Jewish Action Fall 2023

SINGLEHOOD

IN THE

COMMUNITY: ARE WE MISSING THE MARK?

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LANDER COLLEGE OF ARTS AND SCIENCES NEW YORK UNIVERSITY SCHOOL OF LAW

Fall 2023/5784 | Vol. 84, No. 1

OU KOSHER CENTENNIAL SPOTLIGHT

Rabbi Yacov Halevi Lipschutz

By Rabbi Menachem Genack

TRIBUTE

Remembering

Rabbi Matis Greenblatt

By Joel M. Schreiber, Rabbi Dr. Hillel Goldberg and Rabbi Emanuel Feldman

JEWISH LIVING

Can’t We Just Get Along? Living Side

By Side in Peace and Harmony

Singlehood in the Community: Are We Missing the Mark?

e Crisis of My Experience By Anonymous

REVIEW ESSAY

Unmatched: An Orthodox Jewish Woman’s Mystifying Journey to Find Marriage and Meaning

By Sarah Lavane

Reviewed by Rebbetzin Faigie Horowitz

THE CHEF’S TABLE Signs, Sealed, Delivered! By Naomi Ross

LEGAL-EASE

What’s the Truth about . . . e “Expiration Date” of Rabbeinu Gershom’s Ban on Polygamy? By Rabbi Dr. Ari Z. Zivotofsky

NEW FROM OU PRESS

By

Sam Ellenbogen

and Michael Waldner, as told to Nechama Carmel; Rabbi Shabsey Gartner, as told to Steve Lipman and Leah Lightman; Tova Herskovitz, as told to Steve Lipman; Sid Laytin, as told to Merri Ukraincik; and Mindy Pollak, as told to Merri Ukraincik

Deeds

Good Fences Make Good Neighbors: Stories of Communities at Came Together

By Steve Lipman

JEWISH THOUGHT

In Search of Spirituality: A Symposium

A Simple Experiment: How Members of One Shul Sought to Change the Way ey Daven

By Rabbi Noah Cheses

LETTERS

PRESIDENT’S MESSAGE Outrage

By Mitchel R. Aeder

FROM THE DESK OF RABBI MOSHE HAUER

e Division ing: Strangers, Competitors and Monsters

MENTSCH MANAGEMENT

Answering the Call

By Rabbi Dr. Josh Joseph

ON MY MIND

Confronting the Suboptimal

By Moishe Bane

86 90 94 98 100 102 104

INSIDE PHILANTHROPY

Major New Gi Enables OU to Expand Its Focus on North American Communal Growth

BOOKS

A Guide to the Guide

By Rabbis Yosef Chaim Elazar Kohn and Yaakov Yosef Reinman

Reviewed by Rabbi Shmuel Phillips

Reviews in Brief By Rabbi Gil Student

LASTING IMPRESSIONS

Witnessing the Power of Chesed

By Sara Spielman

IT'S YOUR TIME TO RISE AT YESHIVA UNIVERSITY.

Israel. Rabbi Alkalai did not only speak of the return to Israel as a solution to the perennial problem of antisemitism but as a way to ful ll the Jewish aspiration for political normalization—Jews living in their original homeland.

Rabbi Alkalai understood that Jews do not need to wait passively for Mashiach to achieve this aspiration; on the contrary, he saw the return of the Jewish people to Israel as the way to facilitate (and advance) the arrival of Mashiach. In his book Goral LaHashem, Rabbi Alkalai formulated the religious foundations of his vision and the practical steps to be taken to reestablish the Jewish nation in Israel. e book was published in three di erent editions and translated into many languages, including English.

Another great example is Rabbi Yaakov Meir (1856–1939) who was blocked from the position of chief rabbi of Jerusalem in 1906 for being “too Zionistic”; he was sent on shelichut to Bukhara and essaloniki, where he worked to ingather the exiles by promoting resettlement in Eretz Yisrael. He returned to Israel in 1921, and with the help of Rabbi Avraham Yitzchak HaKohen Kook, was elected Sephardic chief rabbi of Israel (Rishon LeTzion) until his passing. Along with Rabbi Chaim Hirschensohn, he also founded Safa Berura, an organization that worked to reestablish Hebrew as a spoken language (a notable member of the organization was Eliezer Ben-Yehuda).

It is my hope that future articles in Jewish Action will be a source of pride to all Jews—Ashkenazim and Sephardim—as we continue to work together to build Eretz Yisrael both physically and spiritually.

Jack Dweck Brooklyn, New York

THE DOWNSIDES OF AI

e issue dealing with Torah and arti cial intelligence (“Torah in the Age of Arti cial Intelligence,” spring 2023) presented interesting discussions of technology and its potential use in halachic decision making. e tone was generally positive and optimistic. I was, however, expecting some consideration of the downsides but did not nd any.

Let’s consider three examples. We are generally taught to nd a halachic authority to follow, whether it be the rebbi who teaches you in school, the rabbi of your shul, or some other gure who inspires you. We are told not to sample multiple sources and nd the pesak that we like. But it’s exactly that behavior that AI will indirectly encourage by the ease and speed of querying. Searching for a kula (or a chumra) will be a breeze.

Second, in his article, “AI Meets Halachah,” Rabbi Dr. Aaron Glatt wrote that the process of giving a pesak is not mechanical. A single posek can give di erent answers to the same question, based on his knowledge of the person asking. Many AI experts are predicting that approximately two years from now, most internet users will have a personal AI “agent.” Instead of jumping from website to website to

order pizza, make an airline reservation, purchase tickets to a play and nd tomorrow’s weather forecast, you will simply talk to your agent a er logging in, and request the actions or information. More than that, the agent will o er suggestions based on your past requests, likes and dislikes. At the beginning, you will feel surprised that the agent seems to make such good choices, but eventually you will take it for granted, like the ideas of a good friend. It’s not a stretch to say the same will apply to your halachic questions. All of the background information that impinges on the pesak, from your budget to your family situation to your physical and psychological health, will be accessible to AI in o ering a decision. is will be a challenge to human posekim ird, though it may sound extreme, we have to think about avodah zarah is concern arises from our unavoidable tendency to humanize robots and AI. A robot technology company created a robot “dog” with metal boxes for its body, neck and face, and four rods for legs. To demonstrate its programming, a person with a baseball bat struck the dog, knocking it over. e dog quickly got up, ready to do its master’s bidding. e dog was struck several more times, each time quickly righting itself. A video of this demonstration on the internet resulted in thousands of responses from horri ed viewers, expressing shock and anger at such cruel treatment. An AI taught to interact with people will be humanized at a much higher level. With its amazing knowledge of facts alongside its familiarity with your personality, the AI agent will likely gain the status of an authority gure in your life. e Rambam, in explaining the source of avodah zarah, describes a process starting with the observation of moving stars and ends with the creation of personal idols. is does not di er much from the process of rst seeing AI as a general information resource, and nally relating to it as a trusted friend.

Today, the technology world is divided over the future of AI. Is it a threat or the ful llment of unlimited promise? No matter which side one takes, the best choice is to be prepared for the expected as well as the unexpected.

Dr. Irv Cantor

Jerusalem, Israel

Rabbi Dr. Aaron Glatt Responds:

I thank Dr. Cantor for his interest in Jewish Action’s AI issue. e articles addressed speci c aspects but could not focus on every eventuality. Much still remains to be learned about the potential bene ts and pitfalls of AI.

e examples of concern cited are all problems we have today with any good search engine. Indeed yes, AI might exacerbate these issues further. However, certain intangibles, such as di cult-to-quantify interpersonal relationships and character traits that a posek takes into account, cannot be duplicated by AI—at least not in the near future.

IT'S YOUR TIME TO RISE AT YESHIVA UNIVERSITY.

IBN EZRA AND ROBERT BROWNING

In his piece “ e Best Is Yet to Be” (spring 2023), David Olivestone doesn’t recall the question being raised as to why Robert Browning chose Rabbi Avraham Ibn Ezra, the twel h-century paytan and author of one of the classic commentaries on Tanach, as the narrator of his poem “Rabbi Ben Ezra.” I, however, vividly recall the question being asked during my doctoral oral examination and dissertation defense. Actually, “Rabbi Ben Ezra” has less to do with Browning’s interest in and fascination with Hebrew, Judaism and rabbinic literature and much more to do with Ibn Ezra’s twel h-century contemporary Omar Khayyam, a celebrated Persian poet, philosopher and grammarian.

Browning was responding to Edward Fitzgerald’s wildly popular “ e Rubáiyát of Omar Khayyam,” which extols the joys of youth, carpe diem hedonism and unbridled sensuality. e “Rubáiyát,” as one critic points out, “captures the imagination of its Victorian audience who had been raised singing pious hymns at church on Sunday.” It rejects the Victorian code’s emphasis on self-control, moderation, social convention, the spiritual life, Christian morality and the wisdom that comes with age. Browning’s “Ibn Ezra,” a venerated scholar of the same period as Khayyam, eschews the cult of Khayyam and posits a more balanced view, arguing that youth is but one phase of the soul’s experience and that it will fade—replaced by wisdom, perspective, and the insights of age; it is not the end of one’s life, but the beginning of something more. Or as Betty White’s mother always used to say, “ e older you get, the better you get, unless you’re a banana.”

To appreciate the contrasting messages, I refer readers to Frederick Leroy Sargent’s Omar and the Rabbi (Cambridge, 1911), which combines the translation of the “Rubáiyát of Omar Khayyam” and Browning’s “Rabbi Ben Ezra,” and presents them in dramatic form.

Herbert Schlager Queens, New York

CORRECTION:

In “Unscrambling the Kashrut of Eggs” (summer 2023), the article erroneously implied that a fertilized egg must be discarded only if a blood spot appears in the yolk. This is incorrect. If a fertilized egg has developed to the point that a blood spot appears in any location, the entire egg becomes forbidden and should be discarded (Rema, YD 66:3).

Jewish Action Wins Seven Rockower Awards

In July, at the American Jewish Press Association (AJPA) Conference, Jewish Action won seven Simon Rockower Awards for Excellence in Jewish Journalism for work that appeared in 2022. The magazine secured first place in the Excellence in Writing about Health Care category for Rachel Schwartzberg’s “Unplugging the Digital Generation.”

“The Future of Food,” by Barbara Bensoussan and Merri Ukraincik, won first place in two categories: Excellence in Business Reporting and Excellence in Writing about Food and Wine. Aviva Engel’s “The Divorced Family,” which included personal stories from divorced parents as told to Steve Lipman and Tova Cohen, received second place for Excellence in Writing about Women, and Aviva’s second piece, “Supporting the Divorced Parent,” earned second place for Excellence in Writing about Social Justice and Humanitarian Work.

The magazine also won honorable mention in two categories: Excellence in Writing about Food and Wine for Rafael Medo ’s “Keeping Kosher, Becoming American,” and Excellence in Writing about Health Care for “Habits of Emotionally Strong Families” by Sandy Eller, Leah R. Lightman and Steve Lipman.

WE WANT TO HEAR FROM YOU!

is magazine contains

To send a letter to Jewish Action, e-mail ja@ou.org. Letters may be edited for clarity.

divrei Torah and should therefore be disposed of respectfully by either double-wrapping prior to disposal or placing in a recycling bin.

IT'S YOUR TIME TO RISE AT YESHIVA UNIVERSITY.

OUTRAGE

of social media have exacerbated this destructive phenomenon.

By Mitchel R. Aeder

It is no secret that our society feels extremely polarized. Of course, this is nothing new. When I was a kid in New Jersey, you were either a Mets fan or a Yankees fan. Never, ever both.1 at was real polarization. As a Mets fan, I was blessed to come of age during the glorious years (1965-1976) between the Yankees’ glory years. Nonetheless, some of my best friends were Yankees fans. We were able to put our ideological di erences aside when talking about less important things, like family, schoolwork and soccer.

Today, society seems to be irrevocably split along social, political and religious lines. We listen to or read only news that is presented from our parochial perspective, except to ridicule the other. In 2020, the Pew Research Center reported that 45 percent of adults have stopped talking to someone about politics as a result of something the other person said.2 e polarization is re ected in the coarseness of public “discourse.” Debating has ceded to screaming.3 e ubiquity and anonymity

is modality of “communication” has unfortunately in ltrated our Orthodox Jewish circles as well. In my travels, I recently came across a local weekly newspaper written by and for the Orthodox community. In addition to the local news, this paper features several opinion columns. A number of the columns, whatever the topic at hand, were strident, even angry. So far, so bad. Far worse were the letters to the editor, which expressed outrage (outrage!) at a variety of opinions expressed the previous week. Unfortunately, this newspaper is not unique. On social media and podcasts as well as in print media, certain topics (did someone mention President Trump?) are guaranteed to unleash a torrent of angry screeds.4

Do we really have to speak that way? Must we print those who do?

Let me bring this home. At the Orthodox Union, we make decisions daily that a ect the community. Some of these decisions are operational (how much to charge for a particular summer program), others involve public policy (should we make a public statement or le a legal brief?), and yet others involve institutional priorities (what role, if any, should the OU play in combating antisemitism?). Each decision is weighed and debated, taking into account cost, expertise, likelihood of success, extent of communal consensus and impact on existing programs, among other factors. O en, we seek guidance from posekim and other rabbinic leaders. Still, reasonable people may disagree with virtually every decision we make. We welcome feedback and debate. What we get too o en, however, is vitriol.

e problem with outrage goes beyond derech eretz or how one should speak to another human being. It

evinces a lack of respect—how could anyone have been so stupid to have done or said that? Even if the obligation to judge people favorably, to be dan l’kaf zechut, does not require one to agree, it does demand that we give the other person the bene t of the doubt that they considered the issues and reached a reasonable conclusion. Again, people disagree. Respectfully. In any event, screaming is ine ective. People tune it out. Here is an example of a recent issue that generated both thoughtful and, alas, vitriolic comment.5 In February, in response to a horri c terrorist attack in which Hallel and Yagel Yaniv, Hy”d, were murdered in the Shomron, a group of Jews rioted in the Arab town of Huwara. e OU published a statement condemning the riots. We received some outraged and outrageous responses, questioning whose side we are on. ese comments were hurtful, but not impactful. We then received a quiet, thoughtful rebuke from someone who questioned our having failed to publicly condemn the original terrorist attack. We had not done so, because we presumed that everyone knows where we stand on anti-Jewish terrorism. He argued that our fair rebuke of the rioters was undercut by our failure to acknowledge the pain of the Yaniv family, their friends and Klal Yisrael. We took this comment to heart and spoke out a er the following terror attack which, sadly, was only days later.

