Requiem for a Movement- A review of Torah and Western Thought, and thoughts on the demise of a movement

It is not often that I read a book which not only causes me to think deeply about the subject-matter, but also gets me to examine who I am as a Jew, as well as to question my sense of belonging to a community. Torah and Western Thought: Intellectual Portraits of Orthodoxy and Modernity, which was recently published in a joint venture by Maggid Press and Yeshiva University Press, is one such book. As I read this fascinating work, I not only thought about the nine men and one women whose intellectual biographies make up this book, but I also thought about Modern-Orthodoxy as an intellectual movement, and to what degree it still exists. By the time I finished the last essay, I had, with some regret, reached the conclusion that, at least in America, Modern Orthodoxy as an intellectual movement has had its day. Thus, after briefly reviewing this book, I will continue with some thoughts about  a world that once existed, a world which I have found to be very nourishing, but has mostly passed from the scene. I hope to generate thoughtful discussion on this topic, as well as offer some thoughts about the future of Modern-Orthodoxy as a social and intellectual movement.

Torah and Western Thought, which is edited by  Rabbis Meir Soloveichik and Shlomo Zuckier, both of whom also wrote or co-authored essays in the book, as well Dr. Stuart Halpern, contains ten intellectual biographies of major leaders, thinkers, and teachers, who combined serious Torah, with involvement in at least some major aspect of Western thought. Some of the essays cover those who we might expect to be in such a work, such as Rav Yosef Ber Soloveichik, Rav Aharon Lichtenstein, zt”l, and, yibadel bein hachayim v’hachayim, Rabbi Norman Lamm. Other essays cover individuals who are less well known, and/or whom we would not necessarily associate with this topic, such as Rav Yitzchak Herzog, Professor Nehama Leibowitz (as she is called in the book, and is this case with all honorifics used here)), and Rabbi Immanuel Jakobovits zt”l.

Each essay is well-written and thought provoking, and even in the instances where I am fairly well read in the Torah of these giants of Torah, such as Rav Kook, Rav Aharon, and Rav Amital zt”l, I gained a great deal from the essay. I also learned about certain thinkers about whom I knew very little. Of particular interest, was the essay on Professor Isadore Twersky, whose combination of scholarship, piety, and avodas HaShem gave me much to think about.

Although I highly recommend this work to anyone who is moved by ideas, and/or interested in learning about these great thinkers, there are a few small critical points I would make. Although the title of the book gives a sense of the goal of the unified whole, the collection of individuals whose biographies are found in this book, do not really seem to be linked in any significant way. Additionally, while the essays on Professor Leibowitz, Rabbi Jacobovits, and Rav Herzog were very interesting, those individuals do  not seem to fit with the other thinkers, and thus, the overall theme. Finally, and it is here that I transition into my thoughts on the world of intellectual Modern Orthodoxy, nine of the ten people who are profiled are no longer alive, and the last, Rabbi Lamm is advanced in age, and fits well with the others, as a thinker whose main contributions were made in the 20th Century.

Although I believe it should already be clear, I am not suggesting that Modern Orthodoxy as a sociological movement is weak. There are many communities, shuls, schools and yeshivot who identify as Modern Orthodox. Their members believe in the importance of secular studies, are Zionistic, and have the other general traits which link together Modern Orthodox Jews. Rather, it is the intellectual philosophy which once was a major part of being Modern Orthodox, which has mostly disappeared in America.

Modern Orthodoxy is built on the shoulders of the aforementioned Rav Yosef Soloveichik, who offers a model which rarely, if ever, can be copied. As with the Rambam who is often suggested as an early model for Modern Orthodox thought, the reality of the superhuman approach of the Rav, as he is colloquially known, is one that is sui generis. He was a once in a generation (if not more) thinker, who combined the highest levels of Torah scholarship, punctilious halachic observance, and serious and profound involvement with the best ideas of the Western thought. To achieve one of those is highly admirable, while joining two of the three is no small feat. To suggest that others could achieve all three is beyond unreasonable. Communal aspirations can not be built on the basis of the approach of giants. Most of those who served as examples of a similar approach are no longer alive, while those who remain are advanced in age. If the same work was written in 30 years, it is hard to imagine who from the Modern orthodox world in America might be included. That is not to suggest that there are not individuals who strive to combine these aspects of service of God, but overall, our community's focus, as well as that of its leaders, seems to be elsewhere.

