 He notes it is common these days for such men to procreate and operations sometimes are necessary. He also notes that caesarian sections are now very common and survival rates are normal.80 They are no longer to be considered dangerous. He suggests that Maimonides’s claim in his Commentary to the Mishnah was correct in his day but that times (he uses the term teva) have changed.81 In the twentieth century, the decision has been taken to suspect that our lice, unlike those of the Talmudic rabbis, may not have been produced through spontaneous generation but from eggs, and so Rabbis Yosef Shalom Elyashiv (1910–2012) and Rabbi Moshe Mordechai Karp, not denying that one could kill them on the Sabbath (such is the blanket ruling of the Talmud), advised treating them as regular insects (and so not kill them). This would be a stringency based on critical doubt.82 Bavli Niddah 31a claimed one’s blood was inherited only from the mother. Thus, many rabbis refused to believe that blood tests were reliable for establishing paternity. Rabbi Isaac Halevy Herzog (1888–1959), Israel’s first Chief Rabbi, reacted sharply to the Haredi position put forward by many, including Rabbi Eliezer Waldenberg (1915–2006), which echoed the Maharam’s distrust of doctors and the Rivash’s principle of the divinely received tradition of medicine. Rabbi Herzog responded to those who hung on to the accuracy of Talmudic science: I do not deny that I was almost embarrassed . . . by what you wrote . . . in such a deprecating manner towards blood tests, from a negative aspect. That is, with regard to the possibility that [a blood test can] clarify that X is not the son of Y. How can there be a question of the credibility of the doctors in a matter which has been clearly accepted by all the masters of medicine throughout the entire world! Our Sages nowhere say that it was a statement handed down to Moses on Sinai that creatures came into existence by spontaneous generation. . . . Moreover, this is impossible, 79 See Rabbi Moshe Feinstein, Iggerot Moshe, Even Ha’ezer, vol. 2, 3:2; Rabbi Moshe Feinstein, Iggerot Moshe, Yoreh De’ah, vol. 2, resp. 3; Avraham Yishayahu Karelitz, Hazon Ish: Yoreh Deah, 5:3. 80 Rabbi Moshe Feinstein, Iggerot Moshe, Yoreh De’ah, vol. 2, resp. 74. 81 Maimonides, Commentary to the Mishnah, Bekhorot, chapter 8. 82 See Rabbi M. Krasner, Sod liyre’av, 74.

The Rabbinic Response to Modern Medicine    Part Three since it is now as clear as the sun at high noon that no such process exists. However, they held spontaneous generation to be a fact and built on this assumption, since Aristotle had so asserted and so had been accepted by all the scholars of his time. What vast differences there are between the science of medicine in their day and in ours, and between the contacts that exist between all parts of the world today, in contrast to the state of affairs in ancient times! I remember from my reading of medical literature that there is no doubt whatsoever concerning this matter. Yet in your letter you imply that there are differences of opinion among medical experts. With all due respect, you are completely mistaken. Here is a copy of a letter from the government’s medical-legal expert who is also an observant Jew. The husband has already come to me and asked that the judgement be executed. You do not accept this. We shall give him an extension, and I am arranging the matter here and will notify the parties through you as to when they must come. It is unfortunate that while science is progressively conquering worlds and discovering all sorts of secrets, although it too errs at times, we like ostriches bury our heads in sand. It is imperative that we encourage the ablest students of the yeshivot also to be educated as men of science in each discipline, so that we should not need to turn to others in matters of physiology, chemistry, electricity, etc. concerning things that relate to our sacred Torah. . . . Isaac Halevy Herzog.83

Professor Yeshayahu Leibowitz, a twentieth-century scholar of medical sciences, a stringently observant Orthodox Jew (but not easily labeled “Haredi” or anything else), and adept in Jewish law and its history, was known as a deep thinker and theologian. He followed the rational trend enunciated by Chief Rabbi Yitzhak Herzog, who opposed those rabbis advocating for the superiority of Talmudic notions. Leibowitz writes: Medicine, as we know it, is an integral part of our modern existence: it is an existential factor for us. Were it not for modern medicine it is doubtful whether any of this honorable public would be here . . . modern medicine is not a continuation of the medicine of ancient times and the Middle Ages. They have nothing in common but a name . . . ancient sources do not deal with medicine as we know it. They deal with 83 Dov I. Frimer, “Establishing Paternity By Means of Blood Type Testing,” Assia, vol. 1 (no. 2, 1989), 20–35: 22.

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Part Three    The Challenges of Modern Medicine: Halachic and Ethical Responses what was then called medicine, and this interests us from a historical perspective only. Any attempt to draw conclusions from the “medicine” of those days to the medicine of our times is fraud. It is impossible to discuss the problems of Halakhah and medicine in our times relying upon what is stated about medicine in Talmudic sources, in the sources of the religious arbiters, etc.84

The modern Haredi communities, for the most part, live in self-imposed ghettoes, cut off from universities and other institutions of secular learning. They are brought up to revere their rabbis. These pious Jews utterly ignore the progress of the times and often use remedies—known as segulot—based on ancient and medieval incantations, witchcraft, magic, and folktales or kabbalistically prescribed recitations of Psalms. They are most inclined to believe in the claims of supernatural knowledge imputed to their holy traditions. Rabbi Eliyahu Dov Wachtfogel, a Rosh Yeshivah in South Fallsburg, New York, reviewed Moshe Krasner’s Sod liyre’av—a work I used extensively. Elya Ber Wachtfogel suggests that Krasner’s approach mirrors Rabbi Nissim of Gerona’s (the Ran’s) derasha 1 in his collection of derashot that rabbis had scientific information by their spirit of prophecy and directly from God in traditions passed down from Mt. Sinai.85 The Ran was the teacher of the Rivash who followed in his mentor’s paths. Rabbi Wachtfogel suggests that most, if not all, rabbis from the outset believed the rabbis were given their knowledge supernaturally, and the book he reviews is true to its title—Sod liyre’av (meaning, the Rabbis knew divine secrets). Nonetheless, despite his stated purpose in showing the preponderance of halakhic decisions favoring the incontestable correctness of Talmudic medicinal opinion, the author records a plurality of views. Indeed, Hazon Ish gives us both pious lines from the tradition and also acknowledges the indisputable results of normative science, justified within the tradition, to be sure. The form may look antiquated, but the content is sometimes positively modern. Notwithstanding this trend, on his blog “Zoo Torah,” Rabbi Nathan Sifkin describes his own work and the unfortunate swing of current trends. His piece was entitled “Sod Hashem liyre’av: The Expansion of a Useful Concept,” where Slifkin wrote:

84 Y. Lebowitz, Judaism, the Jewish People, and the State of Israel ( Jerusalem: Bialik, 1975), 369–70. 85 Drashot ha-RaN, ed. L.A. Feldman ( Jerusalem: Mekhon Shalem, 1974), no. 1, 5-6.

The Rabbinic Response to Modern Medicine    Part Three In my monograph The Sun’s Path at Night, I demonstrated how the fact of the Sages sometimes possessing incorrect beliefs about the natural world was widely acknowledged by the Rishonim, and yet this view gradually became less accepted to the extent that today there are some people who are in denial that any rabbinic authority ever subscribed to such a view. In this study, we see the other side of the same coin. The opposite belief, of the Sages possessing supernatural knowledge of the natural world, was dramatically expanded, from its original appearance in the Talmud as a rare possibility to its definitively accounting for every statement made by Chazal in both halachic and non-halachic contexts. This is yet another example of how the rationalist and rational approach to the Talmud has steadily declined in traditional circles to the extent that it has sometimes been written out of existence.86

Yet Rabbis Natan Slifkin and Natan Kamenetzky both produced works that crossed the Haredi lines of professing the knowledge of great rabbis, ancient and modern, to be infallible and pure from the taint of alien impact. Those establishment Haredim who were offended by their effrontery quickly sprang into action. They informed the leaders of the Haredim, who were unfamiliar with English, that members of their own ranks were denying the proprieties due rabbis both of the past and the present. Without even the formality of the Catholic inquisition, which had held trials and offered chances to recant, the rabbinic inquisitors issued declarations proclaiming that the offending works were banned and not to be read. However, by attempting to offer rational accounts of rabbis, in the case of Kamenetzky’s biography of his father and in the other case of zoological errors in the Talmud and its commentators, these rabbis not only showed deference to modern ideas of historiography and the history of biology, they had abandoned Haredi style of introducing rabbis as infallible. Notwithstanding the fact that ancient rabbis argued amongst themselves and often just mouthed common platitudes, even if non-Jewish (haynu d’amri inshi), the modern offenders (citing gentile wisdom) were now castigated and ostracized. While such well-meaning contemporary scholars, who invested years into studying their subjects, no longer speak to Haredim or else recanted, they serve as examples as to the dangers of using secular knowledge, historical or scientific, to the thousands of Haredi disciples who are confined to fantasy for history and myth for science. Happily, there are numerous Jews 86 http://www.zootorah.com/RationalistJudaism/SodHashem.pdf.