Other recent issues that elicited hate mail include: (i) our meeting with Israeli Finance Minister Betzalel Smotrich (from the le ), (ii) our note of gratitude to the Biden administration for its antisemitism initiative (from the right); and (iii) the amicus brief we led in support of the lawsuit that (successfully) challenged the New York State Department of Education’s overreaching regulations designed to force Chassidic yeshivas to introduce

Mitchel R. Aeder is president of the Orthodox Union.

more secular studies into their curriculum.6

Strong feelings are not limited to the political arena. Some people feel very passionately that kosher certi cation should concern only food preparation and not other religious or social issues. Others feel equally passionately that the OU should withhold certi cation from products with o ensive packaging; from restaurants to which one would be embarrassed to bring a rosh yeshivah; and from companies whose corporate values are antithetical to Torah values. Is either side objectively correct? Is either position unreasonable?

is is not about being thin-skinned, and it certainly is not intended to sti e dissent. As one of my colleagues eloquently noted: “Anyone may inquire about our statements or silence on speci c issues. We do not expect blind faith, and we o en gain from hearing the perspectives of others. I would hope, however, that those inquiries would not come as an attack, but rather take the form of a query, giving us the bene t of the doubt that we choose our approach to issues precisely because we are ercely committed both to Torah values and to the wellbeing of our community and work hard to balance the various considerations as to how to advance those causes.”

When is outrage appropriate? Clearly when dealing with chillul Hashem and antisemitism, with falsehood, malice and the like. But even here, one should be thoughtful and strategic about one’s tone, especially but not exclusively when addressing an “internal” audience. ere are Jewish organizations that have only one volume. I wonder if anyone listens.

People are in uenced by their environments. We are living in an environment that favors moral indignation over collegial debate. We must try to push back against this, especially when we speak to each other. As Rosh Hashanah and Yom Kippur approach, perhaps we can undertake to lower the volume, to hear and to be heard.

L’shanah tovah tikateivu v’techateimu.

Notes

1. ere was a persistent rumor that there were twenty-two other teams, none of which mattered whatsoever.

2. Not that things have improved. In 2023, Pew reported that two-thirds of Republicans and Democrats view members of the opposite party as more “immoral.” Yikes!

3. For over thirty years, PBS aired Firing Line, in which staunch conservative William F. Buckley debated the issues of the day primarily with liberal thinkers. It’s hard to imagine such a show having a platform, or an audience, today.

4. Rabbis Aaron Lopiansky and Yosef Elefant pointed out at an Agudah convention a couple of years ago that Torah values are determined by the Torah, not by the platforms of the Republican or Democratic parties. Woe that they felt a need to say this.

5. As tempting (and entertaining) as it would be to quote the o ending emails and posts, this is a family publication.

6. e OU’s position was that while the State has an interest in its citizens having su cient education to perform civic duties and be economically self-su cient, the regulations went well beyond that and encroached on religious liberty.

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THE DIVISION THING: Strangers, Competitors and Monsters

By Rabbi Moshe Hauer

In Israel, divisions rage. In America, they whisper.

In Israel, the choices of one segment of the population regarding matters such as army service, economic engagement and public observance of religion profoundly impact the others, hence the rage. In America, we are less interdependent and can do our own thing, thus the whisper. Yet, while those divisions are less pronounced and raucous, they are there and represent a painfully signi cant lost opportunity for Klal Yisrael.

Jews pray copiously for peace. e nightly request for shalom rav, abundant peace, is a muted and modest hope for a lack of con ict, while the daytime plea of sim shalom ambitiously asks G-d to bless us kulanu k’echad, together as one uni ed whole. e gap between them is the di erence between night and day, between the isolation of darkness and the brilliantly encompassing illumination cast b’or panecha, by the light of G-d’s countenance. It is the di erence between coexistence and unity.

Light enables vision, and vision is essential to unity. As expressed in Mishlei, “B’ein chazon yipara am, v’shomer Torah—ashreihu, in the absence of vision, the nation disintegrates. Fortunate is the one who observes Torah.”1 Individual Torah observance guides our personal lives—“fortunate is the one who observes Torah”—but we need a Torah-guided real-world vision, a chazon illuminated b’or panecha, to bring the nation together. As a broader community we are missing that unifying clear vision and are functioning instead in the darkness, thankfully without raging con ict, but with the inherent incoherence of shalom rav, a fractured peace.

While this expresses itself on many fronts, we will focus on three: Fear, Alienation and Competition.

FEAR

Growth is a blessing, but it generates fear. at is what happened in Egypt. “ e Children of Israel were fruitful and swarmed, they increased and grew very strong, and the land became lled with them.”2 at phenomenal growth scared the Egyptians, leading them to plot and scheme and ultimately implement bondage and oppression to contain and suppress our growth. at was their reaction to our blessing, and it is perhaps why the Book of Shemot is known start to nish as Sefer HaGeulah, the Book of Redemption, Exodus. While the Book dedicates many chapters to the story of our bondage and su ering, that su ering was a product of the blessing of our growth, a critical component of our maturation and redemption.

Orthodoxy across the world is growing both objectively and relatively. Its numbers are swelling due to a combination of high birth rates and strong retention, and it now constitutes an increasing percentage of the Jewish

population. While some smaller Orthodox communities with limited Jewish infrastructure are struggling to survive, those that have crossed the threshold and o er day schools and kosher pizza are as a rule experiencing substantial growth. is growth is even more dramatic in Israel, where the current and anticipated demographic shi s in the country indicate a dramatically growing Chareidi and Religious Zionist population. is is generating fear.

While it was tting for the Egyptians to be fearful of what could easily become a growing h column of foreigners, Jews should not need to fear other Jews. But they do. Orthodox Jews can be scary. We look di erent, live di erently, and have di erent expectations of ourselves and sometimes of others. We build shuls everywhere to speed to during the week and to walk in crowds to rarely on the sidewalk on Shabbat and yom tov. We build communities and neighborhoods so that we can be close to each other, but inadvertently, we make others feel out of place. It is easy to understand how people can feel that wherever we are, we are taking over. And that is just in America. (See “Can’t We Just Get Along?” on page 23 in this issue.)

And so we end up with Jews fearing other Jews.

In the winter of 1913, Rabbi Avraham Yitzchak HaKohen Kook and Rabbi Yosef Chaim Sonnenfeld led a delegation of rabbis on a tour of the new settlements in the Shomron and the Galil. At that time, the demographics were shi ing in the opposite direction as the new and more secular Yishuv was growing in numbers and in uence, and it was the religious who were fearful. e mission’s purpose was to bridge the growing divide between the old and the new Yishuvim

FROM THE DESK OF RABBI MOSHE HAUER

Rabbi Moshe Hauer is executive vice president of the Orthodox Union.

In his introduction to the chronicle3 of the trip, Rav Kook writes of what led to that gap. A er stating how some of the leaders of the new Yishuv were exclusively focused on the secular aspects of developing the land and its communities, he notes how the old Yishuv had created their own distance in their interest to build the most rari ed atmosphere possible within their holy cities. “ at innocent and wholesome desire created an ideological and geographic divide between brothers who genuinely needed partnership in every venture and task.”

During the trip, Rabbi Yaakov Moshe Charlop, a student and colleague of Rav Kook, had a conversation late into the night with a watchman in the Emek Yizre’el community of Merchavya. e guard expressed how religiously bene cial it would be for Merchavya if a group of yeshivah students from Yerushalayim would establish a neighboring settlement. Rabbi Charlop responded that those students stay away as they fear being caught in the

settlements’ atmosphere of contempt for religion. “Had you had the foresight to relate more warmly to those dedicated to Torah and mitzvot, we would achieve resolution and a blending of our strengths. e yeshivah students’ feelings of faith and holiness would in uence you, and your courageous and vigorous spirit would enter the hearts of the yeshivah students.”

Jews fear other Jews and keep their distance. At this time of Orthodox growth, we need to facilitate the vision, the chazon, where the Orthodox community is perceived not as a threat but as a growing resource of passionately committed Jews who prioritize both their Judaism and their absolute and unconditional love for each and every other Jew. We will facilitate that vision in others when we build it within Orthodoxy, but thus far we have not.

ALIENATION

In the celebrated prophetic vision described as Chazon Yeshayahu, the prophet Yeshayahu describes the failed

society destined for Churban. In the spirit of Mishlei, he expresses on G-d’s behalf how our routine observances our mitzvot, our o erings, our Shabbatot and festivals are insu cient to maintain the nation in the absence of a broader vision that includes an encompassing commitment to the pursuit of security and justice for the most vulnerable.

In describing our failure to properly constitute as a nation, Yeshayahu compares us to the leaders of Sodom and the people of Amorah. While in the vernacular the names of these cities are emblematic of gross immorality, what truly did them in was their utter apathy and complete failure to be caring and charitable. “Behold this was the failure of Sodom, your sister: pride, abundance of bread, and careless ease were hers and her daughters’, and yet she did not strengthen the hand of the poor and needy.”4 is matches the characterization by our Sages of the attitude of Sodom, “what is mine is mine and what is yours is yours.”5 e people

of Sodom wanted to be le alone; the needs of others simply did not register with them. But it did not stop there.

e Talmud6 famously describes how the Sodomites made guests unwelcome, most notably via the “Sodom bed” that needed to t all, that forced those shorter to stretch to size and those too tall to be cut short. is was not just a medieval torture chamber. It tells the common story of a community that would not welcome those who did not t their image of what a resident of their town should look like.

is is a narrow perspective that stubbornly persists, especially as Orthodox numerical and nancial strength have lessened the intra-Orthodox need for allies and partners. Our community is highly segmented, with an utter lack of identi cation with or even mutual awareness between those segments. Tensions are low since we each go about our business as if the others simply do not exist. Each segment has its own world, its Sodom bed, its comfort zone of who it knows, recognizes and invites to the seats at their communal tables.

As we consider our own generational shi s in both religious directions, we ought to ask ourselves what the likelihood is that we would have established a relationship with our own parents, grandparents or greatgrandparents had they been our contemporaries. Would we have greeted someone like them in the street or the supermarket? Would we have shared co ee or Shabbat meals or otherwise created a relationship with them? Would they feel comfortable in our shul or minyan that is designed for one speci c age or religious micro-demographic?

e answer will o en be “no.”

Our lack of a national vision, b’ein chazon, is leaving us alienated from those to our right and to our le such that we are missing the chance to bene t from their energies and to have them bene t from ours. is is an epic lost opportunity for Klal Yisrael.

COMPETITION

V’ra’acha v’samach b’libo 7 ose three Hebrew words should be posted on the walls of all our communal o ces.

ey were communicated to Moshe by G-d a er a week of Moshe resisting assumption of the Divine mission of leading the Jews out of Egypt. Our Sages taught that Moshe’s resistance derived from his concern of displacing and overshadowing his older brother Aharon who was then leading the Jews in Egypt.8 G-d became angry with Moshe, noting that rather than Aharon feeling hurt, “he will see you and rejoice in his heart.” Instead of expressing appreciation for Moshe’s humility and sensitivity, Hashem was frustrated that he inserted politics into the dynamics of Jewish leadership, that he assumed that Aharon would be anything other than thrilled that help for the Jewish people was on the way, whomever the messenger.

I received a call from the leader of a campus educational program asking permission to hire away someone who had just joined our team. “Excuse me for what may be a chutzpah, but we both work for the Ribbono Shel Olam, the One Above, and I really think she is more needed in the role I would have for her here.” e direct request was incredibly refreshing, and we were game to entertain it and try to consider objectively where the sought-a er employee could uniquely do more for G-d and for Klal Yisrael, if she would be interested in the other opportunity (she was not.)

at request should not be a chutzpah; it should be a norm. It was inspiringly reminiscent of when Rabbi Shraga Feivel Mendlowitz sent some of his best and brightest students in Mesivta Torah Vodaath to serve as the initial core of Rabbi Aaron Kotler’s new yeshivah in Lakewood. It is not about us, about growing our institution, claiming organizational credit or seeking personal success. We are all on the same team. We need to rejoice at the e orts and the successes of others. e Jewish people should not be enslaved in Egypt for another week while we work out the politics of who will be the one to lead them out.

e Jewish people are spending a lot of time waiting for us to work out our politics. B’ein chazon, in our limited communal vision, we are all competing for credit, for market share,

for prominence, and for fundraising dollars. Potential partners are viewed as competitors whose success we sometimes see as diminishing our own.9 We need to adopt the kind of vision that sees past that, that understands, appreciates and applauds the added value of being teammates with all those working for the Ribbono Shel Olam.

CONCLUSION

We are divided, within Orthodoxy and beyond. Division has us view each other as strangers, competitors and monsters. A bit of vision, of chazon, can bring us closer to thinking as a nation, as brothers and sisters, as teammates and partners, and as treasured resources for each other.

Rabbi Simcha Zissel Broyde of Kelm, the master teacher of the Musar movement, posted the following note for his students in anticipation of Rosh Hashanah.

On this day, we have the task of declaring G-d as our King. But when we consider any human kingdom, we understand that it can only be maintained to the extent that the king’s subjects are bound together like one in their service of the king. It is therefore incumbent upon us, as we declare G-d as our King, to make ourselves one and to commit with all our being to the mitzvah of loving our fellow man as ourselves. How can we pray to G-d that all the world bond together as one in His service when we ourselves are not bound together? Each of us can and should look around at our immediate circle, as well as at our neighbors and community, and see ourselves as pieces of a single whole. We can, we should—and so far we don’t. We can do better, and we will.

Notes

1. Mishlei 29:18.

2. Shemot 1:7.

3. Eileh Massei, originally published in 1916, republished by Keren RE”M in 2011.

4. Yechezkel 19:49; see Ramban to Bereishit 19:5.

5. Pirkei Avot 5:10.

6. Sanhedrin 109b.

7. Shemot 4:14.

8. See Rashi to Shemot 4:10.

9. Mori v’Rabi Rabbi Na ali Neuberger was fond of quoting President Eisenhower, who said, “It is amazing what you can accomplish if you do not care who gets the credit.”

