Open the Book- Do we know as much as we think we do?

I really appreciate the thought of Rav Kook and study his sefarim as often as I can. It’s hard to imagine that I went more than 15 years without doing so. All because I thought I knew what he believed without having read a word of what he wrote.

19 years ago, I spent the year in a right-wing- Zionist Kollel in Israel. At the beginning, I did what I could to fit in. I started going by my Hebrew name, wore the right kind of kippah, and shared many of the religious and political views of my peers. Over time, for reasons that I will not discuss here, I stopped seeing eye to eye with many in the kollel. I wasn’t exactly sure what I believed, but I knew this was not my world. Along with that realization, I knew that Rav Kook was not for me. After all, if his writings had produced the philosophy of many of those in the kollel, it had nothing to teach me. I remember the moment when I made the decision to give up on Rav Kook. One of my friends, who was particularly strident in his views, called Rav Kook’s collective writings the “Shas HaLavan”, literally the white shas. In a somewhat joking manner, he was suggesting that in addition to the regular “Shas”, as the talmud is often called, there was the white Shas, the writings of Rav Kook, which have been published in Israel with a white cover with green print. If Rav Kook was for them, I knew it was not for me. It did not concern me that I had never read a single word of Rav Kook.

Over the past several years, I have had the opportunity to meet all sorts of Jews from outside of my little world. I have spoken with Toledos Aharon Chassidim, and with Reform Jews. I have attended the chag hasemicha at Yehivat Chovevei HaTorah, a secular kabbalat Shabbat in Jerusalem, and davened with Breslov in Tzefat. I have met people who love learning Torah, who have blue hair and multiple piercings, conversions that are not halachic, or are members of the LGBT community. I have met all sorts of people who are different from me. At times I have felt more comfortable and at times less, but always I have come away with a sense that I  better understood someone who is different from me. I have frequently left certain assumptions behind.

One of the best things about these meetings and interactions is that they forced me to leave my little world, where everyone thinks the same, and is sure who is in God’s good graces, and thinks they know who is sincere in their beliefs and actions. While it can be flattering to meet someone new and have them recognize my name from my blog, I have gained much more from the recognition that the vast majority have no clue who I am when we meet. While in my corner of the shul, or on my Facebook wall my opinion might matter, for most people out there, my thoughts are irrelevant.

Why do I write about this now? There seems to be a lot of opining, posturing, and arguing going on in the Jewish world right now. Many people and groups seem certain that they know who is on the right side, who should be teaching Torah, and what the world needs. Me? I’m confused. I have my opinions, but the more I meet people, and listen to them, the less I think I know. A lot of opinions I had in the past have fallen away as I’ve discovered the complexities of people and their situation.

There is one things that unites almost everyone with whom I’ve spoken. They are sick of the fighting. They don’t want leaders who posture and play politics. They are sick of the unnecessary divisions. I am not suggesting some mystical Shangri La where we all pretend that there are no issues to discuss, debate, and disagree. I am suggesting that we need to think really carefully before we introduce a new machlokes, something else to divide an all too divided people. While our comments and posts might score “likes” on Facebook amongst our friends, there are thousands of people who are looking for something else. Are we willing to listen to them?

[While I don't get into specifics, I hope that what follows encourages some thoughtful discussion and reflection on some...

Posted by Pesach Sommer on Monday, July 6, 2015

Achdus 2.0- My attempt to get real with achdut

It is difficult to admit that I have not been honest with myself. For a long time, I have spoken about achdus/achdut, Jewish unity. I have written about it, made efforts to pursue it and thought I was really living it, despite occasional objections from friends. When I read the op-ed by Rabbi Zev Shendalov, about his being menachem avel (making a shiva-call) to the Walles family, after the murder of Avraham Walles z”l H’YD by a terrorist, I realized I’d been lying to myself. I finally came to realize that my efforts at creating unity, and connecting with those from other worlds, only went in one direction. I was comfortable speaking at a Reform Temple, being part of a non-halachic (pre-Shabbos) Kabbalat Shabbat, and attending a non-denominational Beit Midrash, but I made no effort to connect with the charedi (yeshiva and chassidish) world.