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in agreement with the views of Hai Gaon, Maimonides, Rabbi Herzog, and Dr. Leibowitz. Some do so with the conviction that times and nature have changed over the centuries, and, even if the rabbis were right for their times, their teachings are no longer relevant. The first group, as far as American Haredi Jewry goes, are spiritual disciples of Rabbi Aharon Kotler while the second is comprised of spiritual disciples of Rabbi Joseph B. Soloveitchick. Both groups engage the issues raised by modern bio-ethics, and a separate work on their commonalities and differences in this enterprise would prove fascinating. It may well be that the rhetoric of the Haredi world slants in a totally conservative direction, but it also seems to me that, when their rabbis get sick, they seek whatever medical advice they think is best and have no hesitation in using progressive, non-Jewish doctors. Consider the case of the ultra-orthodox leader of the Haredim. While Thousands Pray in Israel, Cleveland Clinic Doctor Operates on Influential Rabbi87 Teresa Chin, The Plain Dealer on June 22, 2011 at 5:00 AM, updated June 22, 2011 at 7:48 AM CLEVELAND, Ohio—Thousands of Orthodox Jews gathered on Sunday night at Jerusalem’s Western Wall to offer prayers for the speedy recovery of 101-year-old Rabbi Shalom Yosef Elyashiv, who was undergoing vascular surgery just a few miles away. But the fate of the rabbi, who is considered to be one of the greatest living experts on Jewish law, did not ultimately fall to his devoted followers, or even his Israeli doctors—it was in the hands of Cleveland Clinic surgeon Dr. Daniel Clair. Clair, chairman of the Clinic’s Department of Vascular Surgery, flew nearly 6,000 miles to operate on the rabbi, who is the highest profile leader of the Lithuanian stream of Ultra-Orthodox Judaism. The doctor arrived in Jerusalem on Sunday night with Clinic radiology technician Bryan Kolar. They brought the basic equipment necessary for the unnamed vascular procedure with them. The pair were met by hundreds of the rabbi’s supporters and family members, and several leaders of the Orthodox Jewish community. “We truly felt like rock stars,” said Clair. The four-hour surgery took place a few hours after the team’s arrival at the Shaare Zedek Medical Center in Jerusalem. While the procedure 87 http://www.cleveland.com/healthfit/index.ssf/2011/06/headline_here.html.

The Rabbinic Response to Modern Medicine    Part Three itself was not “particularly debilitating,” said Clair, the patient’s advanced age put him at a higher risk. Clair declined to provide details as to the type of procedure, but said similar, successful surgeries at the Cleveland Clinic that had been performed on elderly patients—including a few over the age of 100. As of Tuesday night, Clair reported that Elyashiv was recovering at home with his family. This was not the first time that Clair had treated Elyashiv for a vascular issue. The doctor was the rabbi’s surgeon seven years ago when Elyashiv needed an operation to correct a life-threatening condition involving his aorta. At that time, a number of other physicians had refused to treat the rabbi before Clair—then a doctor at New York-Presbyterian Hospital— agreed to perform the procedure, which was ultimately successful. Clair said that he had been in communication with the rabbi’s doctors since that initial surgery and a few weeks ago they decided that Clair should fly back to Israel to perform Sunday’s procedure. Elyashiv and his supporters paid for the surgical team’s transportation. “It’s unusual [for a surgeon to travel this far], but the decision was impacted by the nature of the individual,” Clair said. “He’s very important to the Orthodox community and to Jews throughout the world.” Clair, who is Catholic, described Elyashiv as “a very pious and special individual,” who was still studying scripture up to a few hours before his surgery. Elyashiv’s importance as a Jewish leader was evident to Clair and Kolar after Israel’s President, Shimon Peres, visited to thank them. “[Peres] said that we needed to understand the gravity of what we were doing,” said Clair, “not just to Jews in Israel or worldwide, but to the state of Israel itself. He said we were setting an example for peace.” In a phone interview from the airport before his return flight on Tuesday night, Clair said that the Clinic was supportive of his trip. “Our clinicians are used to seeing high-profile patients, or patients that have really complicated situations,” he said. “We pride ourselves in being the best in the world.”

The challenges placed upon Haredi society by the apparent inconsistencies between rabbinic writing and medical writing are emblematic of the larger tensions posed by maintaining a faith-centered traditional lifestyle in an open modern society. It appears that, in the future, perhaps within another two or

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three generations, Haredim will form the major bloc of Jews. It is impossible to know what changes lie ahead for these communities. Perhaps they will come to heed Maimonides, who castigated those who reject the vices of their fellows by withdrawing from their society to practice austerity thinking to become holier.88 He remarks that a life of mental peace and physical health is attained through engagements in general society, neither through fasting nor enduring selfafflictions, but rather actively seeking to “administer true justice; show mercy and compassion to one another.”89

88 Maimonides, (Commentary to the Mishnah) Shemoneh Perakim (eight chapters) ch. 4 (Rabbi Yosef Qafiḥ edition), 254. 89 Zechariah 7:8–10.

Family Member’s Presence at a Seriously Ill Patient’s Bedside: May Sabbath Prohibitions be Overridden? PNINA MOR AND CHAYA GREENBERGER

INTRODUCTION

T

here is a consensus among halakhic authorities that lifesaving actions override Sabbath prohibitions. This essay examines if and when a relative’s presence at the bedside of a holeh sheyesh bo sakana (person in life-­threatening condition) is considered potentially lifesaving. Specifically, it addresses the permissibility of traveling in a motorized vehicle, something generally prohibited on the Sabbath, to be with one’s seriously ill relative in the hospital for the provision of emotional support. Relevant professional literature is engaged in order to place the halakhic discourse into a scientific context. It is worth noting that, traditionally, hospitals restricted or even barred people from visiting severely ill patients.1 Reasons for these prohibitions included the fear that visitors presented both a threat to patients (via the risk of infection and increased stress) and that they were a hindrance to patient care by the staff.2 It is now known that the presence of relatives by the bedside of a   1 A. Giannini, “The ‘Open’ ICU: Not Just a Question of Time,” Minerva Anestesiologica 76, 2 (2010): 89–90.   2 D. Berti, P. Ferdinande, P. Moons, “Beliefs and Attitudes of Intensive Care Nurses Toward Visits and Open Visiting Policy,” Intensive Care Medicine 33 (2007): 1060–65; Å. Engström and S. Söderberg, “Receiving Power Through Confirmation: The Meaning of Close Relatives for People Who Have Been Critically Ill,” Journal of Advanced Nursing 59, 6 (2007): 569–76; S. M. Bishop, M. D. Walker, I. Spivak, “Family Presence in the Adult Burn Intensive Care Unit During Dressing Changes,” Critical Care Nurse 33, 1 (2007): 14–24.

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patient ­contributes to maintaining and even improving the physical and mental health of the patient due, particularly, to the emotional support they provide.3 This will be elaborated upon later in the discussion.

The Halachic Discourse: Medical Care Versus Emotional Support R. Zalman Nehemiah Goldberg was asked to render a halakhic decision with respect to an individual hospitalized after open heart surgery who suddenly felt unwell and requested that his son travel on the Sabbath in order to be at his bedside.4 As this involved overriding a Torah prohibition, R. Goldberg permitted fulfilling the request only if the son was certain that his father would deteriorate to the point of safek pikuah nefesh (a possible life-threatening condition) if he refrained. It is implicit in this ruling that the presence of a loved one may, in certain cases, be potentially lifesaving; however, the patient himself cannot be relied upon to be the judge. R. Goldberg’s stipulation is surprising in the light of other cases in which the patient’s subjective appraisal of his condition as being safek pikuah nefesh suffices to override Torah prohibitions, since “the mind knows the suffering of the soul” (Proverbs 14:1).5 Accordingly, Radbaz ruled that we comply with a   3 A. Agard and K. Lomborg, “Flexible Family Visitation in the Intensive Care Unit: Nurses’ Decision Making,” Journal of Clinical Nursing 20, 7/8, (2011): 1106–14; J. Falk, S. Wongsa, J. Dang, L. Comer, G. LoBiondo-Wood, “Using an Evidence-Based Practice Process to Change Child Visitation Guidelines,” Clinical Journal of Oncology Nursing 16, 1 (2012): 21–23; V. Liu, J. L. Read, E. Scruth, E. Cheng, “Visitation Policies and Practices in US ICUs,” Critical Care 17, 2 (2012): R71; C. Fisher, H. Lindhors, T. Matthews, D. J. Munroe, D. Paulin, D. Scott, “Nursing Staff Attitudes and Behaviours Regarding Family Presence in the Hospital Setting,” Journal of Advanced Nursing 64, 6 (2008): 615–24; H. Gray, J. Adam, D. Brown, P. McLaughlin, V. Hill, L. Wilson, “Visiting All Hours: A Focus Group Study on Staff ’s Views of Open Visiting in a Hospice,” International Journal of Palliative Nursing 17, 11 (2011): 552–60; C. Karlsson, A. Tissell, A. Engstrom, B. Andershed, “Family Members’ Satisfaction with Critical Care: A Pilot Study,” Nursing in Critical Care 16, 1 (2011): 11–18; P. Jabre et al., “Family Presence During Cardiopulmonary Resuscitation,” New England Journal of Medicine 368, 11 (2013): 1008–18; R. Glaser, J. K. Kiecolt-Glaser, “StressInduced Immune Dysfunction: Implications for Health,” National Review of Immunology 5, 3 (2005): 243–51; U. Lundberg, “Stress Hormones in Health and Illness: The Roles of Work and Gender,” Psychneuroendocrinology 30, 10 (2005): 1017–21. ­  4 Rabbi Z. M. Goldberg, “Travelling to the Bedside of a Father with Heart Disease on the Sabbath,” Rulings of the Ariel Educational Institute of the Academy of Torah and Education (Ariel: United Israel Institutes), 13, accessed July 15, 2017. http://mosdot-ariel.org.il/274/ ill-hospitalized-during-shabbat/.   5 Proverbs, 14:1; R. J. Caro (1488–1575), Shulhan Arukh, Orah Hayyim, 328.