TAKES TOURO YOU TO THE TOP

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Marian Stoltz Loike, Ph.D., Dean

Answering the Call

As we initiate the season of re ection, atonement and connection to Hashem, we remind ourselves that we are not merely involved in a unidirectional conversation. Engagement with the Divine is a two-way street, in which we are being called. Our Sages note (for example, Pirkei Avot 6:2) that a bat kol, or a Heavenly voice, calls out from Mount Sinai each day, unbeknownst to the Children of Israel. Do we hear it? Are we answering the call? How do we answer that call at the Orthodox Union?

By Rabbi Dr. Josh Joseph

Our introduction to the rst of our forefathers, Avraham, begins with the words: “And Hashem said to Avram.” Why did Hashem aim this Divine directive at Avraham in particular? On what grounds did Hashem select Avraham? What of the others who populated that pre-monotheistic universe? e Chiddushei HaRim (Sefat Emet, Lech Lecha 5632 and 5662, based on Bereishit Rabbah 39:1) supplies an answer to this quandary that is as beautiful as it is brilliant, encompassing within it the great challenge of modern man in an increasingly frenzied society: e call of the Almighty went forth for all to hear; only Avraham, however, made the choice to answer that call.

l We ensure that our imprimatur is not merely a stamp but a pledge of quality, of excellence, for over a million products worldwide.

l We elevate over 32,000 teens in spiritually upli ing activities, conversations and communities.

l We create communities of Torah, leadership and service on over seventy college campuses in Canada, the US and Israel.

l We serve over 1,500 individuals with special needs and their families.

l We engage hundreds of thousands in Torah learning, including programming for women leaders and projects for a number of the underserved communities within our ranks.

l We support thousands of American olim in our homeland. And much, much more.

And now in our season of personal goal setting for the new year, our professionals are also setting their sights on goals for the coming year. If we have already accomplished this much, what can we accomplish together in the coming year? What are the questions we can answer? What are the callings containing our names, our potential? We have much to do—and we are just getting started.

And we need you, too.

Wherever you are in life—college student, new alum, busy professional, empty-nester, recent retiree—what is your calling? We have much to accomplish, all of us, together. e question and the test, then, is to discover our calling; to understand our challenge; to tease out that so , subtle and sometimes soundless voice that beckons us to rise to our potential, and to magnify it into a resounding declaration that both guides and colors our lives. May this be our berachah for the coming year and for many years to come.

“Everyone who wills can hear the inner voice. It is within everyone.”

Mahatma Gandhi

Rabbi Dr. Josh Joseph is executive vice president/chief operating o cer of the OU.

The question and the test, then, is to discover our calling; to understand our challenge; to tease out that soft, subtle and sometimes soundless voice that beckons us to rise to our potential . . .

Your

Yom Tov table isn’t fully set without

Rabbi Yacov Halevi Lipschutz (1932-2019) By Rabbi Menachem Genack

With 2023 marking 100 years of OU Kosher, throughout the year, Jewish Action will pro le personalities who played a seminal role in building OU Kosher.

Rabbi Yacov Halevi Lipschutz, my predecessor at OU Kosher from 1977 to 1980, was named for his great-grandfather, the famed secretary of Rabbi Yitzchak Elchanan Spektor and author of the Zichron Yaakov. He took great pride in his illustrious Lithuanian heritage (Rabbi Moshe Elefant, COO of OU Kosher, once commented to me that Rabbi Yacov Lipschutz was the last true Litvak), and especially in his namesake’s relationship with Rav Yitzchak Elchanan. In his youth, he studied in Torah Vodaas and Beis Medrash Elyon and was known as a real masmid. (His chavrusa was his cousin with the same name as his, who was an author of the Encyclopedia Talmudit and went on to edit manuscripts of important Rishonim for Machon Harry Fischel.)

Reb Yacov was a bona de talmid chacham and an expert in the laws of kashrus, especially shechitah, who authored the critical work Kashruth: A Comprehensive Background and Reference Guide to the Principles of Kashruth. Published in 1988, the book served as an authoritative guide to kashrus—the rst work of its kind. His detailed knowledge of the status of an in nite number of ingredients was just one aspect of his mastery of kashrus He was learned in many other areas and used to send me his handwritten divrei Torah on the parashah, which were ultimately collected into the three volumes of his sefer Ikvei Binyamin. His divrei Torah were always full of

insight, and I enjoyed reading them very much. In addition to his brilliant mind, he also had a poetic soul; in fact, along with writing sefarim, he would compose poetry.

Reb Yacov was a pioneer in many ways. He was the only boy from his Massachusetts hometown of Fall River, where his father served as rav for decades, to study in a yeshivah at the time, and one of the few from the yeshivah to continue his studies in kollel following marriage. He remained in klei kodesh work, delivering a shiur for high school and semichah students at Yeshiva Rabbi Samson Raphael Hirsch in the Manhattan neighborhood of Washington Heights, which was home to a large community of German Jewish refugees.

While in Washington Heights, he developed a close bond with Rabbi Joseph Breuer, who headed the institutions of the German Jewish community. Rabbi Breuer in uenced Reb Yacov to undertake serious study of Nach. Once during a conversation, Rabbi Breuer turned to him and said, in his native German, “Uhn vas würde der Novi Yeshayahu dazu sagen—And what would the prophet Yeshayahu say about this?” Reb Yacov took these words to heart. He delved into the poetic words of Yeshayahu’s prophecies and would attempt to analyze situations as he believed the prophets would. His public speeches would invariably center on the eternity and vitality of the Jewish people as they struggled through the exile and inspire people to view themselves as members of an eternal Divine nation, not as mere individuals.

When I came to the OU in 1980, everyone held Reb Yacov in high regard, almost in awe, because of his great integrity, loyalty and expertise. ose who worked with him, people who really knew the kashrus industry, respected him tremendously for his knowledge and his judgment. He also possessed

remarkable yiras Shamayim. Rabbi Elefant described to me an episode that occurred a er Reb Yacov had le the OU, in which there was some remote concern about the kashrus of matzah under his supervision. Reb Yacov was trembling at the possibility that something had gone wrong, and immediately replaced all the matzah in question.

During the years Reb Yacov served at the OU, he traveled and visited plants much more frequently than I do today because the OU was much smaller at the time and had a limited sta . A 1979 New York Times article described the heads of the “big four” kosher organizations at the time, including Rabbi Lipschutz: “ ese are not men to cavil at the prospect of more ight time than becomes a Secretary of State, and it takes more than turbulence alo and intransigence below to discourage them from extending the dominion of kashrut.” On occasion, the New York Times gets it right.

I o en quote what Reb Yacov told me in the name of Rabbi Joseph Ber Soloveitchik. Rav Soloveitchik said to him that when you see an OU on a product, it testi es to the vitality of the American Jewish community. Reb Yacov’s commitment to the community helped make the OU the trusted symbol it is.

Even though Reb Yacov was an austere Litvak, he had a wonderful sense of humor. He always saw the potential in others, and he was tremendously loyal. When the OU absorbed National Kashrus, the hashgachah he had established a er leaving the OU, he had one rm condition: all the people and the mashgichim who worked with him must keep their jobs. To me, that was emblematic of his commitment and his loyalty.

e signi cant contributions he made to the Jewish community through his great talents and re ned character, and the distinguished family he le behind, are his legacy.

Rabbi Menachem Genack is CEO of OU Kosher.

RABBI MATIS GREENBLATT Remembering

A DEDICATED EDITOR

By Joel M. Schreiber

It was 1985 and the then-president of the Orthodox Union Professor Shimon Kwestel requested that I, chairman of the OU Publications Commission at the time, create a magazine that would disseminate and further the values of the organization. Matis Greenblatt and I subsequently met in my home, and a er a few hours of intense discussion, we decided to turn the organization’s seven- or eight-page in-house newsletter, known as Jewish Action, into a full- edged magazine. Matis was to serve as literary editor.

Almost forty years later, re ecting on years of tireless work and e ort, one realizes that without Matis’s contribution—his insight and extraordinary talent—the magazine would never have succeeded. For decades we conferred at least two or three times a week, sometimes daily,

Joel M. Schreiber is chairman emeritus, Jewish Action Committee. This article is adapted from an essay that was originally published in the spring 2014 issue of Jewish Action.

and during those times, I realized the depth of his remarkable talents. We would discuss, deliberate and debate for hours on end.

Matis was a consummate talmid chacham and expert, whether in Talmud, Midrash, Jewish philosophy or machshavah. Be it klezmer or classical music, novels or biographies, Chassidim or Mitnagdim, politics or organizations, Matis had an interest in and a rm knowledge of the subject matter.

Working closely with editor Heidi Tenzer, Charlotte Friedland and Nechama Carmel respectively, Matis brought an intellectual rigor to the publication. Along with the Editorial Committee, he conceptualized many of our celebrated issues, and because

of his personal connections, Jewish Action began featuring some of the most prominent thinkers and rabbis in the Orthodox world, such as Rabbi Aharon Lichtenstein and Rabbi Lord Jonathan Sacks. Jewish Action’s intellectual breadth was due to Matis’s in uence as well. Under his guidance, we published articles covering the range of Orthodox Torah scholarship, from Rabbi Avraham Yitzchak HaKohen Kook to Rabbi Yitzchak Hutner, from Rabbi Joseph Ber Soloveitchik to Rabbi Shlomo Zalman Auerbach. In our quest to challenge our readership with fresh perspectives and new insights, Matis was a continual source of ideas. His eclectic knowledge and dedication to excellence made working with him both interesting and challenging. His deep faith infused our work with value and importance. Ironically although Matis was practically unknown to the OU administration and o cers, he was the spark that helped create and sustain interest in Jewish Action not only in the formative years but for decades therea er

A er nearly three decades of tireless devotion to the magazine, Matis retired while continuing to serve Jewish Action as literary editor emeritus. We can be certain in the

Rabbi Matis Greenblatt, z”l, the former literary editor of Jewish Action, who passed away in May, was widely respected as a brilliant thinker and talmid chacham. For more than three decades, his vision, intellectual breadth and unrelenting determination helped mold Jewish Action and set a standard of excellence in the world of Orthodox publishing.

knowledge that his literary creation will remain an enduring gi to the Jewish public.

On a personal note, Matis’s recent passing leaves a void in my heart that will never be lled. My special relationship with this very special person was a gi that I will always cherish. Chaval al d’avdin v’lo mishtakchin.

MY CO-CONSPIRATOR

By Rabbi Dr. Hillel Goldberg

It was a criminal conspiracy. e criminals: Matis Greenblatt and Hillel Goldberg. e crime: getting Orthodox Jews who don’t usually read each other, or hear each other or pay attention to each other, to do so. e tools of the crime: Greenblatt’s checkered history, aided and abetted by Goldberg’s own checkered history. e checkered history: Torah study under rebbeim both in and out of the yeshivah world, appreciation of perspectives both in and out of Modern Orthodox communities, and personal connections in both worlds.

For example, when Greenblatt, in 1987, proposed to Goldberg a symposium on musar (“Do We Need a Renewal of Musar?”), no time was spent on evaluating whether this was a good idea. Of course it was a good idea, not just intrinsically, but because it was an area of Torah that no particular segment of the Orthodox Jewish community could claim a monopoly on, or a particular expertise in. By its nature, musar crosses boundaries. So no, time was not spent on evaluating the idea. Immediately, we began tossing out names of potential contributors, a key criterion being their roots in yeshivot that otherwise might not pay attention to each other, their study under rebbeim who might not otherwise read each other.

In truth, Greenblatt was the chief conspirator; Goldberg was the coconspirator. Indeed, Greenblatt’s genius was in gathering around himself many co-conspirators. Another one was Joel Schreiber, chairman of the OU Publications Commission from 1985 to 2004, who insisted on the independence of the magazine’s voice and not only supported diversity of voice, but o ered his own ideas on it. Another one was editor Heidi Tenzer, who was followed by Charlotte Friedland and current editor Nechama Carmel. not only had to edit the consequences of the various literary conspiracies (Greenblatt’s o cial title was “literary editor”), but also had to keep the magazine in balance with other valuable foci.

As the years went on and Greenblatt’s special projects and symposia grew Jewish Action in stature and readership, his crimes multiplied. He tackled many controversial topics. Jewish Action became the go-to publication for many sides, not just one side, of a controversy. When a magazine grows in stature, there are dramatic side bene ts. Surely one of Greenblatt’s many lasting contributions derived from his special link to the late Rabbi Aharon Lichtenstein, zt”l, which yielded his memorable 1992 piece, “ e Source of Faith Is Faith Itself.” Sum it up this way: Unlike almost all house organs, in Jewish Action many pieces shepherded into print by Rabbi Matis Greenblatt have ended up with a permanent place in the Jewish spiritual rmament.

As I contemplate Matis’s wide perspectives and laser-focused dedication, I regret that no similar conspiracy is ever likely to come my way again. Matis, you cared; Matis, you mastered the art of friendship. Rest in peace, my friend: you did your piece to change the world and heal the breaches.

Rabbi Matis Greenblatt, z”l, was born in 1933 in the Coney Island section of Brooklyn, where he spent his childhood.

He attended Yeshiva of Brighton Beach for elementary school and Yeshiva Rabbi Chaim Berlin for high school and post high school beit midrash studies. It was there that he formed a close relationship with the rosh yeshivah, Rabbi Yitzchak Hutner.

Rabbi Greenblatt earned his bachelor’s degree in liberal arts from Brooklyn College. He began working for the federal Social Security Administration (SSA) at age twenty-five when he married Audrey (Chana) Shapiro, a Stern College student from Kansas City. He spent his early married life in East Flatbush, Brooklyn, and later moved to Monsey.

While still working at the SSA, he was recruited to develop Jewish Action into a full-fledged magazine and re-launched the publication. He retired from the SSA at fiftythree and devoted more of his time to Jewish Action. In 2000, Rabbi Greenblatt realized his longtime dream of making aliyah, and he spent his remaining years in Bayit Vegan, Jerusalem. He is survived by six children, thirty-one grandchildren and many greatgrandchildren.

Rabbi Dr. Hillel Goldberg is editor of the Intermountain Jewish News and a contributing editor of Jewish Action.

MY GOOD FRIEND, RAV MATIS

By Rabbi Emanuel Feldman

King David in Psalm 24 asks, “Mi Ya’aleh . . . who will ascend to G-d’s holy place . . . . ?” And he answers:

“

Neki kapayim u’var levav, the clean of hands and the pure of heart, asher lo nasa la’shav nafshi, who did not carry My soul in vain.” e meaning of neki kapayim is fairly clear: a “clean hand” takes not what is not his, but instead gives to others and bestows blessings; bar levav, “pure of heart,” means one who bears no grudge, has no malice or envy or hatred. But the meaning of “did not carry My soul in vain” is not readily apparent.