As I thought about the Walles family, I was filled with shame. When Naftali Fraenkel, Eyal Yifrach and Gilad Sheer z”l H’YD were murdered, I was devastated. I attended Eyal’s funeral, and was menachem avel at the Fraenkel home. These were my people. They lived in communities with which I identified, came from the “right” camp and lived in places where I could imagine living. I felt a visceral need to connect and offer at least some comfort.

When Avraham Walles was murdered, I felt sad, but had no thought of being menachem avel. After all, he was a Toldos Ahron chossid. Toldos Ahron are strongly anti-Zionist, and insular, even by the standards of Meah Shearim. Like Shendalov, I had very rarely been off the main street of that charedi neighborhood. Walles was different from me and had an approach to Judaism that made me very uncomfortable. More to the point, it’s not just Toldos Ahron that makes me uncomfortable. The charedi world with which I once felt a stronger connection, no longer speaks to me. More than that, some its values and approaches bother me greatly.

Shendalov’s op-ed hit me like a ton of bricks. I recognized that my disconnect from the charedi world had crossed from disagreement to something far more insidious. I realized how I had ignored the very real connection that Walles, his family and I, share. We are Jews. Period. Avraham was killed in an act of terror. End of story. A true attempt at achdut needs to go in both directions.

On Friday, I started to make things right. I left Rechov Meah Shearim, and went to the Walles home. I gave a small donation to help the orphans and widow, and sat with Walles’ father and brothers. I felt like crying. Just as I was pained when I heard Eyal Yifrach’s father sing “Tefillah L’Ani” at the funeral, and was filled with sadness when I met the Fraenkels, the thought of a father (and mother)  losing a son devastated me.

I don’t know whether my visit and meager words gave the Walles family any comfort. I know that I have finally begun to take achdus seriously. Friday was just the beginning.

One Heart- Unity through Torah

So much has been written about Jewish unity. How do we get there? Perhaps if we examine a midrash more deeply, we might gain a few insights.

Thanks, in part, to Rashi, it is one of the most well known midrashim. As Bnei Yisrael get to Har Sinai, the pasuk says וַיִּסְע֣וּ מֵֽרְפִידִ֗ים וַיָּבֹ֨אוּ֙ מִדְבַּ֣ר סִינַ֔י וַֽיַּֽחֲנ֖וּ בַּמִּדְבָּ֑ר וַיִּֽחַן־ שָׁ֥ם יִשְׂרָאֵ֖ל נֶ֥גֶד הָהָֽר – "And they travelled from Rephidim and they came to the Sinai Desert, and they camped in the desert, and they camped there, facing the mountain". Commenting on the fact that the second time it mentions Bnei Yisrael camping, it uses the term וַיִּֽחַן, which is singular, the midrash explains that this refers to their level of unity, כּאיש אחד בּלב אחד "Like one man, with one heart". Why does the midrash have to say the words "with one heart"? If they were like "one man", is it not obvious that it was like they had "one heart"?

Actually, it is not. In a mishna in Berachos the words בּכל לבבך are understood to mean that you should love God with both of your hearts, the yetzer hatov and the yetzer hara. We have competing drives. We sometimes behave with duplicity. We are pulled in two very different directions. Ordinarily, the best we can hope for is to channel it all into the service of God. Somehow, by Har Sinai, our two hearts became one. How did that happen?

In Jewish thought, God is described as a יושב, one who stays put, and does not change (as an extension, only a king from the house of David may sit in the Beis HaMikdash). Angels are called עומדים, creatures who stand, who have only one leg (we imitate this each time we say the amidah). They do not change, but are, of course, less permanent than God. Man is a הולך one who moves. While we sometimes move in the right direction, often we do not. We are constantly moving, striving, changing. While this movement is necessary, it comes with a cost. We can be at odds with ourselves. Certainly, one who has an internal civil war, can not easily love another person. We often work against each other, seeing success as a zero sum game, where another's success comes at a cost to me. It is during the six days of the week during which we strive, that we often strive against one another. Shabbos gives us a chance to rest, to be at peace. When Bnei Yisrael camped at Har Sinai, they too came to rest. They were no longer going somewhere. They had arrived. They could camp and rest.