Family Member’s Presence at a Seriously Ill Patient’s Bedside    Part Three

patient who claims that he or she needs certain medications on the Sabbath, even if the doctor considers that there is no need, as long as the doctor confirms the medication will do no harm.6 This responsum of Radbaz is cited by the Tzitz Eliezer in connection with the halakhic question addressed in this essay.7 The latter distinguishes between a patient’s request for medical treatment on the Sabbath, in which case one may override Torah prohibitions even without the doctor’s consent, and the patient’s request for a relative to come to stay by his or her beside, for which purpose these prohibitions may not be overridden. The first impacts directly on the healing process, whereas the second only improves the patient’s emotional state. However, continues the Tzitz Eliezer, if a doctor were to stipulate that the absence of the relative could potentially endanger the patient (as R. Goldberg ruled with respect to the relative), the prohibitions would need to be overridden with regard to any action related to healing. The Arukh Hashulhan and Yaskil Avdi likewise rule that if a doctor affirms that not granting a sick individual’s request to send for a relative would put the individual’s life in danger, this must be regarded as equivalent to medical treatment and the same halakhic rules of pikuah nefesh apply.8 With respect to the impact of perceptions on healing, we turn to Maimonides’s Hilchot Avodah Zarah, in which he permits so-called “whispering” (a technical term for a type of sorcery alleged to cure).9 While this is, in his opinion, Torah forbidden as a superstitious practice (and hence akin to idolatry), at the insistent request of a holeh sheyesh bo sakana it is permitted even on the Sabbath in order to prevent extreme mental anguish. This ruling is made despite the fact that Maimonides himself is convinced there is no cure in this. Halakhic standing is given to the patient’s belief in the healing power of certain actions, even when the belief is mistaken. The author of Nefesh Hayyah cites Maimonides’s attribution of halakhic status to subjective perceptions as support for his position regarding a case similar to ours.10 In the case of a holeh sheyesh bo sakana who expresses a longing   6 R. D. ibn Zimra (c. 1479–1589), Responsa, 4:66.   7 Rabbi E. Y. Waldenberg (1915–2006), Responsa Tzitz Eliezer, Meshivat Nefesh, Part 9, #8:15 [Hebrew].   8 Rabbi Y. M. Epstein (1829–1908), Arukh Hashulhan, Orah Hayyim (New Square, NY: Oz Vehadar, 2006), 306–20; Rabbi O. Hadaya (1889–1969), Responsa, 7:22 [Hebrew].   9 Rabbi M. ben Maimon (1138–1204), Hilkhot Avodah Zarah (Laws of Idolatry): 11. 10 Rabbi R. Margolit (1889–1971), Nefesh Hayyah, Novellae on Shulhan Arukh, 278 (Lvov: Zohar, 1932).

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to see his relative, may the relative override Torah prohibitions in order to be at the patient’s bedside? The author gives standing to the request but reiterates that overriding these prohibitions would, in addition, necessitate some objective evidence regarding the curative potential of the relative’s presence. The assumption may be that the heightened emotional state of the sick individual might bring him to request his relative’s presence, even if he himself does not truly perceive the latter’s absence to be life threatening. Regarding treatment, however, his perceptions, as we have seen, are assumed to be genuine. A more straightforward possibility is that not fulfilling the individual’s request regarding treatment is deemed to be more detrimental than a respective decision regarding the request for a relative’s presence. R. Shmuel Wosner concurs with this ruling, differentiating between a holeh sheyesh bo sakana and a yoledet (postpartum woman).11 With respect to the latter, because the birth experience is uniquely laden with emotion, no additional attestation is needed to confirm that emotional well-being has lifesaving implications. Therefore, the Shulhan Arukh stipulates that a light may be lit for her even if she is blind, so that she should not be afraid.12 With regard to the holeh sheyesh bo sakana, the rabbi ruled that a doctor must attest to the lifesaving potential of emotional support. It is remarkable that the professional literature attests to the patient’s perception regarding the curative potential of the presence of loved ones. Rotondi et al. interviewed 150 patients following their hospitalization in an intensive care unit (ICU), where they were connected to a respirator for more than 24 hours.13 Of the 41 patients who recalled missing their relatives, 31 reported that this affected them significantly. Out of 38 patients who remembered a feeling of isolation, 28 reported that this noticeably distressed them. Novaes et al. interviewed 50 intensive care unit patients in order to determine their sources of stress.14 The data was collected via the Intensive Care Unit Environment Stressor Scale, a 40-item Likert scale evaluating physical and mental stress. The patients recorded severance from the family as a source of stress, although physical stress 11 Rabbi S. Wosner (1913–2015), Shevet Halevi (Bnei Brak: Zikron Meir, 2002), Part 8, 65. 12 Orah Hayyim, 330:1. 13 A. J. Rotondi, L. Chelluri, C. Sirio, et al., “Patients’ Recollections of Stressful Experiences While Receiving Prolonged Mechanical Ventilation in an Intensive Care Unit,” Critical Care Medicine 30 (2002), 746–52. 14 F. P. Novaes, E. Knobel, E. Bork, O. F. Pavao, L. A. Nogueira-Martins, M. Ferraz, “Stressors in ICU: Perception of the Patient, Relatives, and Health Care Team,” Intensive Care Medicine 25 (1999), 1421–26.

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was more significant for most of the patients. Auriemma and colleagues, investigating the significance of family visitation to patients and family members in the intensive care unit, identified three themes: the presence of a relative improves the welfare of the patient, constitutes support, and serves as an intermediary between the patient, the patient’s family, and the medical staff.15 In the study undertaken by Bergbom and Askwall, although acknowledging the importance of instrumental assistance given by relatives, patients singled out the moral support they received as “restoring to life.”16 Similarly, Wang et al. interviewed patients shortly before they were released from the ICU; one of the most momentous statements was: “My family gave me courage to persist; I might have given up without their backup.”17 The latter two statements clearly indicate that, at least in the patient’s mind, a relative’s emotional sustenance relates to pikuah nefesh. Cornock et al. interviewed 71 ICU patients who had been connected to a respirator as well as 71 nurses from the unit.18 The two groups were asked to report on three characteristics of the 50 characteristics in the Environment Stressor Scale that constituted the most significant sources of patients’ stress. Eight of the patients included missing their spouse among one of the first three choices, and seven of the patients included time limitation on visits as one of the top three. Nurses similarly graded these two characteristics at the same level, lending professional validity to patients’ perceptions. In Williams’s study, 67 nurses reported their observations of patients and their respective families.19 One nurse related her attempt to wean a patient off a respirator in the presence of a relative. She noted that the patient relaxed more quickly in his presence. Another described her success in weaning down pressure delivered by CPAP (continuous positive airway pressure to support breathing) in the presence of a relative as the patient’s breathing became more effective. 15 C. L. Auriemma et al., “Defining the Medical Intensive Care Unit in the Words of Patients and their Family Members: A Freelisting Analysis,” American Journal of Critical Care 24, 4 (2015), e47–e55. 16 I. Bergbom and A. Askwall, “The Nearest and Dearest: A Lifeline for ICU Patients,” Intensive Critical Care Nursing 16, 6 (2000), 384–95. 17 K. Wang, B. Zhang, C. Li, C. Wang, “Patients and Perspectives: Qualitative Analysis of Patients’ Intensive Care Experience During Mechanical Ventilation,” Journal of Clinical Nursing 18 (2008), 183–90. 18 M. A. Cornock, “Stress and the Intensive Care Patient: Perceptions of Patients and Nurses,” Journal of Advanced Nursing 27 (1998), 518–27. 19 C. Williams, “The Identification of Family Members’ Contribution to Patients’ Care in the Intensive Care Unit: A Naturalistic Inquiry,” Nursing Critical Care 10, 1 (2005), 6–14.

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Patients who associated their stress with hospitalization in an intensive care unit portrayed themselves as “voiceless,” both on account of the strange surroundings and for those with an endotracheal tube due to the inability to speak.20 These studies indicate that both patients and professionals perceive a relative’s presence as vital, stress reducing, and affecting mental and physical health, although no absolute indication can be gleaned with regard to answering to the criteria of pikuah nefesh. R. Wosner cites examples of situations that are life threatening in and of themselves, specifically because they cause extreme mental anguish.21 The Babylonian Talmud states: “If a child is locked behind a door on the Sabbath the door may be broken to bring him out.”22 R. Wosner similarly rules that Torah prohibitions may be overridden to free a trapped, panic-stricken adult. R. Neuwirth likewise perceives relieving intense fear as a sufficient reason for overriding Torah prohibitions for a holeh sheyesh bo sakana who is afraid of the dark.23 In contradistinction to these cases, a distraught patient who calls for his relative is not always in an acute state of panic and, what’s more, the relative’s presence does not neutralize the fear as the illness is ever present.

Torah Versus Rabbinic Prohibitions on the Sabbath The Babylonian Talmud Tractate Baba Batra teaches that it permissible to acquire property from a person who is (or even believes he is) on his death bed, even on the Sabbath when it is rabbinically prohibited, to spare him mental anguish (here, the assumption is made that it will not hasten his death, otherwise Torah prohibitions would be overridden as well).24 For the same reason, we may allow him to give something to his wife by way of ­acquisition. On the other hand, he may not write a divorce document on the Sabbath since this involves a Torah prohibition.25 According to the Vilna Gaon, one may send a non-Jew on the Sabbath to arrange for the relative of a holeh sheyesh bo sakana to travel to be with him 20 21 22 23

Rotondi et al., “Patients’ Recollections of Stressful Experiences,” 746–52. Rabbi S. Wosner (1913–2015), Shevet Halevi (Bnei Brak: Zikron Meir, 2002), Part 50, 71. Babylonian Talmud, Tractate Yoma, 83a. Rav Y. Y. Neuwirth, Shemirath Shabbath: A Guide to the Practical Observance of Shabbath, 3rd ed. ( Jerusalem: Feldheim, 2010), 32:15, 41:27; Ibid., 32:63. 24 Babylonian Talmud, Tractate Baba Batra, 156b. 25 Babylonian Talmud, Tractate Gittin, 77b.