In the life of my friend Rabbi Matis Greenblatt, the meaning becomes apparent. For at birth, every person is granted a soul and is bidden to improve it, heighten its spirituality and utilize it to serve G-d and to help others. If during a person’s lifetime he does not enhance his spirituality or increase his service of G-d and man—does not, in a word, cleanse and purify his G-d-given soul but instead returns it to its Maker unimproved and unre ned—that means that the soul given to him at birth was carried by him in vain, la’shav, for he did nothing with it. e person who will ascend to G-d’s holy place is the one who during his lifetime devoted himself to loyal service of G-d, to study of Torah, to spiritual pursuits, and to doing chesed, kindness.

It is these words—lo nasa la’shav nafshi—that portray my friend of many years. Having learned with him as a chavrusa for many years, I recognized his brilliant mind and intellectual rigor. He loved learning, reveled in its depths, and was a veritable bibliographer: give him just the title of any classic sefer Nimukei Yosef, Rif, Rashba, Tosafos Rid—and he would immediately know its author and when it was published. Beyond this, having studied in Mesivta Chaim Berlin under the legendary Rabbi Yitzchak Hutner, he absorbed his rebbi’s ability to perceive, to analyze, to prize integrity and to give no quarter to intellectual dishonesty. But above all else, in addition to his perceptive editing and ne writing, Rav Matis was a mentsch, a sensitive human being, kind and considerate and caring despite the fact that his was not an easy life. He and his devoted wife—whose care and concern for him in his last years was without parallel—overcame many challenges even before his nal, lengthy illness. Notwithstanding all this, his goodness remained unchanged.

Who will ascend to G-d’s holy place? People like Rav Matis Greenblatt. He surely earned a rich Olam Haba, taking with him his clean, unsullied hands (as a Kohen, he gave thousands of blessings), his pure heart and especially his soul, which he re ned and enhanced and certainly did not carry in vain. He is sorely missed. May his soul be bound up in the bond of eternal life.

Rabbi Emanuel Feldman, the rabbi of Atlanta’s Beth Jacob Synagogue for forty years, is a current columnist for Mishpacha Magazine. He is the past editor of Tradition and the author of twelve books.

WHITE/ SILVER

Can’t We Just Get Along?

Living side by side in peace and harmony

Unfortunately, we occasionally hear about confict and tension when Orthodox Jews begin moving into a new community. While the confict often centers on zoning issues or the introduction of an eruv, the battles tend to mask emotions simmering beneath the surface: fear of the unknown and anxiety about the future. No doubt antisemitism exists, but in many cases, the tension dissipates when caring, concerned people—on both sides—get involved. In the stories that follow, that is exactly what happened.

OCEAN COUNTY, NEW JERSEY

When con ict and tension began to brew in Ocean County, a core group of Orthodox activists set out to change the situation.

By Sam Ellenbogen and Michael Waldner

As

told to

Nechama Carmel

When we rst moved here some years ago, blackand-white yard signs adorned front lawns, declaring “Don’t sell! Toms River Strong!” e signs were mostly in response to aggressive real estate solicitors; non-Jewish families had gotten visits from several agents on the lookout for homes for Orthodox families seeking to move into the area. Rabbi Moshe Gourarie

was operating the Chabad Jewish Center from his house, a quiet shul that attracted a small crowd. e township was giving him a hard time since the zoning ordinance banned places of prayer in a residential zone. A meeting was held in the town hall over the issue, and 2,000 non-Jewish residents showed up to oppose the shul. Tensions were running high. e Toms River Jewish Community Council (TRJCC) was born out of necessity; it was a reactionary measure to the tension and con ict. A core group of guys—eleven local businessmen—decided to come together to try and promote dialogue and conversation. (Our o ce is my [Sam’s] dining room.) We reached out to the mayor, county o cials, the sheri , the local police chief, the re chief and local interfaith leaders.

We wanted there to be a place for people to express discontent and to air questions. We let everyone know: if there are problems, come to us.

In the years since we started, we’ve spent thousands of hours engaging with residents and community leaders. We’ve become the go-to place for addressing communal issues. Residents

turn to us, asking about the eruv. Or on Sukkos, for example, neighbors call asking, “What’s with all the huts?” Nine out of ten times, the calls we receive concern perception issues.

People have valid questions. Many of them never encountered an Orthodox Jew before. When Orthodox families rst started moving in, much of the tension was simply due to fear of the unknown. Residents didn’t want Toms River turning into crowded Lakewood. But we didn’t want that either. We moved here precisely because of the quality of life; we, too, wanted a quiet, serene community. Once we helped them realized that, the hate signs came down. We eld calls all day long. Much of the work we do is education. For example, we got a call from the head of local code enforcement. In Toms River, one is only permitted to park on the street or in a driveway. One Orthodox Jewish family parked two cars side by side in their driveway, causing one of the cars to be partially parked on the lawn. In a town where residents take great pride in their manicured lawns, this understandably upset some neighbors. One neighbor called code enforcement to report the violation. I called the

Sam Ellenbogen is in the real estate business. Michael Waldner is in real estate marketing. They live in Toms River with their families and are active members of the Toms River Jewish Community Council.

Nechama Carmel is editor-inchief of Jewish Action.

Some months ago, the Toms River Jewish Community Council launched an initiative to distribute gi s to sick children. Seen here, Ocean County sheri and representatives from the Toms River Police Department assist in distributing gi s. Courtesy of the TRJCC

ordinance against parking on the lawn. He was simply unaware of it.

When a new family moves here, we try to educate them about the community standards: you can’t leave bikes out overnight; you need to take your garbage cans in; you have to properly maintain your lawn and property. Moving from the city to suburbia requires an adjustment.

ere needs to be open-mindedness on all sides and a willingness to have a conversation. We have found that the only way to have dialogue is to engage in dialogue.

On anksgiving we brought food to the police department and to the volunteer re ghters to express our gratitude for all that they do. Recently, we got a call from someone interested in donating a signi cant amount of toys. We could have chosen to donate the toys to a Jewish children’s organization. But we decided to make it a gi for everyone. We reached out to the police chief and set up a date for a free toy drive. e Toms River Jewish Community Council, in conjunction with the local Police Foundation, will be distributing toys to the community’s

are one community. When a problem arises, we try to jump on it immediately. We can’t a ord to wait. is is a bit of a problem as all of us are businessmen trying to run our businesses during the day, while also making sure we are available. Since elding the calls has become a full-time job, we are in the process of hiring our rst administrator. As the community continues to grow, we are committed to ensuring that we remain accessible and responsive.

Are there issues? Yes. Is there antisemitism? Yes, antisemitism does exist, but we have dramatically changed the situation in our community. Overall, in Toms River, we now have a great relationship with our neighbors. Residents are welcoming and understanding. We’ve come a long way. ese days you would be hardpressed to nd a “Toms River Strong” sign anywhere.

(Scott) Gartner

As told to Steve Lipman and Leah R. Lightman

Afew years ago, when we moved from Boro Park to Toms River to be closer to our children and grandchildren, the Rise Up Ocean County (RUOC) movement was raging. e people behind RUOC felt threatened by the growth of the Orthodox Jewish populations of Lakewood and the surrounding communities. Jews were purchasing homes and moving to Toms River in increasing numbers. e nature of the area was changing. is was a year or two before the creation of the Toms River Jewish Community Council.

e local non-Jews and secular Jews feared many things, including the erosion of the tax base due to the potential conversion of Orthodox homes into shuls. ey were also concerned about the brain drain on the public school system as the in ux of Orthodox neighbors diminished the local public school student body. Additionally, the Orthodox Jewish community members’ request for bus

funding for their students was perceived as a violation of church and state.

And there was the social issue— they were simply not used to seeing Orthodox Jews walking the streets on Shabbos.

Locals organized to block the way for Orthodox Jews to move in, and began to make things more di cult for us. ey did not like the rapid changes

taking place. ere was friction. ere was tension. You could feel it.

Most of the Orthodox families moving in didn’t know how to bridge the gap with the neighbors. I saw the need to create bonds of friendship, and believed that if something was not done, we were headed to a bad place. A er sharing my concerns with Rabbi Michel Twerski of Milwaukee, he urged me to take action.

Over time, I came to develop a connection with a non-Orthodox Jew who is proud of his Jewishness and is a mover and shaker in Toms River. Eventually we had lunch and he agreed to set up a meeting with Jewish representatives of the community and some of Toms River’s local political gures. A er much e ort, our rst meeting was at a local Starbucks.

Uncomfortable is an understatement for describing the initial moments of that meeting. It wasn’t warm and fuzzy at rst. “Gentlemen,” we began, “do you

think we really have horns? What are you afraid of? at we are going to tear down the houses and construct multidwelling units on every property? at’s not why we’ve chosen to live here. We are family people just like you. We have chosen to live in Toms River since we are seeking quality of life as you are. Let’s all step back, take a collective breath and realize that we have much in common.”

By focusing on shared values and goals, we began to break down barriers. By the time that meeting came to an end, we all saw that we could work together: what united us was far greater than what divided us. Also, we were prepared to give to the community. People want to work with givers, not takers. So we rolled up our sleeves and began collaborating on civic matters, bussing issues, political campaigns and whatever else was needed. Once the Toms River Jewish Community Council came along, the situation improved even more.

Of course, the garden is more about growing community than about growing any specifc vegetables or fowers. Meeting face to face is a great way to build bridges and foster relations.

Jewish and non-Jewish children planting together at the grand opening of the Common Grounds community garden in Lakewood in 2021. e garden is a project of One Ocean County, dedicated to fostering dialogue and positive interaction between the region’s Orthodox Jewish community and their neighbors. Courtesy of the Lakewood Scoop/Colin Lewis

Rabbi Shabsey Gartner, a resident of Toms River and a veteran community activist, is the founder of the Living Kiddush Hashem Foundation, dedicated to raising awareness of the paramount importance of the mitzvah of kiddush Hashem (livingkiddushhashem.org/).

Steve Lipman and Leah R. Lightman are frequent contributors to Jewish Action.

e Jewish community has developed strong ties to the police chief and the sheri in Toms River. A few months ago, the community held a hachnasas sefer Torah. We had ten police and sheri cars escorting us through a major thoroughfare.  ey were amazingly supportive. Four or ve years earlier, we would not have been allowed to do it.

In the years since we’ve been able to overcome the tension and con ict, I have learned a few things. Being aware of neighborhood concerns is a rst priority in avoiding confrontation. Most people are clearly afraid that Orthodox Jews will simply overrun their lifestyle without consideration for things they hold dear. Any change frightens people. It’s important to realize that this is a legitimate fear people have.

ere is no one recipe for success in how an Orthodox community can grow and migrate to new areas, but awareness and proactively organized initiatives can help each community as it grows. What works is very simple: Create a vaad or community committee to be responsible for outreach—to political parties, the police department, the re department, the Chamber of Commerce. We take the initiative to deliver sandwiches and treats to public servants, such as the police, EMS and re departments on anksgiving and holidays. People notice. It creates a tremendous amount of goodwill.

Participate in local events. All townships have open meetings on a regular basis. Community representatives should attend these meetings consistently and introduce themselves, showing participation in local matters and a willingness to live side by side.

Express concern for local legislation and politics by showing activism in elections. is has huge rami cations, especially in local primaries. We do make a di erence.

Support the food banks and the homeless in your community. It shows we care. It’s our obligation to engage in community outreach.

Be gracious. When we drive,

we can choose to drive safely or recklessly; we can choose to either make a kiddush Hashem or a chillul Hashem. How we behave in public contributes to whether people will accept us or reject us.

Share common goals. Reform or Conservative Jews may feel confronted or excluded when Orthodox Jews move into their neighborhoods. We should make them aware of our common goals as residents.

By working with our neighbors, unbelievably good things have happened in Toms River.

Tova Herskovitz

As told to Steve Lipman

Afew years ago in Ocean County, home of Lakewood and other rapidly expanding Orthodox Jewish communities, there was a lot of misunderstanding and stereotyping with regard to the Orthodox community. Having studied community dialogue while going for my master’s in social work, I wondered if I might be able to help with building bridges.

I reached out to my peers who are engaged in the outside world and are civic-minded like myself. In 2019, we founded One Ocean County (oneoceancounty.com), a nonpro t organization to bridge the divide and foster dialogue. We do this by hosting events, educational programs and other activities that bring together diverse groups of participants.

When we started, people in the frum community were nervous— many said things like, “it’s fruitless”; it will be an invitation to more scrutiny”; “maybe the problems will just go away.” But we persevered.

Initially, we met with local reporters and held focus groups where we discussed common misconceptions about our community. Many of the local people just didn’t know Orthodox people. We tried to educate—we touched on everything from what we read to how we dress to where we live, shop and play. It was a great way to break the mystique and invite people into our culture. We

By Colin Lewis

As told

to

Steve Lipman

In Ocean County, we are seeing unprecedented growth of the Orthodox Jewish community. I watched the yeshivah, Beth Medrash Govoha, grow.

I like the concept of community outreach. The Toms River Jewish Community Council asked me to introduce them to some of the pastors in the community so we could build bridges between ethnic groups.

A couple of friends along with me and an Orthodox Jew formed Love Thy Neighbor USA. [Love Thy Neighbor USA is a grassroots group of activists who embrace community values and work with people and organizations to improve and strengthen relationships between one another, irrelevant of race, religion, color or creed.] One year we hosted a Super Bowl party for the homeless at Urban Air, a recreational place for youth. At least 100 people came. The room was filled with hot food, clothing, hygienic supplies and medical equipment for the homeless.

Love Thy Neighbor has grown; this will be our fourth year. It breaks down the negativity and the stereotypes when people see that the Orthodox community cares about social issues and about its neighbors.

It’s a learning experience for both communities.

Colin Lewis is an activist in the African American community in Lakewood, New Jersey.

A Rosh Hashanah

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learned that there needed to be a place where people could interact in a positive way and share common ground.

Our rst project that was open to the public was in 2019, before Covid. It was a challah bake held in the ballroom of a local hotel. e idea came from an African American community activist who had heard about a challah bake on the Jersey Shore. We didn’t think people would be interested in making challah, but we posted the event on Facebook and had yers distributed at city council meetings and in downtown Lakewood. Everyone told their friends about it, and local pastors told their congregants about it.