By camping around Har Sinai, they had a common focal point (Rav Tzadok explains the idea of tzaddikim in olam haba encircling the shecina as suggesting equal value before God). God and His Torah became the unifying factor for all of them. While each person had all sorts of physical, emotional and personal differences, before God, they were equal. While there were 12 shevatim, composed of millions of people, they became more than one nation. They became one person, with one common heart.

As we again receive the Torah, may we be mekabel it with love, and again join together with one heart. Chag Sameach.

Accepting the Other- The Precursor to Unity

Before my trip to Israel in March, I spoke a lot about Achdus/t, unity. Seeing a fractured Jewish world, my initial response was that unity was the answer. While I still very much believe in Achdus, and continue to try to work with individuals who share this view, on a communal level, I no longer believe that achdus is currently achievable between the Modern Orthodox and Charedi worlds. Instead, I'd like to pivot and suggest a new communal goal, which might be a step towards ultimate unity.

When one speaks of unity, it is between people who see themselves as part of the same group. The more homogeneous, and the smaller the group, the easier it is to have unity. As the group becomes more heterogeneous, and larger, it is harder to keep everyone together. Over time, this usually leads to infighting, and ultimately, a split.

Comedian Emo Phillips has a great routine that highlights this point. He tells of an encounter with a man who is about to jump off of the Golden Gate Bridge. In trying to talk him down, Phillips starts to discuss religion. He asks the man whether he is Christian or Jewish. The man answers Christian. Emo responds “Me too”. He continues by asking Catholic or Protestant, and when told the latter, he once again responds “Me too”. The questions continue, with the same response of “Me too”, until, upon discovering that they are members of slightly different sects, Phillips says “Die Heathen!” and pushes him off the bridge.

Unity involves more than being part of the same people. No one, on either side of the divide, denies the Jewishness of the other. Where communal unity becomes impossible is when we turn to theology and halacha. The modern Orthodox (and for the point of this post, I'll be a little less nuanced, and include the dati leumi community under that title) and charedi worlds, have too many differences over what we believe God asks of us, relating to the outside world, the State of Israel, secular Jews, non-Jews and more. Regardless of who is correct, or even whether many of these issues have a single “right” answer, there is too much that divides us. The differences are so strong that we are unable to agree to disagree. I do not wish to deal with whose fault it is. Let's leave it that each group too often seeks to demonize the other. Let's ignore the question of fault or blame.

So, what is the alternative? Is there a way to move from the status quo? I believe there is. One, is less than ideal, but might just be the best that we can hope for. The other is far more ideal, and far harder to achieve.

In the Kuzari, Rabbi Yehuda HaLevi tells the fictional story of a king who has a dream, where God informs him that he is on the wrong path. The words that God says are instructive. “Your intentions are good. Your actions are not good”. God acknowledges that the king means well. He is trying to do what is right. The problem is that he has chosen the wrong path. The king has good and noble goals, he's simply not doing the right things to achieve them. It is one thing for God to say this. After all, He knows that which is objectively. When a person uses these words, there is a bit on condescension in them. “Now, now” he says, sounding a bit like a scolding parent or school marm. “I know that you meant well, but let me tell you how it's done”. It is this connotation that makes it less than ideal. Implicit in the message is that we are right and you are not.

The second possibility is to recognize that our “objective” knowledge is, with few (possible) exceptions, subjective. Everything that each of us sees, we see through our own eyes, and understand through our own minds and biases. With this perspective, we can recognize that the person who sees things differently can have the same goal, but think the way to achieve it is different (Of course, we can and should extend this to people with other goals). Here, the goal is not agreement, or necessarily interaction. The goal is simply to understand that the other group is not anti-Torah or anti-God. It is much more difficult to achieve because we often fail to recognize that we are inherently subjective.

This new goal is much less noble sounding than a call for unity. It is however a necessary precursor to unity within our community. Before we can love our fellow like ourselves, we first need to stop demonizing him. This is the longer shorter way.

Post by Pesach Sommer.