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i­ mmediately after the Sabbath.26 Here again, only a minor rabbinic prohibition is being overridden, making it permissible in order to relieve mental anguish. The Mishnah Berurah extends the removal of rabbinic prohibitions beyond that of just asking a non-Jew to be an informant to hiring a non-Jewish runner.27 Shulhan Arukh Shel Harav, however, rules that as the presence of a relative does not affect any real medical recovery but merely eases emotional suffering, rabbinically forbidden actions may only be undertaken by a non-Jew.28 A somewhat different case is presented in the responsa of the Shoel Umeshiv, cited also by R. Yisrael Matisyahu Auerbach, in which a man hears that his sick wife has become stricken with acute anxiety and is in a village where nobody knows her.29 The Shoel Umeshiv rules that the husband may ride there on a horse on the Sabbath (a major rabbinic prohibition, as it is being performed by a Jew). He reasons that the wife will certainly benefit from her husband’s arrival, and this is a case of “possible lifesaving” (safek pikuah nefesh), which overrides the laws of the Sabbath. The Shoel Umeshiv does not explain his position. The author of Helkat Yaakov perceives the lifesaving elements of the husband’s presence as nested in the overall benefit that the woman receives; apart from easing her mind, he will provide practical assistance, which justifies overriding major rabbinic prohibitions (and as we have seen earlier, Torah prohibitions).30 This should therefore not be compared to the case of acquisition mentioned earlier, which is merely to settle the mind of a dying individual and permits breaching only minor rabbinic restrictions. If this is an accurate interpretation of the Shoel Umeshiv, it cannot be deduced from this that mere emotional support would be sufficient to permit a Jew to ride a horse on the Sabbath. Furthermore, a patient is not alone in a hospital, as staff tends to both practical and emotional needs. 26 R. Elijah ben Shlomo Zalman (1720–1797), Shulhan Arukh, Orah Hayyim 328:9; on Babylonian Talmud, Tractate Baba Batra 156b; Shulhan Arukh, Orah Hayyim, 306:9. 27 Rabbi Y. M. Cohen (1838–1933), Mishnah Berurah (Warsaw, 1884), 306:41. 28 R. Shneur Zalman Miladi (1745–1812), Shulhan Arukh HaRav Orah Hahayim (Kfar Habad: Kehut, 1989), 306:20; Responsa Tzitz Eliezer, Meshivat Nefesh, Part 9, 8:15; Waldenberg, Responsa Tzitz Eliezer, Meshivat Nefesh, Part 9 #8:15. [Hebrew]; Epstein, Arukh Hashulhan, Orah Hayyim, 306-20; Hadaya, Responsa, 7:22 [Hebrew]. 29 Rabbi M. ben Maimon (1138–1204), Hilkhot Avodah Zarah (Laws of Idolatry): 11. Rabbi Y. M. Auerbach (1839–1900), Netzer Yisrael, Kikutei Rima (Lvov, 1878), 25:74. 30 Rabbi M. J. Breisch (1895–1976), Helkat Yaakov, Orah Hayyim (Tel Aviv: publisher unknown, 1992), 108.

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The responsum of Migdal HaShen, cited by R. Waldenberg, relates s­ pecifically to the distinction between emotional support and attendance to the patient’s practical needs.31 He discusses the case of a sick individual who sends a letter to another town urgently requesting a doctor as he is in danger. He rules that a Jew may travel (on a wagon, a minor rabbinic prohibition) on the Sabbath with the doctor in order to ensure that the doctor arrives as soon as possible. He raises the possibility that the Jew may even be permitted to travel alone (a major rabbinic prohibition) as it is permissible to light a lamp for a yoledet, even if blind, to settle her mind in case she is afraid and that fear may endanger her life. Unlike the Shevet Halevi, who attributes permission to light a lamp for a (blind) yoledet to easing her mind overall, Migdal Hashen attributes it specifically to allaying her fear regarding the impact of the darkness on the quality of the treatment and therefore equates her with the holeh sheyesh bo sakana. For concerns of treatment, even a Torah prohibition is overridden. Migdal Hashen equates this case to permitting a relative to travel with the doctor to ease the patient’s fear that the doctor may not look after him properly. It must be stressed that in both of these cases the action required is directly connected with medical needs. On the other hand, the presence of a relative to ease the emotional distress of being alone is not designated by the author of Migdal Hashen as potentially lifesaving.

Mental Anguish May Result in a Situation of Pikuah Nefesh States of mental stress and illness are interrelated, involving distinct physiological and pathophysiological mechanisms.32 In response to stress, injury, or invading pathogens, the body’s first line of defense is the activation of the immune response, that is, the secretion of the “stress hormone” adrenaline. A rise in adrenaline results in an initial increase in blood pressure and pulse rate, and the strengthening of the immune system to fight against infection and contamination. However, excess stress is liable to do damage, exhausting the cardiac muscle and attacking the immune system, reducing the number of white blood cells, and

31 Rabbi S. N. Gesenbauer, Migdal Hashen (Lvov, 1884); cited by Rabbi E. Y. Waldenberg, Responsa Tzitz Eliezer, 8:15. 32 Glaser et al., “Stress-Induced Immune Dysfunction,” 243–51; Lundberg, “Stress Hormones in Health and Illness,” 1017–21; S. Cohen, D. Janicki-Deverts, G. E. Miller, “Psychological Stress and Disease,” JAMA 298, 14 (2007): 1685–87.

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thereby hastening the infectious process.33 The damage may express itself in an acute infection or in a more gradual pathological process such as hindering the closure of a surgical wound, which is liable to impede healing in later stages.34 Fear and anxiety before an operation are known to generally prolong recovery.35 Stress may also be a causative factor in the breakout of a chronic disease.36 These effects certainly fall into the category of safek pikuah nefesh. Mental stress, similar to physical stress, affects all organs of the body through the release of neuroendocrine hormones and direct nervous system innervation. The field of psychoneuroimmunology (PNI) has noticeably determined that the physiological response to psychological stressors can considerably affect the functioning of the immune system, consequently recognizing one way in which proneness to or severity of diseases is intensified during stressful periods.37 Comparably, a number of halakhic authorities consider mental anguish as potentially life threatening with respect to the Torah prohibitions. The Pri Megadim categorizes extreme mental anguish as pikuah nefesh, for which even Torah prohibitions may be overridden.38 Minhat Yitzhak cites further authorities with a similar opinion—namely, the Levush, Tosefot Shabbat, and Levushei Serad—who regard mental anguish as a potentially life-threatening situation and contend that it may be eased by the presence of a significant other.39 33 Glaser et al., “Stress-Induced Immune Dysfunction,” 243–51; J. P. Godbout and R. Glaser, “Stress-Induced Immune Dysregulation: Implications for Wound Healing, Infections Disease, and Cancer,” Journal of Neuroimmune Pharmacology 1, 4 (2006): 421–27; B. Lusk and A. A. Lash, “The Stress Response, Psychoneuroimmunology, and Stress Among ICU Patients,” Dimensions of Critical Care Nursing 24, 1 (2005): 25:31. 34 S. Guo and L. A. DiPietro, “Critical Review in Oral Biology and Medicine: Factors Affecting Wound Healing,” Journal of Dental Research 89, 3 (2010): 219:29; G. Giannoglou and K. Koskinas, “Mental Stress and Cardiovascular Disease: Growing Evidence into the Complex Interrelation Between Mind and Heart,” Angiology 66, 1 (2015): 5–7; J. E. Dimsdale, “Psychological Stress and Cardiovascular Disease,” Journal of the American College of Cardiology 51, 13 (2008): 1237–46. 35 Glaser et al., “Stress-Induced Immune Dysfunction,” 243–51. 36 Auerbach, Netzer Yisrael, Kikutei Rima, 25:74. 37 M. T. Bailey, “Psychological Stress, Immunity, and the Effects on Indigenous Microflora,” Advances in Experimental Medicine and Biology 874 (2016), 225–46. 38 Rabbi ben Meir Teomim (1727–1792), Eshel Avraham on Rabbi A. Gumbiner (1637– 1682), Magen Avraham on Shulhan Arukh Orah Hayyim, 306:18. 39 Rabbi Y. Y. Weiss (1902–1983), Minhat Yitzhak ( Jerusalem: Minhat Yitzhak, 1993), 4:8; Rabbi M. Jaffe (1530–1612), on Shulhan Arukh, 306:3; Rabbi R. Meisels (c.1700–c.1778), on Shulhan Arukh, 330:25; Rabbi D. S. Eibeschitz (1755–1813), on Magen Avraham, 306:18.

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R. Obadia Yosef ruled that a seriously wounded soldier who requests a relative’s presence for the sole purpose of easing his mind is similar to a yoledet; Torah prohibitions may be overridden in order to fulfill his request and there is no need to obtain anyone else’s opinion regarding the matter’s urgency.40 In addition to establishing mental anguish as life threatening in certain cases, R. Yosef also establishes that the presence of a loved one is potentially lifesaving through easing the anguish. It is possible that R. Neuwirth may have modified his stand regarding the permissibility of a relative accompanying an individual to the hospital on the Sabbath. In the second edition of Shemirath Shabbath, he permitted riding in the vehicle that is transporting a loved one, a minor rabbinic violation (if at all).41 In the second edition of Nishmat Avraham, R. Neuwirth is quoted as permitting driving even in a separate vehicle, but only for the purpose of providing practical assistance in the hospital, such as giving a medical ­history.42 In the third edition of Shemirath Shabbath, R. Neuwirth clearly states that riding in a separate vehicle is permissible, both in order to be present for emotional support or to provide information for the individual’s relative upon arrival at the hospital.43 This ruling implies equal lifesaving potential in both roles—practical and emotional. It may be that equating the two, however, is only relevant with respect to the initial admission and that traveling to the hospital once the patient is already settled in would be prohibited, unless a doctor has confirmed it as vital.

