YU's Next President- who gets a say?

While the selection for the next president of the United States is on many people’s minds, there is an additional presidency that many in the Jewish community have been discussing. With the recent announcement by Richard Joel that he will not continue as president of Yeshiva University, once his current contract ends, the Jewish world is abuzz with suggestions and speculation of who will fill this important role. What hasn’t been discussed is the process that will be used to find the right candidate. While one writer suggested the criteria through which the new president should be chosen (albeit with such specificity that all but one or two people in the world  have been eliminated from the discussion), he gives no reason why he should be the arbiter of this decision.

I strongly believe that the future of YU matters for the American Jewish community in general, and specifically for the future of Modern Orthodoxy. If I am correct, the decision of how to choose the next president and who will do the choosing, is too important to be done behind closed doors. While it is obviously not possible for the whole process to be open, the process leading up to the search needs to be public.

I strongly believe that a committee should be put together consisting of a broad swath of the different constituencies in the Modern Orthodox world; men and women, Jewish professionals, rabbis and laymen, YU graduates and even students, should be chosen to decide which qualities and qualifications the next president should have. Additionally, at least some of these same type of people should be on the search committee once an open process has led to a public discussion of what YU should be as it moves into the future. A secret and closed process made by the Board of Trustees and/or unpublicized members risks too much.

In essence, I am arguing that the future of YU, much of which will be shaped by its next president, will not just affect future students, it will affect all of us who identify so strongly with Modern Orthodoxy. On some level, YU belongs to all of us, and as the flagship of Centrist orthodoxy, is too important to fail. With the economic situation of the school in peril, and with many possible paths that YU might take, our voices need to be heard and seriously considered. Anything less than this risks too much.

 

"I strongly believe that the future of YU matters for the American Jewish community in general, and specifically for the...

Posted by Pesach Sommer on Thursday, October 29, 2015

Remembering What Matters- Why does Succot follow Yom Kippur?

 

Although it’s to be expected, the first mindless mitzvah I do after Yom Kippur always leaves me feeling very disappointed. Having spent weeks building up to Yom Kippur, with its conclusion where each word of  Neilah is said with passion, care and intent, the inevitable descent always seems to happen so quickly. What has happened to the commitments we made while doing teshuva? Is there anything that can be done to help us internalize the gains we’ve made on Yom Kippur? How do we avoid simply going back to the life we lived before?

According to the Torah (Vayikrah 23:43) the mitzvah of Succot is to help us recall that God caused us to dwell in Succot when we left Egypt. Famously, the Tur asks why we recall something connected to the exodus from Egypt in Tishrei, rather than in Nissan when it occurred. While the Tur suggests one well-known reason, I’d like to suggest another one.

If asked to group Succot with other holidays, we might suggest Pesach and Shavuot, as they, along with Succot, make up the Shalosh Regalim. The Vilna Gaon suggests another grouping, based on proximity on the calendar. It is hard to imagine that it is simply by chance that Succot falls out right after Rosh Hashana and Yom Kippur. Surely there must be a connection, but what might it be?

In both the gemara, as well as in the Rambam, an emphasis is made on the idea that we are supposed to leave our homes, described as a “dirat keva” (permanent dwelling), and live in a sukkah, which is called a “dirat arai” (temporary dwelling). For seven days, or eight for those outside of Israel, we leave the comfort of our comfortable homes and live in a flimsy hut. There must be a message in making this change so soon after the Yamim Noraim. In fact, the Rema, Rav Moshe Isserles, suggests that one should start building his sukkah right after the conclusion of Yom Kippur, leading one to conclude that two holidays are connected.

On Yom Kippur, we emphasize our spiritual side to the exclusion of our physical reality. We avoid common physical pleasures, acting for one day, as if we are angels. We search deep inside and discover spiritual strengths we might not have known we possess. We set new goals, and make the decision to be more than we’ve been. Still, this purely spiritual state is ephemeral. As physical beings it must be so.

Despite the inevitable return to ordinary human life, the mitzvah of sukkah offers us something to take with us. Do not forget, it calls to us, that there are two sides to you. One is permanent and eternal, and one is temporary. We enter the month of Elul with things having gotten out of balance. We have taken the side of ourselves that we have on loan for a relatively short amount of time, and made it the focus of our lives. As we experience the Yamim Noraim, we get back in touch with the spiritual aspects of our existence.  The Sukkah calls out to us, sounding like Shlomo Hamelech in Kohelet. Life is not about accruing wealth. No material pleasures last forever. Remember, calls the Sukkah, which part of your existence is permanent and which is temporary. Return to life, but do not return to normal. Remember what truly matters. Remember who you are and who you wish to be.

