On Being Godly- God's place in the life of an Orthodox Jew

It happened a number of times. I started to think about writing what I’m about to write, and then I decided not to. I wasn’t sure if this was a topic which I could address in a thoughtful, meaningful, and nuanced manner. Each time however, something occurred which convinced me that I had to write it. Yesterday, after this pattern was completed for a third time, I decided that I had no choice but to try. I am not sure if I will be fully successful in trying to express what I want to say. At the very least, I hope I will spur a larger discussion.

The Orthodox world has a God problem.

Well, not exactly a God problem, as much as a language of God problem, or maybe a comfort with discussing God problem. Many of us, including our rabbis and teachers can easily discuss halacha and mitzvos, but somehow few attempt to discuss the encounter with God, in general, and their personal encounter with God, in particular.

Recently, a virtual friend bemoaned the fact that he could not hear a certain theologian who defines himself as halachic egalitarian in my friend’s own Orthodox shul. In the subsequent discussion I wondered aloud (assuming one can do that in a comment on FB) whether the problem was larger than whether this theologian, who I admire greatly, could speak in an Orthodox shul. Perhaps, I suggested, a big part of the problem is that there is a dearth of Orthodox thinkers who are openly willing to explore their faith in an open manner, and the fact that we need to look outside of our community to find those who are willing.

I would never question the value of learning and observing halacha. I strongly believe that halacha helps us encounter God in an embodied manner in all areas of our life. Still, I do wonder whether the fact that halacha plays such a large role in our lives, leads to the possible outcome that we get stuck in the details of the act, and lose the ability to feel, think about, and discuss the encounter with God which lays behind and within halacha itself.

More recently, while driving, I listened to a podcast where my friend and colleague Rabbi Joshua Bolton, a Reconstructionist rabbi, who works with students at the University of Pennsylvania, described his religious experience, including his encounter with God. It was profound, holy, and powerful. It shook me to my core. Part of what bothered me was that I couldn’t think of the last time I heard an Orthodox rabbi talk so openly about what it means to believe. Somewhere in the back of my head I wondered how many rabbis could find the words to discuss it. At first I pushed off this thought by thinking that talking about God is not an Orthodox activity. Immediately, I thought about things I’ve read from Rav Aharon Lichtenstein, Rav Amital, the Piaseczna Rebbe, and Hillel Zeitlin where they discuss their encounter with God. My next question was, why is this not happening (more often?) in the Orthodox world?

I get it. Not everyone is going to encounter God in the same way. Heck, when I listen to Rav Herschel Schachter address an obscure halachic topic for an hour, it is a deeply religious experience, even as I can’t fully explain why. Still, when was the last time you heard a rosh yeshiva or shul rabbi explain what they experience when they learn a Ketzos or a Rav Chaim? I can’t help but wonder whether part of the discomfort that many Jews express about the lack of meaningfulness of tefillah (see this recent study for an example) comes from the fact that past a fairly young age, nobody talks about God anymore.

The final straw which convinced me to write this, came yesterday. This time, it was listening to Christian pastor Eugene Peterson address his religious experience on the NPR show On Being, a show which explores what it means to be human. I listened to him explain what he gets from reading the Book of Psalms. I heard him talk about how the experience of anger and frailty fits into his encounters with God. His experience was not my experience. In fact, his approach to religion, as well as his translation of the bible, do not fully resonate with me. Still, for 50 minutes I was enrapt. When the show was over I found myself wondering about which rabbis or teachers could so openly, comfortably, and compellingly discuss what they mean when they talk about God, and what they experience when they read Tehillim, forget something due to old age, or look in a baby’s eyes.

We are religious. We are observant. We learn Torah. We do mitzvos. Where in all of that, and in the world around us and inside of us do we find God?

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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

Unmaking of a Godol?- what those who we most venerate says about who we are

Let’s be honest. Terms like “gadol” and “tzaddik” are amorphous and hard to define. I would go so far as to say that our use of these terms says at least as much about ourselves, as it does about those to whom we assign these titles. Sometimes these terms speak of what we value; Torah scholarship, kindness, and other abilities and traits. Other times, these titles expose a darker side to the world, as we show how much we can tolerate certain faults and flaws, without removing someone from the pedestal on which they’ve been placed.