Special Cases Shemirath Shabbath rules that one may be lenient even regarding Torah prohibitions with respect to a patient whose chance of recovery depends on his emotional state.44 The example offered is of an individual predisposed to depression who might behave dangerously with regard to himself or others if he perceived that he was not properly being cared for. 40 Rabbi O. Yosef (1920–2013), Responsa Yabia Omer, Orah Hayyim ( Jerusalem: Machon Maor, 2004), 10:29. 41 Rav Y. Y. Neuwirth, Shemirath Shabbath: A Guide to the Practical Observance of Shabbath, 2nd ed. ( Jerusalem: Feldheim, 1989), 40:70. 42 Rabbi A. S. Abraham (1960–), Nishmat Avraham, 2nd ed. ( Jerusalem: Schlesinger Institute, 2007), 306:4. 43 R. Neuwirth, Shemirath Shabbath, 3rd ed., 40:72. 44 Ibid., 32:26.

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No specific halakhic ruling has been found by these authors regarding the relieving of emotional stress levels (i.e., by bringing a relative to the patient’s bedside) for individuals who are suffering from acute medical conditions that are especially sensitive to their emotional status, such as a myocardial infarction (i.e., heart attack). Such stress can be life threatening, finding expression in potentially fatal arrhythmias, excessive blood clotting, spiking blood pressure, and respiratory distress. In this instance, Moser et al. indicated that the degree of anxiety in the first few hours following an acute myocardial infarction is a significant predictor for complications such as fatal arrhythmia and excessive, life-threatening clotting, after controlling for other variables (such as the size of the infarction, side effects, and previous infarctions).45 Huffman, Celano, and Januzzi reported a correlation between situations of anxiety, severe depression, and acute states of excessive clotting.46 In one of the few randomized trials conducted regarding restricted visitation policy (RVP), Fumagalli et al. studied the influence of relatives’ visits on the medical state of patients.47 The researchers compared two similar sociodemographic groups of patients (n = 111/115) with comparable clinical characteristics, who were hospitalized in the intensive care unit for an extended period of time. The number and length of visits was restricted for one group, while the second group benefitted from unrestricted visitation policy (UVP). Compared with the unrestricted group, the patients with restricted visitations had a twofold greater risk of major cardiovascular complications, particularly of pulmonary edema or shock, but also, although not significantly, of arrhythmias and cardiac rupture. The unrestricted group was associated with a greater reduction in anxiety score and a significantly lower increase in thyroid stimulating hormone from admission to discharge. Furthermore, the mortality rate among those whose visits were not restricted was 1.8% compared to 5.2% in the groups whose visits were restricted. 45 D. K. Moser, B. Riegel, S. McKinley, L. V. Doering, K. An, S. Sheahan, “Impact of Anxiety and Perceived Control on In-Hospital Complications after Acute Myocardial Infarction,” Psychosomatic Medicine, 69 (2007): 10–16. 46 J. C. Huffman, C. M. Celano, J. L. Januzzi, “The Relationship between Depression, Anxiety, and Cardiovascular Outcomes in Patients with Acute Coronary Syndromes,” Journal of Neuropsychiatric Disease and Treatment 6, 1 (2010): 123–36. 47 S. Fumagalli, L. Boncinelli, A. Lo Nostro, P. Valoti, G. Baldereschi, M. Di Bari, A. Ungar, et al., “Reduced Cardiocirculatory Complications with Unrestrictive Visiting Policy in an Intensive Care Unit Results from a Pilot, Randomized Trial,” Circulation 113 (2006), 946–52.

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In a separate analysis of the 156 patients (RVP, n = 80; UVP, n = 76) being treated for myocardial infarction, the researchers compared the Killip class ­distribution (a stratifying risk criterion) between admission to and discharge from the ICU. The Killip level improved by 58.8% among those whose visits were unrestricted, while only 3.4% of them deteriorated. In those patients whose visits were restricted, only 26.7% improved and 6.7% deteriorated. The clinical differences between the groups were attributed to the reduction in stress and anxiety arising from the unrestricted visits. Researchers using intracranial pressure to measure changes in stress reported a decrease in pressure following relatives’ visits.48 Others, using pulse rate and blood pressure, similarly observed a decrease in both indicators following visitation.49 This research points to a possible role for relatives’ presence in saving lives. Another extraordinary situation to consider is delirium, a potentially life-­­ threatening state of acute confusion and disorientation resulting from being in unfamiliar and frightening surroundings, especially in intensive care units where there are many stimulants, unfamiliar medical equipment, and where nonstop activity takes place.50 The familiarity of a relative at the bedside can be of significance in reducing mortality.51 Victims of a terrorist attack are another special case as they are individuals who enjoy good mental health but have been thrown suddenly into severe emotional turmoil. They are initially liable to display dangerous behavior and after the acute phase become vulnerable to developing post-traumatic stress disorder (PTSD). The latter can seriously impact on life to the point of impinging on one’s ability to perform mitzvot (and can also be potentially fatal). This in and of itself would be sufficient cause to warrant overriding Torah prohibitions.52

48 Fumagalli et al., “Reduced Cardiocirculatory Complications,” 946–52; K. G. Mellott, P. B. Sharp, L. M. Anderson, “Biobehavioral Measures in a Critical-Care Healing Environment,” Journal of Holistic Nursing, 26, 2 (2008), 128–35; M. B. F. Makic, K. T. Von Rueden, C. A. Rauen, J. Chadwick, “Evidence-Based Practice Habits: Putting More Sacred Cows out to Pasture,” Critical Care Nursing 31, 2 (2011), 38–62. 49 Fumagalli et al., “Reduced Cardiocirculatory Complications,” 946–52; Jabre et al., “Family Presence During Cardiopulmonary Resuscitation,” 1008–18. 50 I. Wahlin, A. C. Ek, E. Idvall, “Patient Empowerment in Intensive Care: An Interview Study,” Intensive Critical Care Nursing 22, 6 (2006): 370–77. 51 Fumagalli et al., “Reduced Cardiocirculatory Complications,” 946–52. 52 Rabbi T. Schechter, Nefesh Harav: Thoughts and Works of Rabbi Yosef Dov Soloveitchik (New York: Flatbush Beit Medrash, 1994), 4:34; Rabbi Y. Rosen, “Travelling on the Sabbath: Social Workers and Public Figures,” Tehumin 23 (2003), 78–88.

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Beit Yehudah cites a case of a dying individual who lay in a dark house and ruled it permissible to light a lamp on the Sabbath (a Torah prohibition) so that he might see his relatives, thereby soothing his mental anguish.53 R. Mordecai Gutman perceives this ruling as being based on respect for a human being who is made in the Divine image, a supreme need for which Sabbath prohibitions may be overridden.54 More simply, one might argue that, in this case, seeing his relatives might allay his anxiety and thus lengthen his life even if only for a short period. The professional literature points out that fear of dying “alone” can cause worse distress than the fear of death itself.55 The question of traveling to be beside an individual on his death bed on the Sabbath was not herein specifically addressed. Nevertheless, it would seem to be no less important than lighting a lamp to enable the individual to see relatives known to be present.

What Are Considered “Needs” of a Holeh Sheyesh Bo Sakana? Shulhan Arukh and Maggid Mishneh are of the opinion that all needs of a holeh sheyesh bo sakana may be met on the Sabbath in a fashion similar to a weekday (i.e., overriding Sabbath prohibitions) even if they are not essentially lifesaving.56 This has relevance to our discourse since if all needs may be met, this would also include the presence of a relative at the bedside, even if it were not a lifesaving action. Other authorities, such as Rashi and the Geonim, permit only those actions that actually mitigate danger.57 Perhaps there is no real disagreement. Radbaz delineates that the type of need of a holeh sheyesh bo sakana that is permitted is any need that has a lifesaving aspect to it, even if only indirectly.58 Since the patient is already in danger, the range of needs should be expanded to include those with even a remote possibility of impacting on life saving. Clearly, as R. Shlomo Zalman Auerbach 53 Rabbi Y. M. Ayish (1700–1760), Responsum on Orah Hayyim, 59; Responsa Beit Yehuda (Leverno: Stamperia & Medola; 1746): Orah Hayyim 59 [Hebrew]. 54 Rabbi M. Gutman, “Uniting Families on the Sabbath After a Terrorist Attack,” Tehumin 34 (2004): 359–69. 55 M. D. Lee, A. S. Friedenberg, D. H. Mukpo, K. Conray, A. Palmisciano, M. M. Levy, “Visiting Hours Policies in New England Intensive Care Units: Strategies for Improvement,” Critical Care Medicine, 35 (2), (2007), 497–501. 56 Orah Hayyim, 328:4; R. DiTulus, Vidal of Tolosa (1284–1360), On Maimonides, Hilkhot Shabbat, 2:14. 57 “Where there is no danger,” Shabbat, 129a; Rabbi HaKohen Rotenberg (1260–1298), Hagahot Maimoniot, Commentary on Hilkhot Shevitat Asor, 2:5. 58 Responsa, 4:66.