 

Speechless Before the Judge- Some thoughts on teshuva

I was lucky. Being the one giving the shiur, I got to choose the subject. I picked a topic that I could speak about with confidence. I chose the topic that doesn’t scare me, the one that doesn’t keep me from sleeping comfortably. I stayed away from the topic where I would have sounded less rabbinic, the one where I can hardly serve as an example.

 

There is a story that is told about a non-observant professor who had a conversation with the saintly Rav Aryeh Levine. The professor suggested that those who are religious are lucky, as they can do teshuva, as they have the religious texts which show them how to do so. The rabbi responded that for that very reason, it is difficult to do teshuva. I think I understand the story. I’ve opened the sefarim, read the words, and tried to apply them. Still, I am not sure I have done teshuva, at least not in the way I want to. No, the way that I need to.

 

So I chose to speak about teshuva, and how it relates to God. I spoke about moving from an approach of fear, to one of joy. Of seeing teshuva not as a way to avoid punishment, but as a way to become the person we wish to be, and the person we were created to be. I spoke about this because I could. It’s a message I’ve mostly eternalized in my own life. This year, I’ve worked on the religious side of things in my life. I am no longer as scared as I once was of Divine punishment. I see a deeper aspect to religion. Unsaid in all of this was how I think about teshuva as it connects to my relationship with others, and with myself.

 

I couldn’t and can’t speak about those things because I just don’t know what to say. When the things I’ve done wrong to others go from disconnected mistakes to expected patterns, what does teshuva even mean? How does one continue to apologize for wrongdoings that have become habits, and seemingly taken on a life of their own? How do I stand before God and say that this year will be different, when I have no reason to believe that to be true?

 

There was a moment this past Rosh Hashanah where this thought hit me, and I’ve been reeling ever since. It was a moment of recognition where I realized that so much that troubles me about who I am when I’m not in front of a classroom teaching Torah, or away from the public eye, did not just happen, but came about through choice. At that moment, all of the excuses simply faded away. As I let that thought settle over me, there was no fear of punishment, and no thought about how God might judge me. There was something worse. I sat not before the proverbial beis din shel ma’alah (the Heavenly court), but before a much harsher judge and jury. I sat facing myself, having no idea what I could possibly say.

The Many Roads to Serving HaShem- audio shiur marking the 80th yarhrtzeit of Rav Kook

In this week’s shiur, we look at a derasha delivered by Rav Kook, as a way of marking his 80th yarhrtzeit.

We examine the challenge of balancing growth as an individual versus being part of the larger community. Combing a fascinating derasha which helps us begin to turn towards preparing for Rosh Hashana, along with a similar idea found in the Shem MiShmuel, we learn that personal identity, and commitment to the klal need not contradict. Most importantly, we discover that there are multiple legitimate ways to serve HaShem.

Running time- 40 minutes

Required reading- On the importance of Rav Kook and his sefer LeNevuchei HaDor for our generation

In the 80 years since Rav Kook passed away, much has changed in the world. One wonders how he might have responded to the holocaust, the death of nationalism, and so much that has changed during that time. Even now, we are quite possibly watching the demise of the Israeli Chief Rabbinate, an institution for which Rav Kook had such high hopes. Still, there is much that he wrote and taught that continues to feel relevant, and even essential. Perhaps none of his works are more in need of study in our time than LeNevuchei HaDor.

LeNevuchei HaDor was written in Europe over 110 years ago, before Rav Kook made aliyah. For reasons that need not concern us here, this important work did not see the light of day until very recently. There were those who even questioned the existence of this work, less than 10 years ago. While Merkaz Rav Tzvi Yehuda published a censored version of this work, Yediot Achronot published a full annotated version of the text, along with an important introduction, and essay at the back. While LeNevuchei HaDor is not yet available in English, it is written in a Hebrew much more comprehensible than the one Rav Kook adopted after his arrival in Israel.