We ended up with 120 women, 80 percent were non-Jews—public school teachers, doctors and nurses. Some women spoke only Spanish; we had a translator on hand. e event was kosher and free of charge; Toms River resident Scott (Shabsey) Gartner sponsored it in honor of his wife Jessica’s birthday.

In the crowded ballroom, women gathered at round tables laden high with ingredients. Each participant received an apron that said “Knead Kindness,” the night’s theme. At every table, one or two Orthodox women led a demonstration on making challah while explaining what challah means to her. We didn’t lean too heavily on the religious aspect of challah. e women went through the steps together—kneading the dough, braiding it, et cetera. We didn’t actually bake the challahs there; the participants took their ready-to-bake challah home with them.

e women had a fabulous time. It was a very fun, relaxed atmosphere. For us, this was the rst step to see if it was possible to bring people together. People asked when the next one would be. ey wanted to see each other again. Unfortunately, Covid put

everything on hold, although we did organize a virtual challah bake during Covid. Subsequently, we had a cra s night at a local library.

Another project of ours is the Lakewood-based “Common Grounds” community garden, where we grow owers and vegetables. Lakewood Mayor Raymond Coles was an early supporter of this initiative. Lakewood Township donated a seventy-byy-foot piece of township-owned elds and gave us access to town water at no charge. We also launched a fundraising campaign, which brought in over $10,000, most of it from local businesses, to help pay for an irrigation system. e Lakewood Police Department donated funds, and a local group for African-American youth helped build the ower beds and plant the various vegetables and herbs. Of course, the garden is more about growing community than about growing any speci c vegetables or owers. Meeting face to face is a great way to build bridges and foster relations.

In addition to the community garden and #KneadKindness, we organize Super Soul Sundays and Super Bowl parties for the homeless population. We

also work with local media, including the Asbury Park Press, to educate people and create awareness of the diversity in Ocean County. In addition, One Ocean County holds tech meetups for young tech enthusiasts in the area. e work of One Ocean County was recently recognized by the Jewish Federation of Ocean County. What have we learned? at people are genuinely interested in learning about our community. We just have to take the rst steps to reach out.

MERION, PENNSYLVANIA

By Sid Laytin

As told to Merri Ukraincik

Imoved to Merion, Pennsylvania, about twenty years ago, when I was newly religious and recently retired. I got involved in community projects from the beginning, and I was the logical point person when we launched the e ort to build a new mikvah in 2010; because of my background in construction, I already knew the town’s leadership.

Tova Herskovitz, founder of the Boss Brands digital design and social media agency, is a resident of Toms River. She is the founder of One Ocean County and the Common Grounds Community Garden.

About 120 women, 80 percent of whom were non-Jews, took part in One Ocean County’s inaugural challah bake in 2019. is bridge-building initiative created a fun, relaxed atmosphere and proved it was possible to bring the two communities together. Photo: Doug Hood

e landscape in Merion has shi ed dramatically over the years. ere was a time when the deeds to some of the houses did not permit sale to a Jew. Now, most homes on the market are bought by a frum Jewish family. Our plan to replace the original mikvah located in the basement of our elementary school—with a modern facility on another property in town was one more sign of our increasing communal presence here.

With all our growth, however, we are still a relatively small kehillah, not really on anyone’s radar, so we have never faced staunch local opposition. But Orthodox Jews are visible. I attribute our continued success as a community in Merion to the sensitive

way we have gone about meeting our needs, being mindful of our neighbors as we expand.

For example, we have generally taken a civic-focused approach here. We have members on the boards of the public library and the re department. Several others serve as volunteer re ghters. We participate in the annual July 4th parade. Our rabbis give convocations at public events, and we attend them. It’s a healthy way for us to live side by side in one neighborhood.

A er we identi ed a suitable property for the new mikvah, an eyesore we wanted to convert from residential to commercial use, we proceeded carefully to gain public support, reaching out to all the neighbors and to Merion’s residential clubs. We were also sure to do whatever the zoning board requested. We used local professionals for the project and talked to everyone the township asked us to—and we listened to what they had to say.

ough all of us are busy, I made the time to contact anyone who raised their hands at a zoning meeting with a question. I met with them one on one to assuage concerns, or to explain

what a mikvah is and why it is essential to our lives as a community of faith. We approached the Conservative synagogues as well. ese conversations helped us to both garner support for the mikvah and ensure ongoing shalom bayit with our neighbors. Personal connections removed the few barriers of resistance we faced. An artist whose home is right next to the mikvah has a secluded yard with trellises and a pool. He feared losing his privacy if we were to add a proposed second story onto the mikvah building. e zoning board rejected the plan anyway, but our investment of time in listening to him and responding to his speci c concerns ultimately made him the number-one supporter of the project.

e process of constructing the mikvah gave us the opportunity to build many important relationships with Merion residents of all backgrounds, and it remains important to us to preserve and strengthen them going forward.

We invited everyone in town to the Chanukat Habayit to demonstrate our appreciation for their support as we celebrated this milestone.

e Jewish community of Merion was able to build a new mikvah by working diligently to gain public support. Courtesy of Rebbetzin Dr. Adina Shmidman

Merri Ukraincik has written for Tablet, the Lehrhaus, the Forward, and other publications, including Jewish Action. She is the author of I Live. Send Help, a history of the Joint Distribution Committee.

A former contractor, Sid Laytin is a resident of Merion, Pennsylvania.

One of the keys to our success in growing a frum community responsibly has been remembering that we are coming in and asking something of an existing neighborhood. We are deferential and respectful, and we know to compromise where we can. But mostly, we go the extra mile to communicate person to person. In Merion, it’s made all the di erence.

OUTREMONT, QUEBEC

Outremont, an a uent, picturesque residential borough of Montreal, Quebec, is a tale of two very di erent communities. Most residents of Outremont are among the city’s nonJewish, French-speaking cultural elite. It is also home to Montreal’s largest Yiddish-speaking Chassidic population, which numbers several thousand.

ere has been tension between the two communities for some three decades. But things have shi ed in recent years. For example, the Outremont Borough Council served sufganiyot from a local kosher bakery at its monthly meeting one Chanukah. e fact that a Jewish holiday was publicly acknowledged at a council meeting was a momentous event, explained Mindy Pollak, a member of the Vizhnitz Chassidic sect who has served on the council since 2013. (To the best of her knowledge, she is the rst Chassidic woman outside of Israel ever elected to political o ce.)

ere have been other developments

as well. Several years ago, the borough’s annual spring fair—usually held only on Saturday—was extended into Sunday, making it possible for Chassidim to participate. eir previous requests for an extension had been denied.

“

ere’s de nitely a change,” Pollak was quoted as saying in the Canadian Jewish News. “ e council plays a huge role in setting the tone of what goes on. Past councils have sort of encouraged the con ict.”

During Covid, the Chassidim were compelled to make minyanim on their porches and pray outdoors. Surprisingly, some of the non-Jewish neighbors began to really enjoy the chanting of the prayers.“It was such a beautiful thing,” one neighbor was quoted as saying on the North Americana podcast, “and because the community keeps itself fairly sequestered. . . . A lot of people were touched by the intimacy of it . . . seeing into the sacred rituals of a community that is closed to you. . . .”

Grateful for the support, the Chassidim brought over bakery goods

to their neighbors with a note thanking them for their “patience during these hard times” and apologizing for the inconvenience they may have caused by praying on their porches three times a day.

e Chassidim have made other e orts to foster better relations as well.

e local branch of Hatzoloh responds to the medical emergencies of Jews and non-Jews alike and oversees the rst-aid tent at community-wide events. And when Belzer Grand Rabbi Yissochar Dov Rokeach made a rare visit from Israel in 2018, the Chassidim placed letters in the mailboxes of Outremont’s non-Jewish residents explaining the importance of the visit and providing advance notice about crowds and other concerns.

A erward, they placed a full-page ad in a local paper to thank their “dear neighbors.” Finding constructive ways to deal with potential con ict has helped create a more positive, harmonious atmosphere in Outremont.

I attribute our continued success as a community in Merion to the sensitive way we have gone about meeting our needs, being mindful of our neighbors as we expand.

With the growing threat of a war with Hezbollah, we can’t ensure this Rosh HaShanah will usher in a peaceful year. But with a new campaign to add 300 urgently needed ambulances to MDA’s fleet, we can save lives no matter what 5784 brings.

With the growing threat of a war with Hezbollah, we can’t ensure this Rosh HaShanah will usher in a peaceful year. But with a new campaign to add 300 urgently needed ambulances to MDA’s fleet, we can save lives no matter what 5784 brings.

Make a donation today or contact us about how you, your family, or synagogue provide the ambulances MDA will need.

With the growing threat of a war with Hezbollah, we can’t ensure this Rosh HaShanah will usher in a peaceful year. But with a new campaign to add 300 urgently needed ambulances to MDA’s fleet, we can save lives no matter what 5784 brings.

With the growing threat of a war with Hezbollah, we can’t ensure this Rosh HaShanah will usher in a peaceful year. But with a new campaign to add 300 urgently needed ambulances to MDA’s fleet, we can save lives no matter what 5784 brings.

Visit afmda.org/give or call 866.632.2763.

Make a donation today or contact us about how you, your family, or synagogue can provide the ambulances MDA will need.

Visit afmda.org/give or call 866.632.2763.

Make a donation today or contact us about how you, your family, or synagogue can provide the ambulances MDA will need.

Make a donation today or contact us about how you, your family, or synagogue can provide the ambulances MDA will need.

Visit afmda.org/give or call 866.632.2763.

Visit afmda.org/give or call 866.632.2763.

As Israelis rejoice in the sound of the shofar, we’re also preparing for the wail of the siren.

As Israelis rejoice in the sound of the shofar, we’re also preparing for the wail of the siren.

As Israelis rejoice in the sound of the shofar, we’re also preparing for the wail of the siren.

As Israelis rejoice in the sound of the shofar, we’re also preparing for the wail of the siren.

By Mindy Pollak

As told to Merri Ukraincik

We [Chassidic Jews] make up about 25 percent of the neighborhood. Our separate worldviews, lifestyles and appearance have all made for a tenuous coexistence between us and the local non-Jewish population.

ere has been friction, for example, over the annual building of sukkahs and the yearlong profusion of yellow school buses, with many of our neighbors viewing them as a blight. We are a very visible presence.

In 2011, tensions came to a head on Hutchison Street, a busy residential strip with lots of pedestrians, a café and several synagogues. e smallest shul on the block had won city approval to add a main-level bathroom for its elderly members. But opposition to the project forced a referendum.

I was then in my early twenties, working as a beautician. ough I was an unlikely candidate for the role, I became an activist overnight. Leila Marshy, a writer with Palestinian roots who also lived in the neighborhood, became my equally unlikely ally. She was sitting on her

balcony, watching residents who were opposed to the shul’s expansion go door to door with a petition. ey were skipping the Jewish homes. She said, “ ey are interested only in driving the Chassidim out, not engaging them in discussion.” As a Montreal native, she felt an obligation to help her fellow citizens by accommodating their religious needs.

From the beginning, we believed that it was mostly ignorance and lack of dialogue that had sustained the long ri in Outremont. Leila and I became friends, though we have always avoided discussion about the Israeli-Palestinian con ict. We decided to organize a town hall about the referendum. More than two hundred residents, Jews and non-Jews, attended that rst public meeting. We sat on a panel with a representative from the shul, elding questions, comments and, of course, complaints. Mostly, we gave members of the disparate groups a chance to really listen to one another.

A er the event, one woman told me, “You’re normal!” e remark was a bolt of lightning. People began to see that we share common ground.

Although the shul lost the referendum, Leila and I established Friends of Hutchison Street, an

Tips for Fostering Good Relations

Be considerate of your neighbors. Shovel the snow in front of your house. Be careful to keep your home and yard orderly and pleasantlooking within the standards of your neighborhood. Put away toys that are on the sidewalks and in yards. Keep your garbage contained.

Drive safely and courteously. We can either make a kiddush Hashem or a chillul Hashem every time we get behind the wheel. How we behave in public contributes to how we are perceived collectively.

Be a mentsch. Be neighborly. Smile to your neighbors. Be the first to say “good morning.” Check in on the elderly neighbor down the street.

Remember that you are a role model. Get involved in the local community. Try to participate in communal events such as fairs or parades.

Education about Jewish culture is important in developing a good rapport with non-Jewish neighbors. Explain to neighbors about yamim tovim and semachot, the reason for the extra guests and cars on the street, or any other inconveniences such as loud noise, music and dancing.

Positive interaction and communication are key to good relations. E ective communication is a vital tool for relieving tension and clearing up misunderstandings. If we learn to communicate properly with others, our relationships with the people around us may improve drastically.

Special thanks to Rebbetzin Judi Steinig, senior director, OU Community Projects and Partnerships, and Rabbi Shabsey Gartner for their help in preparing these tips.

Outremont’s non-Jewish, Frenchspeaking cultural elite and Montreal’s largest Yiddish-speaking Chassidic population live side by side in peace.

Photo: Megapress/Alamy Stock Photo

organization to promote honest, open dialogue, foster diversity and dispel misconceptions. We held meetings and events and set up tables at street fairs. We posted yers, and people came out in number. We even hosted a bakeo

Sixteen Chassidic women participated. A prominent journalist and a Jewish food blogger were among the judges. In more than one instance, these events were opportunities for non-Jewish residents and Chassidim to have their rst real conversations with one another. Seeing non-Jews show up to support us at Friends of Hutchison programs a er we’d been in con ict on so many issues had a huge impact. I’ve noticed that the more you talk to people, the more the di erences fall away.

Nowadays, the Chassidim are a bit less insular and our neighbors are a little less perplexed by our culture.

In 2013, Projet Montréal, a progressive political party, approached me about running for Borough Council. While a political career had never crossed my mind, I saw it as an opportunity to make a di erence. Not that it was easy. When I began to campaign, neither side of the neighborhood knew what to make of me.

Many of the non-Jews were curious. “Oh, you’re the Chassidic woman who is running?” Within my own community, there was concern that

having one of our own represent us on the council might make tensions worse. Many felt uncomfortable with me stepping into such a public role. But I got my family’s blessing and, ultimately, the backing of local askanim. So I ran and I won. Journalists joked that I won without shaking the hands of half the voters. I’m currently in my third term.