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remarks, the line of demarcation would not include delivering a newspaper or turning on a radio, which would certainly not be permissible.59 R. Wosner holds a similar position: regarding a holeh sheyesh bo sakana, it can never be fully known what can have a detrimental impact on his condition.60 Even if refraining from the fulfillment of a need does not immediately increase danger, it might possibly weaken the individual over time and decrease his ability to overcome his illness. This seems to expand the time frame of pikuah nefesh; even future danger warrants overriding Torah prohibitions. Despite this categorization, it will be recalled that R. Wosner forbids relatives from breaching Torah laws in order to be at the side of holeh sheyesh bo sakana, the initial assumption still being the lack of correlation between a relative’s presence and pikuah nefesh, unless proven otherwise. R. Asher Weiss goes a step further. It is not possible to assess what will cause a seriously ill individual to succumb to death.61 Anything that is related to a cure, affects healing, or an improved feeling of well-being is to be considered a lifesaving act, similar to easing the mind of the woman in confinement. Although no specific ruling has been given regarding our case, it is possible that R. Weiss would permit it. R. Moshe Farbstein’s approach is similar.62 With respect to the holeh sheyesh bo sakana, the assessment of what is considered to be lifesaving is made at a different level. It is clear from the medical literature that a patient who has a life-threatening condition does not have the mental and physical reserves that non-threatened patients have. Therefore, when considering his needs, even those remotely related to healing must be met. R. Farbstein relates another element that affects the definition of lifesaving, namely, public opinion. That which, in the opinion of the public, is considered necessary for lifesaving, even if in fact the connection is far-fetched, must be considered as lifesaving for halakhic purposes, and R. Auerbach comments likewise. Rabbenu Tam considers that a dog bite is, objectively, very far from dangerous to life, but since public opinion considers that it is, it must be considered as such and the Sabbath laws may be overridden in such a case.63 59 Abraham, Nishmat Avraham, 306:9. 60 Wosner, Shevet Halevi, 8:71. 61 Rabbi A. Weiss, “Holeh Sheyesh bo Sakana: Is Overriding the Sabbath Permissible?” In the Path of Medicine (2006), 8:59. 62 Rabbi M. Farbstein, “The Borders of Pikuah Nefesh: Overriding Sabbath Prohibitions for a Sick Individual Whose Life is in Danger,” ASSIA 9 (2003): 106–87. 63 R. Auerbach in Neuwirth, Shemirath Shabbath, 32:72; Rabbi J. ben Meir (1100–1170), Tosefot on Babylonian Talmud, Tractate Avodah Zarah, 28:2.

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CONCLUSION There is clear evidence in the literature regarding the detrimental effects of stress and the positive impact of a relative’s presence on the process of recovery through alleviating stress. Although there is a dearth of randomized controlled trials, there are empirical studies that lend evidence to stress reduction in the presence of relatives with a subsequent decrease in potentially fatal complications in unstable patients. From a subjective perspective, patients report the importance of a relative’s presence, which, at times, takes higher priority than meeting their basic physical needs. According to some halakhic authorities, patients are not reliable reporters when it comes to their emotional needs. However, relatives and nurses have also attested to the importance of the relative’s presence for such instances as weaning off ventilating devices and reducing anxiety, which is clearly detrimental to the medical condition. The public’s perception regarding what constitutes danger also has halakhic validity, as R. Farbstein has pointed out.64 It is therefore important to continue to follow the professional literature and public opinion regarding the impact of stress, the impact of family presence, and the connection between the two. Further studies regarding these phenomena may affect future halakhic rulings. Halakhic authorities are painstaking in their rulings in order that the sanctity of the Sabbath may be maintained, but that not a single life should be lost as a result. There is a delicate balance to maintain and we have seen shades of opinions. With respect to traveling on the Sabbath in order to be with a hospitalized loved one for the sole purpose of giving emotional support, most authorities only permit overriding rabbinic prohibitions unless a doctor attests to it being a matter of pikuah nefesh, although as we have seen, there are exceptions. These are special cases in which emotions categorically play a dominant role in lifesaving. In reality, however, when a relative is summoned to a patient’s bedside on the Sabbath, the relative’s arrival may be vital for both medical and emotional needs. In this regard, R. Mordechai Halpern, after surveying a broad range of relevant halakhic opinions, concludes that when actually confronted with the situation, a loved one must travel to the scene without hesitation and without speculating which of the two needs the presence is apt to meet and to what

64 R. Farbstein, “The Borders of Pikuah Nefesh,” 106–87.

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degree.65 The overall situation, he iterates, is clearly one of safek pikuah nefesh for which “one who responds speedily is to be praised and one who hesitates should be rebuked.”66

GLOSSARY Holeh sheyesh bo sakana: An individual whose state of health endangers his life. Halakhah:  The corpus of Jewish religious law rooted in the Bible and continually being expanded by its designated authorities. Safek pikuah nefesh:  A situation in which there is a potential danger to human life, which necessitates taking immediate action. Yoledet:  A woman giving birth, halachically designated as in a dangerous state from the time she enters hard labor until a week after she has given birth. 65 Goldberg, “Travelling to the Bedside of a Father with Heart Disease on the Sabbath,” 13. 66 Talmud Yerushalmi, 8:5.

Index A

Aaron, the Great Rabbi of Karlin, 155, 162 Adler, Rabbi Hermann, 204 Adler, Rabbi Nathan Marcus, 204 affiliation, 12, 15, 17, 33, 40, 65, 69 Agudath Israel, 51 agunah (chained woman), 229, 239 Aharonim, 185n177 Akiva, Rabbi, 246–247 American Jewish community, 1, 10–13, 15, 25, 34, 67–68, 68, 71, 116–123, 118–120 commonality of social class among, 120 cultural alienation from Jewishness, 118 division of authority, 13–14 divisiveness between denominations, 34 educational attainment, 119–120 ethnic and religious distinctiveness, 119–121 exposure to Jewish education, 117 family bonds and communal cohesion, 122 individualism inherent in, 13 network of charity organizations, 11 organizational structure, 14 performance of Jewish rituals, 122 religious involvement, 121–123 social and cultural strengths, 118 stratification changes, 120 structural analysis of, 12–13 American Jewish life, 2, 10 evolution of, 15–16 organizational life, 10 American Orthodox Jewish community, 2, 43, 52, 58, 65, 70, 89 American Protestantism, 26 American religion, contemporary, 26 American society contradictory and conflictual processes, 9 social and communal life of, 3–4

Angel, Rabbi Marc, 47 anti-Semitism, 115, 117, 123, 126, 126–127 anti-Semitism in Europe, 123 Asher of Stolin, Rabbi, 161–162 Association des Rabbins Français, 239–240 Auerbach, Rabbi Shlomo Zalman, 96–97, 291, 311 Auerbach, Rabbi Yisrael Matisyahu, 305 Avraham ben HaRambam, Rabbi, 275 Avraham of Slonim, Rabbi,146–148, 173–174

B

Ba’al Shem Tov, 146–150, 152, 157–158, 174 Bachrach, Rabbi Moshe Shimshon, 286 Bachrach, Rabbi Yair, 287 Bainbridge, William Sims, 25n101, 28–29 Bamberger, Rabbi Seligmann Baer, 203 Baraita, 247–249, 249n22, 250, 255, 261, 267 Bar Kokhba Rebellion, 251 Bar Mitzvah, 74, 78–79, 82–83, 87, 90, 92–93, 99–101, 108 Baron, Salo, 257 Bat Mitzvah (Bas Mitzvah), 52, 74, 74, 77, 87, 100, 106–109, 121 as an educational experience, 95 beginning of celebrations, 80–81 Beis Yaacov guidelines for, 106–109 ceremony, 77–79 girl, 80, 83–84, 105 in Israel, 94–109 in post-Shoah Europe, 86–89 rabbinical prohibitions, 81–96 rituals, 78–79 Sephardic and Eidot Hamizrah authorities on, 98–101 Spiro’s understanding, 79 in ultra-Orthodox community, 79 ultra-Orthodox (haredi) community on, 77, 93, 97, 103–104 in the United States, 89–94

316

Index Beit Hillel, 55 Beit Morasha, 55 Berman, Rabbi Saul, 46 Bloch, Rabbi Isaac, of Nancy, 234–238 Bloch, Rabbi Yosef Leib, of Telz, 186 Blumenthal, Joseph, 227 Bornstein, Abraham ben Ze’ev Nahum, 288 boutique Judaism, 15 Breslau Jewish community, 206 Breuer, Rabbi Salomon, 215 Brial, Rabbi Yehudah, 287 bride-price (mohar), 253–256 British United Synagogue, 220 Broyde-Ziv, Rabbi Simha Zissel, 180 Bunim, Rabbi Simha, of Pshiskha, 175 Kol Simha, 175 Burstein, Paul, 10–11

C

Cahen, Isadore, 226 Canadian Jewish community, 116–117 Catholic sects, 31 Central European Jewry, 135–146 Chaves, Mark, 49 Christian clerical garb, 201 Christianity, 279n31 Christian religion, 24 church-sect typology, 26–27 Clemens, Elisabeth S., 21, 23 clerical robes in American Reform congregations, 220n74 of cantors, 210 early nineteenth century, 202–204 in Germany, 202–203, 202n17, 207 governmental intervention, 205–209 halakhic discussion of, 209–214 new style, 199–201 Royal Decree, 1829, 208 similarity to Christian clerical garb, 201 twentieth century, 215–221 Cohen, Israel, 198–199 Cohen, Rabbi Shabbetai ben Meir, 286 collective action, 24 organizational activity and, 3–10 collective identity, 42, 69 Colon, Rabbi Joseph, 209 Committee for Preservation of Tradition, 37 Conference on Halakhic Process, 37 Conservative Judaism, 35–42, 50, 61–62, 70 institutions of, 39 contentious politics, 4 contingency theory, 20