A few weeks ago, Rav Yisroel Belsky z”l passed away. A number of my friends posted about him in very positive terms. Being that I did not learn in Torah Vodaas, and was only familiar with some negative issues, I posted asking people to tell me the positive things they knew about him. I discovered some wonderful things about him. I was told about the tremendous chessed he did for so many people, including some, who many other people would not help. There were people who spoke about him welcoming people into his home, when nobody else would do so. The stories were truly beautiful.I heard about his tremendous genius, and how he knew a lot about science in addition to much Torah. I was moved by what I heard. Still, I couldn’t get the other things I already knew out of my head.

I am not writing to judge Rav Belsky who, like all of us, was human. We like our heroes to be perfect and villains to be nothing but bad, but that’s not how it works. He is no longer alive and any judgement will come from God, and not me. What I can’t get out of my mind is how many in the frum community can use the terms “tzaddik” and “gadol” for someone who did some things which can not be defended. I’m not going to list everything that he did, but his involvement with two generations of Kolko abusers will suffice. Even if one will argue that Rav Belsky did not know the full extent of what abuse the senior Kolko perpetrated, or that, given the times, he was not aware of the consequences, the nasty attack on a prominent family in Lakewood, when their child was abused, can not in any way be excused. Even when many in Lakewood, apologized to the family who they had driven out from the community, and welcomed them back, Rav Belsky never backed down to his dying day, even though the abuser pled guilty in court, and is sitting in jail.

Again, I will leave the judgement of how to view this complicated man, who did so much good, and some pretty serious bad, to God, but what of the community that venerated him? There are all sorts of small things that might have gotten him kicked out of the gadol and/or tzaddik club. Imagine the uproar had he said that bnei yeshiva in charedi yeshivas in Israel should serve in the army. What would have been said in the frum periodicals if he had started a college program in the yeshiva? He might even have been attacked if he was seen drinking the so-called “chalav stam”. I am not suggesting that he be treated without respect for the many good things he did. Rather, it just seems to me that terms like gadol and tzaddik, are, or at least should be, reserved for the select few who are role-models in the truest sense of the term.

Of course, this is not just an issue that connects to Rabbi Belsky. The Satmar Rebbe is treated with tremendous respect by his community, and by some from outside of it, despite having protected abusers from within Satmar. What does it say when a misheberach for Israeli soldiers would mark him as treif, but protecting Weberman and others does not? If we call rabbis who protect abusers by titles which suggest that they are the most venerated members of our community, what message are we giving to the victims of abuse?

A number of months before Rabbi Belsky passed away, Rav Aharon Lichtenstein zt”l passed away. As a true gadol ba’Torah, there were many stories about his brilliance, knowledge and hasmada. There were also many story of his tziddkus; stories when he was kind in ways beyond what we would expect, stories of how every person he met was treated with kindness, dignity and respect. There was one thing that I didn’t hear discussed at the time, but which I will never forget. When it became clear that Rav Motti Elon, a prominent rosh yeshiva in the Dati Leumi  world, had been guilty of abusing students, Rav Aharon did everything within his power to see that Elon was removed from his position of power. This despite the fact that Elon was not involved in Rav Aharon’s yeshiva. He suffered many unfair attacks from Elon’s apologists, but Rav Aharon would not be stopped. His actions conveyed the message to those who had been abused that they mattered to him, and that their pain was his pain.

I don’t use words like gadol and tzaddik lightly, but when I do, it is for those who live up to the ideals of the Torah, in the truest way possible. Rav Aharon was a gadol and a tzaddik. When we think about who deserves these titles, we should have role-models like Rav Aharon in mind.

"Let’s be honest. Terms like “gadol” and “tzaddik” are amorphous and hard to define. I would go so far as to say that...

Posted by Pesach Sommer on Wednesday, February 10, 2016

A Deep and Flowing River- a review of A River Flowed from Eden by Rabbi Ari Kahn

I must admit, that I am not a fan of “vortlach” and thus, many divrei Torah heard around the Shabbos table tend to not work for me. While I understand that a devar Torah said over before bentching is not the place for a long and complicated idea, I still believe that Torah should never be presented in a way that is cute or “shtick-y”. It was precisely for that reason that I was excited to see Rabbi Ari Kahn’s latest book A River Flowed From Eden: Torah for the Shabbos Table. Having been a big fan of Rabbi Kahn’s Torah for many years, I hoped that he could combine his usual erudition and depth, with the brevity that is required for a devar Torah that is said around the Shabbos table. Thankfully, my hopes were realized.