Perhaps it is by chance that the essay on Rav Aharon is at the end of the book, but in the section which is written by Rav Shalom Carmy, a complex and telling picture of Rav Aharon is drawn. Rav Carmy shows that despite the fact that Rav Aharon represented much, if not all, of what his illustrious father-in-law achieved, he was very realistic about the perils of trying to excel in all three of these areas. Furthermore, Rav Carmy shows that, given a choice between sacrificing one of these goals, it is excellence in Western thought that Rav Aharon would choose. Rav Aharon, who was deeply traditional, and, despite his creativity, quite conservative, made clear that Torah and avodas HaShem must be the main goal of any committed Jew. As opposed to Rabbi Lamm who speaks of synthesis, Rav Aharon did not use that phrase. He did not believe that secular knowledge somehow created a better Jew than Torah alone could produce. It is instructive that Rav Aharon would not be disappointed with a community that did not possess great knowledge of Western thought. He would, however, see a lacking in a community where serious Torah, tefillah, and creation of a deep inner-life was lacking.

So what now for the American Modern Orthodox community? Based on Rav Aharon, perhaps it is time for shuls and schools to put a greater emphasis on helping to produce bnei and bnot Torah, who take their avodas HaShem, including talmud Torah, and shmiras hamitzvos very seriously. Perhaps Rav Shimshon Raphael Hirsch’s kehillah (at least in its early iteration) can serve as a model. Rather than an emphasis on creating gedolei Torah, or even roshei yeshiva, his Frankfurt community strove to produce serious balebatim. If, as Rav Aharon suggests, we can’t have it all, we need to carefully focus on what is the ikkar, and not confuse it with the tafel. It is also good to remember that, even in YU under Rabbi Lamm’s leadership, far more students were interested in the Torah u’parnassa track, than were interested in Torah U’Mada. I suspect that this was true in earlier generations as well.

For those who strive to live a life that combines all of the ideals of classical Modern Orthodoxy, it is to be found, in a somewhat different form, in Israel. Rav Aharon and Rav Amital’s Gush, Bar-Ilan, as well as other yeshivas and institutions, offer an approach where both worlds can be lived, under the guidance, and through the example, of those who believe that Torah and Western thought can be part of one person’s worldview. It is in Israel where one can truly apply the Torah to building a just, moral, and holy society.

Finally, should we mourn the change in American Modern Orthodoxy? While there are some, myself included, who continue to be moved by ideas like Torah U’Mada (or whatever name you wish to use), a movement has no inherent right to exist. As always, communities evolve. Particularly as denominational and communal lines blur, it is unrealistic to expect that what worked to some degree in the 50s and 60s, will still be meaningful and successful today. To paraphrase what has been said (by whom is not clear), the philosophical graveyards are full of indispensable movements. I hope that whatever comes next will be nourishing to those who make up the Modern Orthodox community.

"It is not often that I read a book which not only causes me to think deeply about the subject-matter, but also gets me...

Posted by Pesach Sommer on Wednesday, March 30, 2016

Does Modern Orthodoxy Have a Future?

In the Middle Ages two theoretical approaches to Jewish thought emerged; rational philosophy and mysticism. Although neither approach was completely new, they were “new” in the sense that they were formulated in a way that made them accessible to the average Jew (or at least, the average Jewish male). By the 14^th century the two were vying for the minds and hearts of Jews across Europe. Many of the greatest and most well-known Rishonim could be found in one of the two camps. It was far from clear which approach, if any, would win the day.