Corwin, Ronald G., 5 Crozier, Michel, 5 cults, 28–29

D

Da’at Torah, 74n3, 104, 104n91, 195 Dahl, Robert, 7–9 Dahrendorf, Ralf, 9 Davis, Gerald F., 6 death and dying, 245, 247–248, 267, 281–282, 288–289, 304, 311 Debré, Rabbi, 236–238 democratic pluralism, 8 denominationalism, 25–32, 65–70 Dessler, Rabbi Eliyahu Eliezer, 186 devekut, 150, 150n50, 152–154 DiMaggio, Paul J., 21–23 Divine Providence, 193–194 divorce, 226–239, 255, 256n48, 260, 304 civil, 226–228, 234–235, 237–238 conditional divorce meachshav, 233–237 deferred, 235–237 French divorce law, 227–230 get or halizah, 229–235, 239 religious, 227–232, 235, 238–239 role of rabbis, 239 Douglas, Mary, 21 dowry (nedunya), 253–256 Drisha Institute, 55

E

Edah, 46–47, 62 Edels, Rabbi Shmuel, 285 Eibeschutz, Rabbi Yehonatan, 136 Eisenstadt, Shmuel N., 9 Elazar, Daniel J., 2, 10–12, 67 Elijah of Vilna, Rabbi, 210 Elimelekh of Dinov, Rabbi Tzvi, 176 Elyashiv, Rabbi Yosef Shalom, 292 emancipation, 66, 88, 220 Emden, Rabbi Ya’akov, 136, 286 Ephraim of Sedilkov, Rabbi Moshe Hayim, 147–148, 150–152 Eretz Yisrael, 250–252, 254, 257, 259–261, 265–266, 268 Ettlinger, Rabbi Yaakov, 83–86, 105, 203, 208–210, 224 Shomer Zion ha-Ne’eman, 210–211

F

faith community, 4 Farbstein, Esther, 194

Index Farbstein, Rabbi Moshe, 312 Feinstein, Rabbi Moshe, 89–92, 101, 106, 291–292 Feldman, Rella, 48 Fellowship of Traditional Orthodox Rabbis (FTOR), 39 Ferry Laws of 1881–1882, 226 Finkel, Rabbi Natan Tzvi, 180 First Revolt, 251 Flavius, Josephus, 258 Flekeles, Rabbi El’azar, 140–141 Fligstein, Neil, 18 Förster, Heinrich, 205 Fraind, Rabbi Tovia, 96 Frank, Rabbi Zevi Pesach, 216–219 Frankism, 140 French Jewish community, 226

G

Gaon of Vilna, 177–178, 286, 304 Geiger, Abraham, 205 Gennep, Arnold Van, 78–79 globalization and study of Jewish transformation approaches, 114–116 European Jewry, 123 Israeli Jewish community, 124–127 in North America, 116–123 Goldberg, Rabbi Zalman Nehemiah, 300 Gombiner, Rabbi Avraham, 284–285 Green, Arthur, 167 Greenberg, Blu, 49 Grodzenski, Rabbi Chaim Ozer, 214 Grossberg, Rabbi Chanoch Zundell, 97 Gurock, Jeffrey, 43, 58 Gutman, Rabbi Mordecai, 311

H

Hadaya, Rabbi Obadya, 99, 212 Hakohen, Rabbi Meir Simha, of Dvinsk, 181 Hakohen, Rabbi Yisrael Meir, 182 halakhot, 250, 257, 266 Ha-Levi, Rabbi Yehudah, 280 halizah (removal) ceremony, 229–233, 261–263 Haran, Ra’ayah, 158 Haredi community. see ultra-Orthodox community Haredi Judaism, 197, 272 Har’el Beit Midrash, 50–51 Hasidism, 146, 184 Habad Hasidism, 155–156, 166 Breslav Hasidism, 167, 175

Kalisk Hasidism, 176 Karlin Hasidism, 155 Polish Hasidism, 175 White Russian Hasidism, 152, 155, 159, 162, 173 Hatam Sofer. see Sofer, Rabbi Moshe Hafetz Hayim, 182–184, 187, 195 Hayim of Volozhin, Rabbi, 177–178 Heilman, Uriel, 46, 53–54 Heinemann, Isaac, 203 Heichal Shlomo, 212n55 Helmreich, William B., 44 Herzl, Rabbi, 51 Herzog, Rabbi Isaac, 95, 292–293 hester panim, 193–194 Hildesheimer, Rabbi Azriel, 213 Hirsch, Rabbi Samson Raphael, 134, 203, 214–215, 223–224 Hirschel, Rabbi Solomon, 202 holeh sheyesh bo sakana, needs of a, 311–312 Holocaust, 66–67, 104, 113, 116, 121, 123, 126–127, 188, 190–191, 193–194, 197 Horenblass, Rabbi Petachya, 86 Horovitz, Rabbi Baruch, 216–219 Horovitz, Rabbi Joseph Jonah Zevi ha-Levi, of Hunsdorf, 215–216 Horovitz, Rabbi Marcus, 213 Horowitz, Rabbi Yosef Yozl, 180 Howe, Irving, 71 Hunter, James Davison, 32 Hurwitz, Rabbi Sara, 50, 59

I

indeliberate theology, 196 inheritance law, 263–265 Institute for Jewish Ideas and Ideals, 47, 62 Institute of Traditional Judaism, 38–39 institutional logics, 21n73 institutional theory, 20–22 intellectual faith, 131–132, 136, 151, 188–192 by direct negation, 133–134 method of “elevation beyond the range,” 133–134 Intensive Care Unit Environment Stressor Scale, 302 intermarriage, 118, 121 International Rabbinic Fellowship (IRF), 54 Isidor, Rabbi Lazare, 228 isomorphism, 2, 18–25 mimetic isomorphism, 23, 64–65 normative isomorphism, 23 organizational isomorphism, 23–24, 61 coercive isomorphism, 23

317

318

Index competitive isomorphism, 22 Isserles, Rabbi Moshe, 177, 230, 286

J

Jacobson, Israel, 202 Jakobovits, Rabbi Immanuel, 219 Jewish community affiliation and commitment, 17 cohesiveness, 33, 35, 114 infrastructure, 16 organizational structure, 2, 10–18 grass roots membership organizations, 46–49 special-interest organizations, 33 religious organizations, 2, 33–35 Jewish divorce law, 227. see also divorce Jewish family structure, changes in, 242–245, 253, 265–268 Jewish feminism, 17, 49, 52 Jewish identity, 15, 66, 69, 80, 114–115, 117–118, 122–124, 139n19 Jewish innovation ecosystem, 15–16 Jewish Living Will, 41 Jewish Orthodox Feminist Alliance ( JOFA), 49–50, 62 Jewish Telegraphic Agency ( JTA), 16 Jewish Theological Seminary ( JTS), 38

K

Kabbalah, 131–134, 136, 138, 140–141, 143, 143n32, 144, 146, 149–150, 157, 165, 175, 177–179, 181, 184–185, 185n179, 189, 193–194 Kahana, Rabbi Alter, 94, 97 Kahn, Rabbi Zadoc, 228 Kalisker, Rabbi Avraham, 154, 158, 160–161, 166 Karelitz, Rabbi Avraham Yeshayahu, 289–291 186 Karo, Rabbi Yosef, 281, 285 Karp, Rabbi Moshe Mordechai, 292 Katz, Jacob, 74, 143 King, Brayden, 19n60 Klein, Rabbi David Ben Zion, 97 Kook, Rabbi Avraham Yitzhak, 189–190 Orot Haemunah, 189 Kosher Nexus, 62 Kosowski of Yanova, Rabbi Avraham Abbele, 183 Kuhn, Thomas, 273 kula bah, 195

L

Lampronti, Rabbi Isaac, 288 Landau, Rabbi Yehezkel, 136–138, 141 on Sabbateans and philosophers, 137–138 Landes, Rabbi Daniel, 50–51 Lehmann, Rabbi Joseph, 229, 232, 239 Leib, Rabbi Aryeh, 184 Leibowitz, Yeshayahu, 293 levirate marriage (yibum), 261–263 Levovitch of Mir, R. Yeruham Halevi, 186 liberal democracy, 14 Lieberman, Joseph, 43 Lieberman, Steven, 54 Liebman-Shapiro Report, 41 Lilienthal, Max, 204 Lincoln Square Synagogue, 44 Lipschutz, Rabbi Dr. Hermann, 223 lishmah, 193 Lithuanian Jewry, 134, 176–187 Litvish (Lithuanian, Misnagdic) Jewry, 185 Litvish (Lithuanian-Jewish) Orthodoxy, 188 Loewenthal, Naftali, 157n80, 159 Lopatin, Rabbi Asher, 52, 54 Loubet, President Émile, 228 low-tension religion, 29 Lubetzki, Rabbi Judah, 229–231 Luria, Rabbi Isaac, 144 Luria, Rabbi Shlomo, 76 Luzzatto, Rabbi Simone, 286

M

Maggid Mishneh, 311 Maggid of Kozhnitz, 161 Maggid of Mezeritch, 151, 158, 160 Maharat, manhiga hilkhatit rukhanit Toranit, 50 Maimonides, Rabbi Moses, 134, 139, 175, 177, 181, 275, 278–282, 282n43, 284–286, 289, 292, 298, 301 Malka, Rabbi Moshe, 99 Marcus, Jacob Rader, 11 marital law conditional marriage, 230–232 in France, 229 Mashash, Rabbi Yosef, 77, 99 McAdam, Doug, 18 Mechon Hadar, 55 Medini, Rabbi Chaim Hizkiyahu, 287 Menahem Mendel of Vitebsk, Rabbi, 152–155, 163 Peri Haaretz, 152