I first encountered Rabbi Kahn nearly 20 years ago. I was learning in the kollel at Aish HaTorah, where Rabbi Kahn taught a beginners class at the time. Occasionally, when I would get a little “gemara-ed out”, I’d go up to Rabbi Kahn’s classroom and listen as he explained a piece of aggadeta to students who had been in the yeshiva for a very short time. I was incredibly impressed with Rabbi Kahn’s ability to translate and explain a fascinating story from the gemara, and make it understandable to newcomers to the world of Torah, while, at the same time, explaining the story in a novel, creative and intellectual manner. While I have subsequently read and heard many of Rabbi Kahn’s shiurim, it was these classes that I thought back to, as I read his newest book. Once again, Rabbi Kahn manages to combine his own creativity (his devar Torah on Noach  is one of the places where he is brilliant and original), and the ideas that he learned from his own revered teachers, Rav Yosef Soloveitchik, Rav Yitzchak Hutner, and Rav Aharon Lichtenstein, zichronam liveracha, and present them in a way that is accessible even for those who do not have the same background.

To cite one example from parashat Shelach, this week’s parsha, Rav Kahn notes that when Moshe delivers instructions to the meraglim at the beginning of the parsha, his words indicate that, in fact, Moshe knows that the land is good. This can be seen from the fact that he instructs them to bring back fruit after asking if the land has fruit trees. If he were unsure of what they would find, Moshe would not have been able to say that. Quoting his rebbe Rav Soloveitchik, Rav Kahn suggests that the meraglim misunderstood their mission. Through the use of an analogy, Rav Kahn explains the sin of the meraglim as being that they saw themselves as spies, whose job was to to ascertain whether the land of Israel was good.. In the space of a few pages, Rav Kahn manages to combine depth, scholarship and creativity, while sharing Torah that will be enjoyed by everyone sitting at the Shabbos table.

Alec Goldstein, of Kodesh Press has done a wonderful job of publishing English Jewish books that are both thoughtful, readable, and attractive. It is my hope and wish that he will continue to have success doing so and that books like “A River Flows from Eden” will find the large audience that it deserves.

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Chasdei HaShem- Getting things right with the Ethiopians in Israel

For most of my life, my connection to Tehillim has been tenuous. Of course, I am familiar with sections of it due to the fact that I daven three times a day. Still, perhaps partially due to my discomfort with Tehillim being recited in ways that seem, to me at least, more magical than theological, I have spent little time studying, or even considering most of the perakim of Tehillim. Recently, for reasons I can’t explain, or perhaps, won’t share, that has begun to change. So when I had the opportunity to take part in a project spearheaded by Yeshivat Har Etzion to study all of Tanach and Shas by the shloshim of Rav Aharon Lichtenstein zt”l, I decided to sign up to study a perek of Tehillim. Given the available perakim, and the desire to study a perek where I lacked familiarity, I ended up with perek 107.

This perek discusses those who have been saved by God and invites them to praise Him. After a brief general introduction, the Psalmist discusses those who have crossed the desert:

2 So let the redeemed of the LORD say, whom He hath redeemed from the hand of the adversary.

3 And gathered them out of the lands, from the east and from the west, from the north and from the sea.

4 They wandered in the wilderness in a desert way; they found no city of habitation.

5 Hungry and thirsty, their soul fainted in them.

6 Then they cried unto the LORD in their trouble, and He delivered them out of their distresses.

7 And He led them by a straight way, that they might go to a city of habitation.

8 Let them give thanks unto the LORD for His mercy, and for His wonderful works to the children of men!

9 For He hath satisfied the longing soul, and the hungry soul He hath filled with good.

As I read these pesukim, I immediately thought of the Ethiopians who were brought to Israel decades ago, in what felt like the latest demonstration of  the gathering of the exiles. I recalled reading of the dangerous trek that the Ethiopian Jews had to make to get to Adis Abbaba, where they were flown to safety in Israel. It was not hard to imagine the joy they would experience in living in the land of their dreams.The Psalmist seemed to be discussing the very experience of the Ethiopian Jews. Of course, once the Ethiopian Jews came to mind, I began to think of the protests currently taking place in Israel, where Ethiopian Jews are protesting against police brutality and the general inequality of how they have been treated by their fellow Jews.