My job, in general, is about ensuring that Outremont’s bylaws, some of which re ect a subtle or not-so-subtle antisemitism, do not get worse. We currently have prohibitions against the construction of new houses of worship and the burning of bread outdoors. Until we can change things, we can’t live together with mutual respect.

In 2019, Friends of Hutchison asked a local Chassidic contractor to build a public sukkah in the park. We thought it would help our neighbors understand what a sukkah is all about, that it would open minds and lead to a change in the bylaws. People came. ey listened and learned, but the bylaws continue to impose a eenday limit on how long a sukkah can stay up; a neighboring borough allows for a more generous thirty days.

My colleagues on the council are willing to listen. I’ve nurtured allies and friends. Within the neighborhood, there are people who have come to appreciate how family-oriented we are, how safe the streets feel. e new municipal administration has been more amenable to our needs.

For example, we can hold a public hachnasas sefer Torah with music piped through speakers on the street, which had been prohibited until now.

Recently, the library art gallery opened an exhibition by a non-Jewish Polish photographer who captured images of Chassidim who had come to Poland to visit kevarim. e exhibit was presented jointly by the borough of Outremont and the Consulate General of the Republic of Poland in Montreal. A fellow councilwoman told me, “I could not have imagined something like this ever happening here.”

Yet progress is slow. e small shul on Hutchison Street still awaits approval to add a bathroom. We are a growing community that cannot build a new shul. But I have developed a thick skin and am hopeful. My emunah that Hashem pushed me in this direction keeps me going.

We, the Chassidic community, can do better too. We need to work harder at building relationships. During the pandemic, men davened on the porches of homes that were very close together. Minyanim o en got loud. Chassidim sent their neighbors notes of apology and appreciation, delivering treats as a gesture of goodwill from a bakery both communities patronize. It planted the seeds for new alliances— an important start. One of our dayanim always greets his non-Jewish neighbors warmly. I maintain that we need to follow that kind of example. Most people here just want to live

Mindy Pollak, a member of the Vizhnitz Chassidic sect, has served on the Outremont Borough Council since 2013. During her tenure, the Chassidic community has found constructive ways to deal with potential con ict, creating a more positive, harmonious atmosphere in Outremont.

Photo: Christinne Muschi

From the beginning, we believed that it was mostly ignorance and lack of dialogue that had sustained the long rift in Outremont.

Mindy Pollak has served as an Outremont borough councilwoman since 2013.

GOOD FENCES MAKE GOOD NEIGHBORS:

Deeds

In Spring Valley, New York, Haitian and Chassidic neighbors banded together to help victims of the deadly earthquake that shook Haiti in August of 2021. Shelfstable food and hygiene items were packed by local yeshivah students in boxes stenciled with the slogan “With Love From the Jewish Community.” Courtesy of Masbia

Stories of Communities That Came Together

By Steve Lipman

Some ve decades ago, a small group of Orthodox Jewish friends in South eld, Michigan, the suburb of Detroit where the majority of the city’s Jewish population lives, formed a weekly minyan. When the minyan outgrew members’ living rooms, they met to daven at the nearby Adlai Stevenson Elementary School.

Today the Young Israel of South eld shares a property line and a common parking lot with the elementary school, a two-story brick building that houses a public K-5 institution comprised of about 400 students, most of them African American.

In recent years, the congregation of 140 member families has returned the kindness to the school. Members of Young Israel expanded the “Blessings in a Backpack” government food insecurity program for Stevenson students into a food drive. What’s more, once Covid eliminated many students’ families’ income, the shul collected enough supplies for recipients to feed themselves for two months. “A er Covid struck, we quickly realized we needed to do more,” says Andrea Gruber, an active member of the shul. “ ere are y students who receive breakfast and lunch daily, and when school is on vacation, they are o en hungry,” she says. “Our cereal drive helped alleviate some of their breakfast worries.”

As part of its “Neighbor to Neighbor” project, Young Israel of South eld has also set up a free food cabinet, out tted with non-perishables and open 24/7 outside the school; provided food boxes that were placed by synagogue members in recipients’ cars during the quarantine at the height of the pandemic; held a holiday gi drive on behalf of the members’ non-Jewish neighbors, providing gi s and gi cards, as well as tablets for students to continue their remote learning; held cereal drives and glove drives for Stevenson families; and initiated a tutoring program, conducted remotely during the pandemic and now back to in-person sessions.

When a local African American family lost their home to a re during Covid, Gruber says “shul members reached out nancially as well as in other ways to help this family get through the rst few days until their insurance company could come through for them. is is what good neighbors do . . . we care about one another.”

Like the Young Israel synagogue, other Orthodox shuls throughout North America, ranging from Modern Orthodox to Chassidic, have engaged in similar altruistic projects on a macro

a show of support for their Jewish neighbors, precisely because of the good relationships that were built.”

E orts to build good relations work both ways.

“When there is a neighborhood gathering or a new neighbor moves in, I receive personal calls from the Homeowners Association [in Michigan every neighborhood has its own HOA] asking if the new neighbors keep kosher, to ensure that welcome food gi s are appropriate,” says Gruber. And at the block parties, there’s always kosher food. “We have great neighbors; we don’t see the color of their skin and they don’t see our religion.”

“Instead of being reactive, we work to be proactive in building strong and caring relationships with our neighbors,” says Rabbi Yechiel Morris, rav of the South eld shul since 2002. e work of the Young Israel parents and children is a leading example of the proactive organized activities that Orthodox shuls are conducting to reduce the misunderstandings and stereotypes that have become common in many US cities.

Activities in various communities have included:

and micro level to help their nonJewish and non-Orthodox neighbors and improve inter-group relations. e common motivation for these e orts is to create strong bonds and friendships across a religious-ethnic divide before problems arise.

Rabbi Adir Posy, who oversees the OU’s work with shuls across the country in his role as national director of OU Synagogue Initiatives, says that dozens of shuls have made it a priority to foster positive community relations. And in the face of growing antisemitism, this kind of community building is more important than ever. “In places where there have been antisemitic acts, plenty of non-Jewish residents came out in

l Under the leadership of Rabbi Daniel Cohen, Congregation Agudath Sholom in Stamford, Connecticut, has taken part in serving holiday meals at a local homeless shelter, partnered with local non-Jews in preparing holiday packages for US troops overseas and sponsored a series of carpe diem programs to encourage members of the community to look for individual mitzvah opportunities. e shul also sponsors food programs for local non-Jewish single mothers and their children.

l In Spring Valley, New York, Haitian and Chassidic neighbors banded together to help victims of the deadly earthquake that shook Haiti in August of 2021. e Jewish community of Rockland County contributed tens of thousands of dollars to the cause, in addition to supplies donated by Chassidic-run companies. Similarly, when tragedy struck in the Bronx neighborhood of New York City and a horri c re took the lives of seventeen

Steve Lipman is a frequent contributor to Jewish Action.

Especially in the high-tension world in which we live, we need to serve as an example of how everyone can get along.

people, Chassidic groups from Boro Park set up a relief tent near the scene of the tragedy and began serving hot food to survivors and rst responders. Additionally, the Chassidic volunteers purchased and distributed emergency supplies, beverages and snacks to the re survivors, most of whom were immigrants from West Africa.

Inspired by the work of rst responders on 9/11, Fair Lawn’s Congregation Shomrei Torah, which has a few congregants who are 9/11 survivors, began running a hakarat hatov program aimed at showing gratitude to the local members of the police and re departments, as well as to the EMS workers, most of them non-Jewish. “We wanted to make a meaningful, commemorative event,”

says Rabbi Andrew Markowitz. Over the past few years, on a Shabbat close to September 11, the shul invites town o cials and rst responders to attend a lavish kiddush in their honor a er Shabbat morning services. First responders are ushered in at the close of davening to a round of applause, and Rabbi Markowitz speaks, emphasizing how appreciative the community is for their e orts. A town o cial usually speaks as well.

e men and women honored by his synagogue now “understand Orthodox Jews a little better,” says Robert Isler, a member of the shul. Now, when the congregation or its members call on rst responders for assistance, he says, “we’re not calling on strangers.”

Because of the good relationships the Jewish community has built, Rabbi

Markowitz says he can “call the mayor at any moment if there’s an issue and we can talk.” At the same time, Rabbi Markowitz makes sure to be there when town o cials need him. One year, they requested that he be the guest speaker at a 9/11 rst responder event sponsored by the town and held on a Saturday night. Rabbi Markowitz made sure to dash out of shul right a er Shabbat, showing up just as he was about to be introduced on the podium.

Maintaining good communal relations is “part of the mission of being Am Yisrael,” says Rabbi Markowitz. “We are living among everyone else. Especially in the high-tension world in which we live, we need to serve as an example of how everyone can get along.”

When a horri c re took the lives of seventeen people in the Bronx neighborhood of New York City, Chassidic groups from Boro Park set up a relief tent near the scene of the tragedy and began serving hot food to survivors and rst responders. Courtesy of Masbia

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IN SEARCH OF

A SYMPOSIUM

“ ere is, undeniably, something of a crisis in Jewish spirituality today,” wrote the late Rabbi Lord Jonathan Sacks in an essay entitled “Spirituality: An Introduction.” “ is is sad because for many centuries, Jews were the G-d-intoxicated people.”

In this Rosh Hashanah issue, we asked a number of prominent rabbis, rebbetzins, educators and communal leaders about the decline in spirituality in Orthodox Jewish life and ways to address it. We asked participants to respond to at least one of the questions below:

1.

How would you de ne spirituality?

2.

Do you feel there is a decline in spirituality in the Orthodox community? If so, what is causing it and how is it manifesting itself?

3.

If Orthodox Jews might even be turning away from traditional Judaism because it seems to lack spirituality, what practical steps do you suggest we take to reverse this trend?

4.

How do we generate enthusiasm for religious life among children and teens?

5.

Did past generations of Orthodox Jews struggle with spirituality? If so, what tools did they use to enhance spirituality, and what can we learn from their e orts?

While religion pertains primarily to a communal existence, spirituality is a personal journey.

e problem of Judaism devoid of spirituality begins when Judaism becomes a culture of habits.

One way of making ourselves more open to spirituality is to prioritize G-d in our lives. e development of the cultural infrastructure of the Jewish community, while generally a very good thing, has made it possible to be very comfortable in our observance such that prioritizing Hashem in our lives is not something we necessarily think about. is can lead to a life that

Shira Smiles

As told to Barbara Bensoussan

Jews are wired for connection to Hashem. Spirituality inheres in every Jew. Rabbi Moshe Wolfson compares it to birds who have a homing instinct and will always seek their way home. A Jew possesses a similar instinct to “ y home.”

He explains that the mitzvah of emunah isn’t about accepting that Hashem exists: our neshamos already know that. Instead, the mitzvah is about making it real for ourselves. Similarly, Rabbi Mordechai Miller explains that the commandment to love Hashem isn’t a matter of creating a love of Hashem, but rather taking our natural love of Hashem and bringing it to the fore.

e problem is that human beings create blockages to this natural emunah

is technically Jewish, but without much thought about Hashem.

One signi cant opportunity to bring Hashem into our thoughts is in the choices we make about how we participate in popular culture. We should ask ourselves not whether something is permitted by halachah but rather, “Does this bring me closer to Hashem and to my Jewish identity?” is approach will condition us to be more receptive to a spiritual mindset.

Another step is to identify Hashem in our lives by looking for hashgachah pratis (Divine Providence) in our daily experience. is can be a family exercise. For example, at the dinner table we might share serendipitous events that demonstrate Hashem in our lives. We might also acknowledge when something uncomfortable happens to us that it is also the Hand of Hashem, by saying “ ank you, Hashem” for the painful serendipity just as we do for the delightful experiences.

Yet another pathway to enhancing our spirituality is to learn the meaning of the te llos we say daily. While studying the way te llah expresses our

needs, the history of the prayers, or nuances in the text is very important, the work that brings us to a more spiritual mindset is the study of Pesukei D’Zimrah and Birchos Kerias Shema, the parts of te llah that are intended to bring our attention to the presence of Hashem in our lives. is will prepare us to be able to focus during davening on the spirit of the words we are saying (which may require prioritizing attending a slow minyan, even if that means a later lunch on Shabbos!).

Rabbis’ sermons that deal with what other people need to be doing, problems in the Jewish community, which political party is more evil or even those that address important events in Israel (though they may sometimes need to be addressed) do very little to challenge us toward spiritual growth. Instead, every time I speak, I try to ask myself how Hashem is inviting me and my listeners to be closer to Him through this devar Torah.

and love. ese blockages are spelled out in Pirkei Avos (4:28): “Hakinah, hata’avah v’hakavod motzi’in es ha’adam min ha’olam—Envy, greed and pursuit of honor take a person out of the [spiritual] world.” When the focus is yourself, there’s no room for Hashem— or, as the popular expression goes, ego equals Easing G-d Out. Today, we live in a world in which we are consumed with physicality. Life is all about Me—feeding Me, making Me feel good, having My desires delivered by Amazon (preferably yesterday). is blocks our spiritual selves.

Since technology isn’t going away, what can we do?

Rabbi Eliyahu Eliezer Dessler taught that when you want to do teshuvah when you want to be connected to Hashem but aren’t—you should search for one mitzvah to connect to, and focus on it like a laser beam.

It will become your portal to greater connection to Hashem.

But many people today are so distanced that they don’t even have a mitzvah that speaks to them. We need another path that will open the doors.

I nd that music is an invaluable tool to arouse the neshamah. Speech is what makes us human, but music touches an even deeper part of the soul. e Modzitzer Rebbe said that in Heaven there are di erent palaces: a palace of chesed, a palace of Torah, a palace of teshuvah and a palace of shirah, song. But those last two palaces, teshuvah and shirah, are not separate from each other.

Music opens the heart. In the Beis Hamikdash, if a person came to say Vidui and the Kohen sensed he wasn’t reciting it with a full heart, he would instruct the Levi’im to sing. e singing would infuse the person’s

Rabbi Yossi Mendelson is rav of Congregation Machane Chodosh in Forest Hills, Queens.

te llah with the proper kavanah. One of the classes I teach in Darchei Binah women’s seminary is entitled “Haniggun Shebalev,” meaning, the song that’s in the heart. In that class I’ll take a contemporary song of Jewish music and present the words to my students. en we turn out the lights—the room becomes completely dark—and I play it for them. I follow this with a twentyminute lesson about the hashka c ideas of the song. Following that, I give the students journal prompts, and ask them to write responses while the same music plays so ly in the background. e girls re ect, write and have the opportunity to share their writings if they choose to. I ask questions such as, “When was there a time you wanted to give up, but you pushed through anyway?” or, “Take ve people in your life, think

Rabbi Dr. Jacob J. Schacter

Ihave no doubt that our Orthodox community is losing adherents in part because there are those who fail to see the beauty, warmth and personal meaning of Judaism (what I refer to as “spirituality”) and focus only on the technical details of halachah.