Index Meyer, Michael, 199 minyanim (prayer groups), 55, 57 Mishnah Brurah, 187 mitzvah meal (seudat mitzvah), 86, 90–91, 97–98, 100 Modern Orthodoxy, 46, 51 Moelin, Rabbi Yaacov ben Moshe Levi, 76, 281, 284 Monatsblätter, 232–233 monogamy, 256–261 Morashah, 62, 64 Mordecai of Lekhovitch, Rabbi, 146, 161, 174 Moshe of Kobrin, Rabbi, 174 Mosiafa, Rabbi Avraham, 98 mourners, mourning, 241–242 changes in family structure and, 242–243, 253 circle of relatives who conduct mourning customs, 245–250 economic and political changes, effect of, 250–253 mourning circle, 247–248, 265–268 during period of the Mishnah and Talmud, 242 taking the role of, 243–245 MTV Challenge, 62 Musar movement, 179–182, 186, 188

N

Nahman of Breslav, Rabbi, 164–173, 184 Sefer Hamiddot (first section), 164, 166 Natan, Rabbi, 165, 168–169 Ne’emanei Torah Ve’Avodah, 55 neoinstitutionalism, 20 neo-Maimonideanism, 181–182, 186, 188 Neuwirth, Rav Yehoshua Y., 304, 308 Shemirath Shabbath, 308 Nishmat Avraham, 308 Nissim of Gerona, Rabbi, 294 Nissin, Rabbi Yitzchak, 98 Noah of Lekhovitch, Rabbi, 146 Noda’ B’Yehudah. see Landau, Rabbi Yehezkel nonprofit organizations, 6–7 North American Jewish community, 1 North American society, 8

O

Open Orthodox movement, 47, 62, 69 Open Orthodoxy, 2, 30, 42–46, 49, 55–59, 61–66, 68–69 Operation Pesach, 41

Oppenheim, Rabbi Baer, of Eybeschutz, 211–212 Orah Hayyim, 89, 91–92 organizational ecology theory, 20 organizational life, complexity of, 8 organizational proliferation, 8–9 organizational repertoire, 24 organizations, effects of institutions and institutional forces, 21 organization theory, 18–25 Orthodox feminism, 45, 49, 52–53 Orthodox Judaism, 44, 47, 51–52, 56–59, 69, 80, 85, 90, 188, 197 Orthodox Union, 42n146, 4953–4, 59–60

P

Panel for Halakhic Inquiry, 38, 40, 62 Pardes, 55 Peikarz, Mendel, 194 Pelaggi, Rabbi Chaim, 214 Perfet, Rabbi Isaac bar Sheshet (Rivash), 282–283, 289, 292 polygyny, 256–261 PORAT (People for Orthodox Renaissance and Torah), 47–49, 69 Powell, Walter W., 21–23 Protestant denominational families in America, 68 Prussian Cabinet Decree of 1823, 205 Pruzansky, Steven, 51 psychoneuroimmunology (PNI), 307 punishment, 193

R

Rabbinats-Candidat, 208 Rabbinical Assembly (RA), 40 Rabbinical Council of America (RCA), 51, 93 Raphall, Rabbi Morris, 204 Rath, Rabbi Meshullam, 95 rationalization, 153–154 Ravitzky, Aviezer, 75 Reconstructionist Judaism, 29, 50, 61 Reform Judaism, 14, 17, 29, 199, 202, 220, 233, 240 Reischer, Rabbi Yaacov, 284 religious movements, 25, 27–29, 32–36, 43, 61, 63, 68 Religious Zionism, 99, 101, 107–108, 134, 189–192 resource dependency theory, 20 rituals, 80

319

320

Index Rosenheim, Jacob, 214 Rosenstein, Rabbi Moshe, of Łomża, 187 Rosin, Rabbi Yosef, 181 Rossi, Azariah del, 285 Royal Victorian Order, insignia of, 204

S

Sabbateanism, 136–138, 140–141, 144, 167, 176, 188 Sabbath prohibitions, 299 bringing relatives to patients and, 309–310 halakhic rulings, 300–304, 309 overriding, 311–312 safek pikuah nefesh, 306–308 Shemirath Shabbath rules, 308 Torah vs Rabbinic prohibitions, 304–306 Sacks, Rabbi Jonathan, 220–221 safek pikuah nefesh, 306–308 safe space, 54 Salah, Asher, 222 Salanter, Rabbi Israel, 179, 179n161, 180 Sarna, Jonathan, 17, 43, 58 Schick, Rabbi Moshe (Maharam), 145n36, 288 schism, 65–70 conflict and, 35–42, 66 religious, 25–32, 35 sectarian and cult, 28 Schneerson, Rabbi, 95 Schreiber, Rabbi Moshe, 289 Schweid, Eliezer, 193 Scott, Ronald G., 6 Scott, W. Richard, 20 sects, 27–28 Shimon ben Eleazar, Rabbi, 247 Shinnar, Reuel, 44 Shlomo of Karlin, Rabbi, 155 Shneur Zalman of Lyadi, Rabbi, 155–157, 157n80–81, 158–163, 166, 178, 190 Sholom Ber of Lubavitch, Rabbi, 174 Shulchan Aruch, 233–236, 238, 311 Sifkin, Rabbi Nathan, 294–295 simple believer, 130–132, 170 simple faith, 131–132, 134–136, 139–142, 144–145, 145n36, 150–151 in Hasidism, 146–176 motivators for, 135–189 as a religious ideal of Judaism, 132 rise of, 134–135 theological arguments, 192–197

triumph of, 188–191 sins, 136–137 social change, 19 social cohesion, 34 social movements in organizations, 20 social movement theory, 19 Sofer, Rabbi Moshe, 142–146, 184 Soloveitchik, Rabbi Joseph B., 94n63, 190 Soloveitchik, Rabbi Hayim, of Brisk, 185 Sperber, Rabbi Daniel, 44, 50–51 Spiro, Jack D., 79, 244 Stark, Rodney, 25n101, 28–29 Steinberg, Avraham, 272–273, 280 Stern, Rabbi Moshe, 93 Stourdzé, Rabbi Haim, 233–235 Sudnow, David, 243 Svei, Rabbi Elya, 43

T

Talmud, 270–271 Talmudic governance, 271–272 Talmudic view of medicine, 274–275 critical view of, 275–280, 276n19 notion of “nature changed,” 283–285 in premodern Europe, 285–289 twentieth–twenty-first centuries, 289–298 theological believer, 131 theological faith, 131 Tiktin, Rabbi Salomon, 205 Torah, 47–48, 77, 79, 82, 84–85, 88, 94, 96, 101, 104, 107–108, 121, 134, 137, 139–150, 159–160, 162, 181, 183–184, 185n178, 190, 193, 195, 218, 224, 226, 246, 257, 261, 267, 272, 276n19, 282– 283, 285, 293–294, 300–308, 310–312 Turner, Victor, 78 Tzvi Hirsch of Ziditchov, Rabbi, 162, 178

U

ultra-Orthodox community, 79, 125, 190–197, 271–272, 291–295 Bat Mitzvah and, 77, 93, 97, 103–104 rejection of modern technology, 77 Union des Rabbins Français, 229–232 Union for Traditional Conservative Judaism (UTCJ), 36–42, 61–63, 67 Union for Traditional Judaism (UTJ), 2, 29, 36–42, 59, 61, 63–65, 67 Union Libérale Israélite, 233

Index United Synagogue, 64 United Synagogue Youth, 41 Univers Israélite, 232–233 unrestricted visitation policy (UVP), 309 Uri L’Tzedek, 55 U.S. Internal Revenue Service (IRS), 6

Windmueller, Steven, 14 Wise, Isaac Mayer, 204 Wolff, Rabbi Mathieu, 232 Wosner, Rabbi Shmuel, 302, 304, 312 Wuthnow, Robert, 32

V

Ya’akov Yosef of Polna, Rabbi, 148–150, 152, 158 Yated Ne’eman, 57 Ya’vetz, Rabbi Yosef, 176 Yehoshua ben Bateira, Rabbi, 258, 262 Yeshivat Chovevei Torah (YCT), 53–55 Yeshivat Har’el, 55 Yeshivat Maharat, 50 Yeshiva University, 58 Rabbi Isaac Elchanan Theological Seminary (RIETS), 53 Yitzhak of Volozhin, Rabbi, 179 Yo’atzot, 44 yoledet (postpartum woman), 302 Yosef, Rabbi Obadya, 99–101, 308 Responsa Yabia Omer, 99 Responsa Yechave Da’at, 99–100 Yosef Zundel of Salant, Rabbi, 179 yud, point of, 194

Va’ad Hagiyyur, 55, 62 Van Gennep, Arnold, 78–79 visits of relatives to patients restricted visitation policy (RVP), 309 state of acute confusion and disorientation and, 310 unrestricted visitation policy (UVP), 309 victims of a terrorist attack and, 310

W

Wachtfogel, Rabbi Eliyahu Dov, 294 Waldenberg, Rabbi Eliezer, 95 Walkin, Rabbi Aharon, 81–82 Waltz, Rabbi Yisroel, 97 Wasserman, Rabbi Elhanan, 185–186 Weber, Max, 19 Weill, Rabbi Michel, 228 Weinberg, Rabbi Yehiel Yaakov, 86–88 Weiskopf, Moïse, 231 Weiss, Rabbi Asher, 312 Weiss, Rabbi Avraham (Avi), 44, 47–48, 50, 54, 56 Weiss-Greenberg, Sharon, 50 Western clerical dress, 201 Wiener, Max, 206

Y

Z

Zionism, 17, 115, 126–127, 189–192, 271 Zirelson, Rabbi Yehudah Leib, 212 Zohar, 138, 141, 280, 316 Zundel of Salant, Rabbi Yosef, 179 Zutrah, Rabbi Avraham, 81

321