Looking back from where we sit today, it's hard to imagine that the two approaches were ever on equal footing. In terms of popularity, mysticism seems to routed rational philosophy. The chassidic world, and large parts of the Sefardic and yeshivish communities follow approaches which lean heavily, if not entirely, on mystical thought. Meanwhile, books like the Moreh Nevuchim, Sefer HaIkarim, and Ohr HaShem are for the most part, absent from the yeshivah curriculum. Even Rambam's Yud Gimmel Ikkarim, survives today absent the philosophical ideas which lay behind their formulation. While some of the popularity of mystical thought can be explained by the major tragedies which occurred in our community over the past 600 years, as well as personalities like the Baal Shem Tov, the Baal HaTanya and Rav Chaim Volozhin, there seems to be something else at play. Mysticism seems to tap into some human need, in a way that rational philosophy does not. It invests halacha and tefilla with a level of significance that is not found in the rational approaches. Mysticism suggests that our actions matter in the most serious of ways. In communities where mysticism plays a significant role, there is a high level of commitment, and, often, passion.

What does this mean for those of us who are not moved by and/or can not accept the claims made by mysticism? Is there a way to create communities where Avodas HaShem is not only important, but is engaged with in a serious and passionate manner? I'm not so sure. Rabbi Norman Lamm once said that our communities should be passionately moderate and not moderately passionate. If this is indeed the goal, for the most part, we are failing. A rabbi I know once shared a story with me. He told over the story of Franz Rosenzweig in his shul. Rosenzweig, who became a serious Jewish thinker, had been ready to convert to Christianity. Shortly before his conversion, he attended a Kol Nidrei service in a Chassidic shtiebel. Rosenzweig was so moved by the experience that he decided not to to convert. The rabbi asked his congregation “If Rosenzweig had davened with us, would he have stayed Jewish”?

While, to some degree, I think the problem is worse for the Modern Orthodox communities in the diaspora, which often lose their most inspired members to aliyah, it is an issue in Israeli communities as well. A friend of mine, who lives in a community which is built near a well-respected Hesder yeshiva, bemoaned the fact that many of the teenagers of the community were less “into it” than their parents. I would also suggest that the draw of Carlebach, both in terms of music and davening, as well as other neo-Chassidic approaches suggest that the youth from moderate communities in Israel are looking for something “deeper”.

To be sure, truth is not a popularity contest, but it is time for those of us in the Modern Orthodox world to wake up and figure out what we can do to create more meaningful religious experiences for us and our children. If our approach is not able to better engage our hearts and souls, it will not matter how much it engages our minds.

Post by Pesach Sommer.

Passionate Moderation- A D'var Torah for Purim

I went through a time when I was “Kanai”, a religious zealot. Every religious argument was a fight to the death, with every hill worth dying for. Every transgression by others was deserving of Divine punishment (although somehow, my own transgressions were excluded). My wife would joke that it came with being a Levi, and having Pinchas as my bar mitzvah parsha and Eliyahu HaNavi in my haftorah. Truth is, if one examines the Jewish attitude towards zealotry as seen in the Torah and through the eyes of Chazal, it becomes clear that we live in a time where the only passion of the time should be, to quote Rabbi Norman Lamm (who should have a refuah sheleima), to be “passionately moderate”. I would suggest that this is one of the lessons of Purim.

The gemara (Shabbos 88a) discusses the idea that when it came to receiving the Torah at Har Sinai, Bnei Yisrael did not really have a choice. This is symbolically represented by the idea that God held Har Sinai over their heads and gave them a choice of accepting the Torah, or dying on the spot. Of course, this did not literally happen. The idea is that at that point knowing what they knew about HaShem and in general, being who they were and where they were, there was no choice but to accept the Torah. As noted by Rav Acha bar Yaakov, this made the acceptance less than ideal. We all know that a forced agreement is not much of an agreement. Rabah answers cryptically that they accepted the Torah willingly at the time of Purim. This is a very problematic statement. Where do we see an acceptance of the Torah during the time of Purim? If anything, the Jews are beginning to assimilate. After an analysis of knaus in the Torah, I will suggest an explanation to this challenging piece of aggada.