It is important to stress to all—and to stress again—that commitment to a halachically informed way of life requires engaging Jewish law on two levels: the act or performance of the mitzvah, as well as the experience of the mitzvah—what Rabbi Joseph Ber Soloveitchik referred to as “formal compliance of the law” along with the law as “a living experience.”

“Jewishness,” in fact, consists of two dimensions—act and feeling, deed and a ect, behavior and emotion. While halachic commitment

about what they’re missing and how you can help them.” e girls say it’s like therapy; it opens them up to levels of their selves they never accessed before. One girl, who was hovering on the edge of Torah observance, cried when she did one of these exercises, and later told me it turned her around. She now sends divrei Torah via WhatsApp to a group of women, with over 100 posts to date.

You can do similar exercises with adults. Every year I attend Chizuk Mission’s trips to Eretz Yisrael. I pick a song for us to sing together before my shiur begins. I deliver the shiur, and we sing it again throughout the shiur. e women close their eyes and feel the music, and it leads to deeper dimensions of connectedness; both the mind and the heart become involved. e same dynamic

happens in men’s kumzitzes and long musical Havdalahs.

Rabbi Dessler suggested that we connect to Hashem through giving laser focus to one mitzvah. But when people aren’t even at that stage yet, music is perhaps one of the laser beams that pierce the heart and moves a person forward.

is associated with certain actions like sitting in a sukkah, lighting Shabbat candles, drinking Kiddush wine or fasting on Yom Kippur, actions alone are insuffcient. But there is a feeling or emotional aspect to halachic commitment as well—not just reciting the words of prayer, but being transformed through prayer, not just drinking Kiddush wine, but experiencing something meaningful about Shabbat.

One year, in the course of a “Ten Days of Repentance” lecture that Rabbi Soloveitchik used to deliver annually in various venues in New York City, he deviated from the subject under discussion (Maimonides’ view regarding the mentioning of the Tetragrammaton by the High Priest during his “confession” on Yom Kippur) to make “a kind of a private confession” of his own, sharing “a thought that has caused me loss of sleep.” He happily acknowledged that even in a world where “the profane and the secular reign supreme,” there are Jews who observe the Shabbat. “But,” he continued, “it is not for the Shabbat that the heart aches, it is for erev Shabbat ere are shomrei Shabbat [Sabbath observers] in America, but there are no

erev Shabbat Jews [“Yehudim shel erev Shabbat”] in America who go forth to greet the Shabbat with focused souls and yearning hearts. We have those who observe the mitzvot with hand, foot and mouth, but how few are those who know what is service of the heart [avodah she-ba-lev].”

And the importance the Rav placed on focusing on Shabbat in anticipation of its arrival was mirrored by his stressing the importance of extending the Shabbat even a er it formally came to a close. Shabbat deserves to be savored and experienced, anticipated in advance and extended a er its departure. And this is also the case with any other mitzvah.

But this concern is not the product of contemporary times. ere are many examples of an emphasis on “spirituality” in the Talmud and later rabbinic works. One example will su ce. e Code of Jewish Law, the Shulchan Aruch, a composite work authored by Rabbis Yosef Karo and Moshe Isserles in the sixteenth century, is rightly seen as a handbook for Jewish ritual behavior outlining every religious act down to the most minute, technical detail. But let us not overlook the opening statement of Rabbi Isserles,

Barbara Bensoussan is a frequent contributor to Jewish Action.

Shira Smiles is a mechanechet at Darchei Binah Seminary. She teaches at the OU Israel Center in Yerushalayim, as well as in many other adult venues.

which, to him, clearly sets the tone for all that will follow. He writes, citing Maimonides’ Guide for the Perplexed, “‘I have set the L-rd before me constantly’ (Psalms 16:8); this is a major principle in the Torah and amongst the virtues of the righteous who walk before G-d. For a person’s way of sitting, his movements and his dealings while he is alone in his house are not like his

way of sitting, his movements and his dealings when he is before a great king; nor are his speech and free expression as much as he wants when he is with his household members and his relatives like his speech when in a royal audience. All the more so when one takes to heart that the Great King, the Holy One, Blessed Is He, Whose glory lls the earth, is standing over him and

Rebbetzin Yael Kaisman

As told to Barbara Bensoussan

Iwould de ne spirituality as being tuned into the Eternal: to our neshamos, to our connection with Hashem. It means being conscious of Hakadosh Baruch Hu and in sync with Him, even as we live in physical bodies and express ourselves in a physical world.

In my work in kiruv, I have seen that people in the secular world see spirituality as an awareness of a higher meaning or connecting to their higher selves and higher Power. But if it isn’t grounded in knowledge and a commitment to mitzvos, Hashem’s protocol for His creations, then it’s just another feel-good experience. Such spirituality can become self-serving, a form of avodah zarah.

When it comes to the work I do as a teacher of high school girls and adult women, I nd that in terms of spirituality, you might say, to paraphrase A Tale of Two Cities: “It is the best of times; it is the worst of times.” On the one hand, we have so many spiritual resources available to us. At the same time however, we have become saturated with externality and physicality. You see the contradiction in our magazines. ere will be an

article about the holiness of Shabbos next to an ad for expensive Shabbos wines, or a deeply introspective article followed by an ad for highend jewelry or luxury vacations. We have more women learning Torah on TorahAnytime and other platforms than ever before in history. We have hundreds of chesed organizations. Yet at the same time women are spending so much of their energies redecorating homes, going on incredible family vacations that kings of yesteryear would be jealous of, and planning weddings, along with event planners, with an emphasis on perfectionism and materialism. is ultimately leads to a sense of emptiness, which, paradoxically, for some people actually leads to a craving for spirituality.

My students who have exposure to social media o en lose their sense of self-worth. ey become obsessed with comparing themselves to others, which leads to a loss of self, body image issues and feelings of inadequacy. Some of them, with great idealism, are able to move beyond it by embracing greater spirituality as they become disenchanted with the life they’re living. ey become excited about the possibility of connecting to a dimension beyond the material and they make incredible spiritual strides.

In some circles where the population has grown exponentially, with a concomitant proliferation of high levels of Torah learning, and other serious spiritual endeavors, the growth has had a challenging side as well. For some there is a loss of self. Teenagers sometimes feel lost in the crowd. ey are not the inspired select

watching his actions.”

Close to ve hundred years ago, Rabbi Isserles understood that having a real sense of G-d’s presence must precede any ritual act. We would do well to take these words to heart in our times.

few of yesteryear, founding new Bais Yaakovs or bikur cholims. It’s already been done for them. ey may feel stymied in their capacity to create; some wonder, where do I go from here? e pressures of rapidly growing societies tend to make people feel disenfranchised. Some women simply feel too overwhelmed by their lives— by the ongoing nancial pressures and, due the community’s exponential growth, by concerns about getting their children into school.

Over my many years of teaching I have found an approach that is helpful in addressing the problem of loss of self. I call it “the internal success revolution.” (My daughter, Shona Schwartz, describes this approach in a book entitled How To Stop Caring What Others ink: For Real). I try to help women and girls develop a mindset that they are thirsty for and that deeply resonates with them a er living in this frustrating olam hafuch, disingenuous world. rough analyzing and reframing deeply held attitudes and ideas and introducing new vocabulary, I encourage women to stop de ning themselves by external social markers like beauty, prestige, successful husbands, personal academic and career successes, cooking prowess or even externally displayed middos, and instead learn to take the perspective that greatness lies in using what Hashem gave us in the best possible way. I suggest enjoying the successes but laughing at them as they don’t de ne us. Gi s do not equal greatness! Greatness lies only in what you absolutely control, working hard

Rabbi Dr. Jacob J. Schacter is senior scholar at the Yeshiva University Center for the Jewish Future.

to be your personal best while recognizing that success, as well as everything else, ultimately comes from Hashem. Most of us do not excel at anything relative to others; most people have average abilities (hence the word average) and we should be focused on developing our own neshamos, which are indeed unique and grand, using the tools we’ve been given that make us our nest selves.

My message is: Keep your eyes on the ball, pay attention to what Hashem wants from you—your te llah and your middos—while focusing on making the world a better place drop by drop, whether that means having more patience for your spouse or students or graciously changing linen for guests.

At rst this approach is a hard sell because we love huge wins, like starting a life-saving organization or a movement that gets noticed in a big way. Most of us don’t have dramatic successes and our real “wins” are rarely visible. But in order to really integrate this mindset, you must rst believe in your own unique value as a human being and an eved Hashem, and from there all joy and passion for life can blossom.

Rabbi Marc Angel

There is a feeling among many Jews, including many Orthodox Jews, that the services in shul lack adequate inspiration and spirituality. Among the complaints: the synagogue ritual is chanted by rote; the prayers are recited too quickly; the prayers are recited too slowly; the service is not understood by congregants; people talk too much in shul; the services do not involve everyone in a meaningful way. Here are some of the “solutions” that have been suggested over the years:

l Introduce Chassidic/Carlebach melodies. ese may be more lively and inspirational than the usual synagogue music . . . but for many, such music seems more like a hootenanny than a vehicle for addressing G-d.

Rebbetzin Yael Kaisman is a teacher, lecturer, life coach and outreach professional. She has been an educator for over forty-five years, teaching high school students and lecturing as a scholar-in-residence. She runs a private life coaching practice, supporting clients in their parenting, marriage and selfdevelopment.

l Make the services more egalitarian. For some people, this seems like a way of getting men and women more involved. Yet the Reform and Conservative movements have been fully egalitarian for many years— without any perceptible improvement in the overall spiritual life of their communities.

l Make services shorter; include more readings in the vernacular. For some people this makes the synagogue experience more palatable. But it is doubtful whether it brings people to a greater feeling of the presence of G-d. e real problem is: moderns are losing, or have already lost, their sense of intimacy with G-d. Making changes in the synagogue service will not restore the intimacy; those are focusing on symptoms rather than on the malady itself. To a religious Jew who feels G-d’s presence in daily life, the synagogue service poses little or no problem.

e synagogue is just one of many contexts in which one experiences the Divine. If we want synagogues to be more spiritual, we have to be more spiritual ourselves. If we want our “dwellings” (our synagogues) to be spiritually alive, we rst have to be sure that our “tents” (our homes) are spiritually alive.

ere are no quick- x shortcuts for developing spirituality in our communities. e goal should be to create an environment for individuals to internalize their own thinking and connection to G-d.

Here are some suggestions:

1. e rabbi/chazzan (and lay leaders who sit in front of the congregation) should themselves set the tone of being in the presence of G-d. No talking, walking around and socializing during prayers, no sitting casually with legs crossed, et cetera. ose who lead the community should re ect spirituality themselves and set an example for the congregation.

2. Each person should be encouraged to adopt a “pasuk” of their own to think about or meditate upon regularly

Rabbi Marc Angel serves as the rabbi of Congregation Shearith Israel in Manhattan.

If we want synagogues to be more spiritual, we have to be more spiritual ourselves. If we want our “dwellings” (our synagogues) to be spiritually alive, we frst have to be sure that our “tents” (our homes) are spiritually alive.

throughout the day, e.g., shiviti Hashem l’negdi tamid; dirshu Hashem v’uzo bakshu fanav tamid; lev tahor bera li Elokim. As people become accustomed to thinking about G-d regularly and feeling His presence, their own spiritual lives will grow.

3. e rabbi’s sermons should demonstrate reverence—no jokes or frivolous comments. While rabbis will

Rebbetzin Debbie Greenblatt

It is quite obvious that the values in today’s society and, as a corollary, the rights of each person are dictated by what individuals feel is right for them, rather than by what is correct or true in any absolute sense, or even what is bene cial for the broader society. Fallout from this shi in worldview results in people trying on all possible variations of identities, in a desperate search to nd themselves and establish their own particular brand of meaning and value. is inevitably lters down to frum society. How people feel about things, including religion, becomes paramount, frequently more so than beliefs. Beliefs are still there, hovering in the background, but o en not strong enough to dictate behavior. Feelings compel, and while beliefs are given lip service, they o en aren’t enough, particularly among younger people, to sustain fealty to basic components of religious life such as te llah or sometimes even Shabbos. e chevra, where you can feel good and your feelings about things are respected, is primary. We see groups of young people who consider themselves Orthodox, who engage in many practices that are anything but, and yet would be very o ended if you challenged their dedication to “Judaism.” is results

speak on many topics, some sermons/ shiurim should focus on themes exploring prayer, G-d’s place in our lives, the need for hitbodedut, and the like.

4. Rabbis/lay leaders should conduct themselves with humility and devotion, and not be perceived as egotistical, power hungry or insincere in their own religious commitment.

5. e congregation should set itself a goal so that all congregants know what is expected; for example: Today in our prayers we want to experience being in the presence of G-d. If a er services you don’t feel this has happened, let’s talk about what we as a community can do to enhance our te llah experience.

in a portion of our youth who are not opting out totally, but are living a spiritually watered-down life with questionable sustainability. is is o en tolerated within frum society, because what is the alternative?

Another aspect of this issue is that knowledge alone no longer impresses. A rabbi or a rebbi who is knowledgeable is nice, but not enough, as the almighty Google knows more. Owning knowledge is less of a value, because the world’s knowledge is at my ngertips, and now that I know how to use ChatGBT, I can cra that information to my bene t. My phone is smart, why do I have to be? is leaves the mind so and the soul thirsting more than ever. It’s not that we are experiencing a mass exodus from Orthodoxy. e lifestyle is good. Kiddush in shul is enjoyable. Jewish weddings are fun, and kosher food is readily available in multiple vacation destinations. It’s easier to be friends with people who grew up in the same weltanschauung. ere isn’t much reason to rebel against that. At the same time, it’s external, super cial Judaism, and there is nothing internal beckoning or quenching the soul’s thirst for genuine connection to something higher. What seems to be drawing people in, both the disenchanted and those looking to nurture the re of their connection to Hashem, is the neoChassidic movement—rabbis who didn’t necessarily start o in the Chassidic world, who give over deep Chassidic content that not only impresses the mind but touches the soul. Only the real deal will work. ese rabbis need to be on re and

live what they teach, be warm and compassionate people who truly care about their constituents, and have wisdom, not just knowledge, to impart. eir words must inspire intellectually and upli spiritually at the same time. ey must catapult a person out of their mundane world and give him a taste of existence on a higher plane, awakening slumbering souls and helping the individual identify what it is he is truly thirsty for.