Rav Kook wrote LeNevuchei HaDor as the Moreh Nevuchim, the Guide for the Perplexed, for his generation. The Rambam had written the Moreh to help  a generation that was perplexed over issues of Greek philosophy. Rav Kook saw a generation that was struggling with the issues of biblical criticism, the philosophy of Kant and Hegel, evolution, socialism, Zionism, and more. When he saw that nobody else was dealing with these issues in a way that spoke to the young people of his generation, he decided that he had to be the one to do so.

While some of what he wrote is dated (in fact, he himself would change his thoughts on some of these ideas after moving to Israel) a lot of the ideas continue to resonate today. He took bold positions such as allowing for the possibility that some of the ideas of the bible scholars of his time need not be rejected. Perhaps the most important lesson that he taught, a lesson that sometimes seems lost on many of today’s leaders, is the importance of teaching the ideas of Judaism in a way that is relevant, and that responds to the pressing issues of the day. Rather than attack those who believed in ideas that many rabbis felt were incompatible with Jewish thought, he reached out to them, and suggested a way of inculcating these ideas into Torah. In doing so, he showed that Judaism’s timeless message could continue to resonate, as long as its teachers were knowledgeable enough and bold enough to be creative.

As a new generation calls out to its leaders and teachers for guidance and relevance, LeNevuchei HaDor should be required reading for those want to help.

[For those who are looking for English works by or on Rav Kook, I would highly recommend Rav Betzalel Naor’s masterful translation of Orot, and Rav Yehuda Mirsky’s excellent intellectual biography Rav Kook: Mystic in a Time of Revolution.]

Why Was There Only One Mikdash?- Unity and individuality in serving HaShem (audio shiur)

In this week’s shiur we examine the prohibition of offering sacrifices outside of the Beit Hamikdash, and the centralization of worship in the Mikdash. What was gained by having one place of worship, and what was lost? Perhaps most importantly, how do we make up for what was lost?

Tears for a Broken System- Protesting an approach that fails most of our boys

It was, at once, one of the most beautiful and one of the saddest things I’ve ever seen. “Shmuel”  a 15 well-behaved and polite 15 year-old boy, was sitting in shul after Shachris going over a mishnah using a Hebrew-English mishnah. Even with the help of the English translation, Shmuel was struggling. As I listened to him struggle with both the Hebrew and English words, it seemed clear to me that he didn’t understand what he was learning. While there was great beauty in his effort to learn and his refusal to give up, I felt great sadness watching him struggle. I thought of the gemara in Chagigah where it discusses HaShem crying for one who can’t learn Torah and tries anyway. While there different ways to understand the gemara, one approach that I’ve heard is that HaShem sheds tears for those like Shmuel, because there are other ways for him to serve HaShem, approaches in which he could succeed.

I thought of Shmuel when I saw the cover of this past week’s Mishpacha magazine. Over a picture of a boy holding up a gemara, the headline screamed “Yes, Your Son Can Love to Learn”. While the article described the approach of a loving rebbe who has come up with a teaching style, and approach to review that helps some boys become more successful in learning gemara, the headline promised parents much more. It seemed to say that even if your son does not love to learn, he should, and we know how to make it happen. Furthermore, while the word gemara was absent from the headline, it was clear from the article that the only focus was on boys learning gemara. Taking this into account, Mishpacha was suggesting (insisting?) that your son can and should love to learn gemara.

I thought of Shmuel’s parents. Might they be fooled into thinking that he can love to learn gemara, if only he would try harder and his rebbe would try a different approach? What of all the boys who are in yeshivahs for boys who have “rebelled” against the system? Is the solution to what ails them to be pushed back towards a religious life where only gemara learning marks one as a successful Jew? Is there no other way to be a frum Jew? Is there no other meaningful way to learn Torah? What exactly is wrong with Tanach?

In a well known Midrash, it is said that of 1000 who begin learning Tanach, 100 move on to mishna, of which, only 10 make it to gemara. That’s one percent. There was no suggestion that the other 99% could or should learn gemara. Why do we insist on being smarter than Chazal, especially those of us who are so careful to listen to other things that they say?

I have no problem with the article itself, excluding the implied suggestion about the gemara-only approach. I understand that a headline stating “Here’s a Rebbe with an approach that some schools might consider” might not have been as exciting, or even qualified to be on the cover, but how much longer will we push our boys into a harmful one-size-fits-all system, a system that should make all of us join HaShem in his crying?

"It was, at once, one of the most beautiful and one of the saddest things I’ve ever seen. “Shmuel” a 15 well-behaved...

Posted by Pesach Sommer on Monday, August 10, 2015