One of the big things that I have taken away from the eulogies for Rav Aharon, is the focus he placed on humanism. When he saw suffering of any kind in the world, it pained him. Although I am not aware of anything he said or wrote about the Ethiopians, it is not hard for me to imagine that he would have identified with the pain they are feeling.

Perhaps it was naive to believe that Kibbutz Galuyot would happen smoothly, and bump-free. Still, even if I move past my naive dreaming, I am saddened as, once again, a group of Jews miraculously brought to Israel, are mistreated. It seems like the lessons that should have been learned from how the various Sefaradi communities, and the Teimanim were treated, have not been learned.

At the same time, it is heartening to see that protests are not being ignored, and that the Ethiopians are being heard. Perhaps, now is the time to when a major step will be taken in creating the type of community that can truly be a lesson to the nations of the world. If we can finally take steps in that direction, we will be able to join with the Psalmist and say

42 The upright see it, and are glad; and all iniquity stoppeth her mouth.

43 Whoso is wise, let him observe these things, and let them consider the mercies of the LORD.

Faith Restored - How Rav Aharon Lichtenstein zt"l helped me regain my faith

Where were his answers? How could he not have dealt with such important and pressing questions? As the most profound thinker in the Orthodox world, how could Rav Aharon Lichtenstein not have written something that would answer the challenges presented by biblical criticism? I was floundering, and desperately trying to hold onto my faith, and I needed the answers to my questions.

Looking back at that early stage of my search, I realize that the premise on which my questions were asked was flawed. As I was to discover, there are no perfect answers to the questions of biblical criticism that, magically, make the questions go away. Still, for a long time I was dismayed by the fact that Rav Aharon zt”l had not thought to take the issue on. To be sure, I was to discover that to some degree, Rav Aharon had in fact dealt with some aspects of biblical criticism. Still, he had limited that to a particular area, one that did not address my questions.

What struck me as odd at the time, was how frum (in the negative sense of the term) Rav Aharon’s approach to avoiding these questions seemed to me. How could someone with such an intellect, and depth and breadth of knowledge, simply suggest that one remain faithful. Couldn’t he, at the very least, explain to us how he had done so, and why the questions did not bother him? Or, if in fact they did bother him, why not explain how he lived with those questions?

Eventually I discovered that he had in fact given me the tools to stay within the world of faith. In 1996, Rav Aharon wrote, what for me was one of the most profound essays on faith. In it, he wrote:

What I received from all my mentors, at home or in yeshiva, was the key to confronting life, particularly modern life, in all its complexity: the recognition that it was not so necessary to have all the answers as to learn to live with the questions. Regardless of what issues--moral, theological, textual or historical--vexed me, I was confident that they had been raised by masters far sharper and wiser than myself; and if they had remained impregnably steadfast in their commitment, so should and could I. I intuited that, his categorical formulations and imperial certitude notwithstanding, Rav Hutner had surely confronted whatever questions occurred to me. Later, I felt virtually certain the Rav had, so that the depth and intensity of their service of G-d was doubly reassuring. (Emphasis added)

It seems he had questions of his own, and yet, due to his own humility and trust in those who had taught him, Rav Aharon had managed to live with the questions. If a gadol like him could live with the questions, and not just live, but live with a deep and profound faith, I too could live with my questions.

It is here that I come to what might be the most profound lesson that Rav Aharon can teach those of us in the world of Modern Orthodoxy. Many times, we are blown away by intellect. We speak about Torah U’Mada, dialectic, and synthesis. Some trot out Rav Aharon’s PHD from Harvard, as if that somehow validates him. Too often, we assume that serious intellectual engagement and deep faith are incompatible. Rav Aharon showed otherwise. The same person who knew Shas, and, l’havdil, Milton, cold, could say “Yehei Shmei Rabbah” with all of his strength, and read the words “Dirshu HaShem B’himatzo” from the depths of his soul. While I’m not sure how much we can take away from his searing intellect, I know how much we have to learn from his deep and passionate faith.