The first time we encounter an act of religious zealotry is when Shimon and Levi enter the city of Shechem, and kill Shechem who has raped (and/or seduced) Dinah, along with the male inhabitants of the city of Shechem. After they return, Yaakov angrily confronts them, and later, on his deathbed, mentions this heinous act (as opposed to their intent). While on a simple reading one could suggest that Shimon and Levi's actions were no more than an honor killing, it appears to be more than that. Rambam, Ramban and others struggle to understand the moral/halachic justifications for the brother's act, suggesting that there was more to the killing than simply avenging a family wrong. Tellingly, despite the explanations which suggest some sort of justification, the brothers are still seen as having acted unjustly and against the will of God. Even if Shechem has acted immorally, absent a commandment from God, one does not appoint oneself as judge, jury and executioner.

This of course, is the difference later on, when Moshe gathers the Leviyim to him with a cry of “Mi L'Hashem Eilai” to punish those who have worshiped the golden calf. Only now that God has revealed his law can the punishment be given. Only Moshe, who can speak with God “directly” can be the one to issue this call to action. Later on when Pinchas executes Zimri and Kazbi for their grossly immoral public act, Chazal are quick to limit the applicability of this act to very specific circumstances and very specific individuals. They even suggest that he got permission from Moshe before acting(!). “Kanayim pogim bo” is anything but a blanket invitation to vigilantism. Interestingly, Chazal recognized a thematic link between Pinchas and Eliyahu HaNavi (“Pinchas Zu Eliyahu”) who also is zealous for God. Ultimately, God reproaches Eliyahu for his zealousness against His/his own people, chiding him by asking whether God needs Eliyahu to stand up for him. God shows Eliyahu that He is to be encountered through a “kol demama daka” (quiet and gentle voice) rather than through thunder lightning or other powerful acts of nature. Eliyahu loses his mandate of prophecy with the implicit message that his job is to bring close, rather than to punish or push away.

While one might suggest that the story of Chanuka seems to allow for kanaus, and cries of “Mi L'HaShem Eilai”, the story does not end with the re-dedication of the Beis HaMikdash. Rather it ends with the Hasmonean descendants turning the sword against each other and against their people. Even when their actions are mentioned as part of the praises in the shemoneh esrei and birkas hamazon, their zealotry against their fellow Jews is somewhat hidden. Additionally, their less than ideal commitment to HaShem is suggested by the Ramban who says that the Chashmonaim should have given the leadership of the people to one from shevet Yehudah, rather than taking it for them selves.

Purim, the only holiday which takes place based on an event in Galus, suggests a very different approach. When the Jews of Shushan attend Achashveirsoh's party and bow to Haman, Mordechai, who along with his people, is in exile, does not try to forcibly change their behavior. Instead, he tries to lead by example. He continues to refuse to bow, no matter how much the Jews protest. In a yet to be redeemed world, the certainty which allows one to act with zealotry for the sake of God no longer exists. The transition from the almost absolute certainty of the prophet (for all but Moshe) to the lesser certainty of the chachamim has begun. “Lo BaShamayim he”. Machlokes is inevitable and even acceptable. Eilu v'eilu divrei Elokim Chayim. Mordechai can only suggest to Esther that perhaps she has become the queen for the purpose of saving the Jews. When Mordechai and Esther are successful and victorious, the sword is not turned against their brethren who have sinned, but only against the enemy which seeks to destroy them. 

This then, is the explanation for Rabbah's words in maseches Shabbos. The new acceptance of the Torah refers to the new approach to HaShem and his Torah. From this point forward, force no longer plays a role in Kabbalas HaTorah. It is no longer about an offer that can not be refused, but a willing and loving choice.

The only call of Mordechai and those who follow afterwards can be “Mi L'Hashem, L'HaShem”, those who are for God should turn to God. God can be found through his word and not the sword. Alternatively, only God can say “Mi L'Hashem Eilai”, all who desire My presence should turn to Me.