In today’s milieu, a teacher who remains in the old model of strictly frontal teaching is likely to lose a good portion of her students’ attention along the way. Our religious institutions need a way to respond to the very changed needs of much of our youth. And even though we can all point to some students and young people who are continuing to thrive in the traditional structure, are we willing to let go of that portion of our youth who no longer respond to that? We aren’t talking about creating special education, rather about spiritual education that can address the needs of a population with deep sensitivity and an uncanny antenna for Truth, or the lack thereof.

Rebbetzin Debbie Greenblatt has been involved in teaching and counseling Jewish women for over twenty-five years. Rebbetzin Greenblatt speaks about practical applications of Jewish thought and personal relationships. Besides being a founder of the Women’s Division of Gateways, she lectures often for the Jewish Renaissance Center, and gives classes in the New York metropolitan area as well as across the country.

Are We Milchig Yet?

No matter if its three hours or six, the cheesy taste kids dream of is worth the wait!

Made with wholesome ingredients without artificial flavors or colors.

As told to Barbara Bensoussan

Ide ne spirituality as having a connection to Hashem and a life focused on a relationship with Him. We are, unfortunately, living in very super cial times. ere is a signi cant number of people who keep the Torah and mitzvot yet remain detached from it all. They have a tenuous connection to Hashem and a lack of passion for Judaism, and they are at risk of falling out of it completely.

While the phenomenon of a weakened connection was once less common, historically speaking, this is not the rst time it has happened. In the prewar generation, a signi cant number of Jews were attracted by all the “isms”—Communism, Secular Zionism, Bundism and socialism. Women who lacked a Torah education until Sarah Schenirer started the Bais Yaakov movement were easily in uenced by secular society. At that time, although Jews had di erent levels of connection to Judaism, most of them stayed within the Jewish community. Today, in a similar vein, many people who appear externally to be within the fold are lacking a true spiritual connection. Outside observant circles, however, the vast majority of Jews have no Torah knowledge and are completely assimilated. I don’t know if we ever had such a situation in all of

Jewish history. Perhaps in the time of the Hellenists or the Romans.

Education is essential. e Bais Yaakov movement has immeasurably strengthened women’s spirituality by providing young girls with Jewish education and inspiration. Jewish publications have also helped strengthen the Torah world, from newspapers and magazines to textbooks that are customized for our schools.

Yet every generation has its own challenges. We have to respond to the materialism, the instant grati cation and the super ciality that prevail today. We must re-examine the way we educate both young and old. We transmit a lot of information instead of concentrating on understanding. In the US, we put emphasis on teaching the Hebrew language, but then we cover less material; and the content su ers as well. We’ll teach a pasuk with its many commentaries, but students end up seeing only the details, not the big picture.

Learning should be a process of discovery, not simply spitting back information. Connection comes from engagement with the material. Our students need to learn a comprehensive system of machshavah that starts from Creation and leads all the way to the End of Days. Too often, we take our students’ emunah and acceptance of Torah for granted. They need to learn the foundations of our beliefs.

To address this need, I have created a two-year curriculum entitled HaKivun, which is now being utilized in sixty schools. It contains thirteen basic units, two lessons per week, which are designed to create a process of discovery of Judaism and an understanding of what Judaism is

truly about. It is comprised of material that any limudei kodesh teacher should know, but sadly, many teachers themselves weren’t taught such knowledge in any systematic way.

HaKivun should be taught to parents as well, so that they can be collaborative partners with the yeshivah in the education of their children. If children and adults alike were to nd the intellectual framework and inspiration they need, the enthusiasm would ow from parents to students and back, as well as from parents to the school.

In addition, since young people today have a harder time accepting authority, they need to be enticed to learn, rather than forced to do so. A lot depends on the rapport and relationship teachers develop with the students as they engage their minds. Learning doesn’t have to be dry. When you give students positive, relevant messages and get them really thinking, you open them up to genuine understanding and connection to Judaism.

Rebbetzin Leah Kohn is the director of the Jewish Renaissance Center, a Manhattanbased outreach program for women. A tenth-generation Jerusalemite, she trained as an educator in her native Israel and has been teaching internationally for over forty years. Her intellectually inspiring classes are geared toward today’s woman, focusing on how the Torah’s age-old wisdom is relevant to our modern lives.

Rabbi Zvi Engel

For Torah-abiding Jews, the word spirituality means feeling a connection to Hashem. In a Western context, spirituality is de ned as an awareness or feeling of something greater than the self. Music, art, a loved one, or a social or political cause would all qualify. For us, spirituality nds expression mainly through te llah, observing the mitzvot and learning Torah, as well as through any halachically sanctioned experience that enables us to feel Hashem’s presence in our lives.

In an article on spirituality, my rebbi, Rabbi Aharon Lichtenstein, zt”l, explains that if we had to choose between a dry, formal system of obedience to mitzvot that is devoid of meaning and a loose spirituality whose entire aim is just to sense the transcendental, there is no doubt that we would choose the former. But, asks Rabbi Lichtenstein, does anyone imagine that the Ribbono Shel Olam would confront us with such a cruel choice? “Our aim, duty and aspiration is both the conjunction of spiritualized Halakha and disciplined spirituality, the fusion of which enables us to realize the poetry and prose of ideal Jewish existence” (“Law and Spirituality: De ning the Terms,” in Varieties of Religious Experience [New Jersey, 2011], 185).

Ours is hardly the rst generation to struggle with spirituality. Within a few weeks of witnessing supernatural miracles, the generation that le Egypt was already wondering hayeish Hashem b’kirbeinu im ayin, asking whether G-d is in their midst (Shemot 17:7).

Generations later, Yeshayahu HaNavi derides mitzvot anashim melumadah, rote mitzvah performers going through the motions out of force of habit

(Yeshayahu 29:13). Examples abound throughout Jewish history. While every generation struggles with spirituality, each does so in its own way. Today, it feels as if we do not su er from a decline in spirituality as much as a surfeit of competing options presented to us by Western culture, vying to satiate this core human need.

e ready availability of information, entertainment, and endless connection to others through digital media means the zeitgeist—literally, the spirit of the times—is blowing like a hurricane.

To access our connection to Hashem then, we need rst to rediscover our own resources. Fortunately, we already have all the tools for meaningful spirituality at our disposal through our vast and venerable tradition.

e problem is not that we lack for tools, but for their proper use. e Ba’al Shem Tov tells the story of the blacksmith’s former apprentice who returns to complain to his mentor of his inability to replicate his master’s work. Journeying to the student’s foundry for an on-site inspection, the teacher looks into the oven and asks: did you remember to light the re?

Attempting to light or relight a re while the wind is blowing can be extremely challenging. Here are a few practical, simple suggestions for how to come in from the storm:

First, Shabbat remains the greatest weekly opportunity to focus on our ruchniyut. In the presence of our neshamah yeteirah, we can ask ourselves what our Shabbat looks like: Do our meals include zemirot and divrei Torah as no less vital than the physical nourishment prepared in advance and served at the table? Are we prioritizing limud haTorah every Shabbat, a day free of distractions? Is the Shabbat

atmosphere in our home being undermined by a lack of respect for it in terms of dress, speech and behavior?

Second, even slowing down and paying attention to the simple act of eating can open a moment of connection with the Borei Olam. Yes, eating a nectarine can be elevated into a spiritual experience. Chazal enacted various berachot for speci c classes of foods for a reason. Are we paying attention to the words in the blessing we recite both before and a er we eat? (From berachot, a person should then aim to build toward developing greater spirituality in te llah.)

ird, we should learn to view limud haTorah as a great spiritual experience. When Hashem explains the impending Churban as a result of “their abandonment of My Torah” (Yirmiyahu 9), Rabbi Yehudah explains in the name of Rav that this was a result of their neglecting to recite the berachah prior to Torah learning (Nedarim 81a). Apparently, the batei midrash can be full even as hearts are emptying out. Talmud Torah needs to be framed as a spiritual activity, not as a mere intellectual exercise. Which area of Torah can help a person access Torah as a spiritual endeavor? It depends on an individual’s personality: for some, it is Tanach, for others it is Shas and posekim, while yet others prefer musar or machshavah or chassidut. Whatever the area of Torah, when it follows Birchot HaTorah, the learning becomes an encounter with Hashem.

ere are no shortcuts to working on developing spirituality. It remains a lifelong quest to cultivate the sense

There are no shortcuts to working on developing spirituality. It remains a lifelong quest to cultivate the sense that one is in the presence of Hashem.

Rabbi Zvi Engel serves as the rabbi of Congregation Or Torah in Skokie, Illinois.

that one is in the presence of Hashem. Fortunately, the Torah anticipates this challenge in Parashat Hateshuvah (Devarim 30), and encourages us to feel con dent that we can achieve this closeness. It does not require someone to bring us new spiritual ideas from Shamayim, nor from afar. In short, it is up to us, and we can do it:

“For this mitzvah that I command you today is not too wondrous for you, and it is not far away. It is not in the Heavens, so that one would say ‘Who will go up for us to the Heavens to get it for us and teach it to us, that we may ful ll it?’ And it is not beyond the sea, so that one would say ‘Who will cross for us to beyond the sea to get it for us and teach it to us, that we may ful ll it?’ For this matter is very close to you, in your mouth and in your heart to ful ll it” (Devarim 30:11-14).

Rabbi Yussie Zakutinsky

There is a well-known principle governing Jewish history, referred to as “yeridas hadoros, ” or “descending generations.” Every generation experiences a spiritual decline relative to the previous one. e souls of each generation are spiritually “duller” and of smaller stature than those of the preceding one, which results in a younger generation whose abilities in Torah learning and avodas Hashem in general are diminished. It is therefore no surprise that there would be a decline in spirituality in our times, as there has always been such a trend.

What makes our situation unique, however, is the pace of the decline in our time.

Historically, the decline in spirituality has been slow and steady, almost unnoticed until a er a number of generations, similar to watching a pot boil; although the temperature changes every moment, it is so subtle that it’s hard to notice. It could also be said that each descending generation was on the same general spiritual path as the preceding one, albeit on a lower level. is resulted in the ability of the older generation to communicate and transmit the spirit of Yiddishkeit to the younger one, as they both spoke the same language. All the older generation had to do was to constrict and simplify the message so that it could be received by the younger generation, just as any teacher conveys a concept to a student.

Not so in our times. Anyone in education or spiritual leadership will tell you that the change in generations is, rstly, extremely obvious and more rapid than ever before, and secondly, that each

generation seems to be completely di erent than the preceding one. e general approach of merely simplifying and constricting the spirituality of the earlier generation to allow it to be processed for the later one does not seem to work nearly as well as this method always has. is phenomenon has already been foretold by Chazal in many places in describing the nature of the generations of ikvesa d’Meshicha, “the heels of Mashiach.” ese words do not describe the usual manifestation of yeridas hadoros.

e reason for this di erence is that besides for the spiritually natural principle of yeridas hadoros, there is a di erent, almost inverse, soul phenomenon taking place. ere is a fundamental principle in penimiyus haTorah [the innermost, mystical dimension of the Torah] that events in Jewish history have a reverberating e ect, not only going forward in time but also backward, similar to ripples in a pond made by a pebble (the ripples travel in all directions). Events that have yet to occur but are predestined can be subtly felt by the Jewish soul. ese “ripples” may be so imperceptible that the soul may not be able to process them properly and clearly, but their e ects can be extreme.

Our generation is being deeply a ected by the “light of Mashiach” that boomerangs back toward us. We may not see it, or be able to explain it, but this phenomenon is changing the very nature of spirituality, as well as countless other aspects of society. e methods that the Jewish community always used to cope with yeridas hadoros will not work for us.

In fact, many of the methods used in the past to address yeridas hadoros will be counterproductive. As mentioned earlier, the general approach was to simplify and constrict the message as one would do when educating a young child. is is the opposite of what is needed in a generation feeling the ripple e ects of the light of Mashiach, who will herald in an era of untold depth in Torah and a sense of living with a

consciousness of In nity. A generation sensitive to this light is a generation that is in desperate need of being given a Yiddishkeit that will be familiar to a soul searching for ways to process this reverberating light of Mashiach. is is a Yiddishkeit that is deeper, with more nuance, and which is focused on giving the soul a language to articulate what it senses in its depths: that G-d and His Torah are in nitely deep and the truest reality. We are not necessarily experiencing a crisis in faith. We are experiencing the result of transmitting an overly simpli ed version of G-d and Yiddishkeit to souls that demand the opposite. For a soul of this generation, an overly simpli ed explanation and experience of Yiddishkeit is deeply unsettling and does not resonate as true or honest. Ironically, a deeper, more threedimensional and profound version of Yiddishkeit is most comforting.

Discussions about how we know the Torah is true, intellectual reasons for the mitzvos, or other similar discussions are not what I mean by depth and nuance. ose conversations will actually feel like a foreign language to a soul that is pulsating with the light of Mashiach in whose days the reality of Hashem and His Torah will be obvious to the naked eye. e discussion must rather revolve around what is happening within the soul and the world of Divinity when we perform mitzvos. How are the mitzvos pathways through which the reality of G-d and the G-dly soul is expressed? How can the nite vessel of halachah contain within it the in nite light of Hashem and the soul? Since there still remains as well the old phenomenon of yeridas hadoros, all of the above must be imparted in a clear manner that is both deep and practical at the same time. is may

seem like an overwhelming challenge, but through the generations, Hashem has sent us many tzaddikim who have given us the tools to unlock and transmit these absolutely vital mysteries. An in-depth discussion of these teachings and this approach is beyond the scope of this article, but the siyata d’Shmaya granted to those who are honestly trying to upli the generation will certainly make this task not only possible but natural and obvious. As Moshe Rabbeinu told us at the end of his life: “ ese words are very close to you; in your mouth and in your heart to perform them.”

Rebbetzin Avigial Gersht

One evening a er dinner, my six-year-old and four-yearold daughters engaged in a seemingly funny conversation that quickly shi ed from humor to horror.

Chaviva: Just so you know, a lion is outside our house.

Ahava: at doesn’t even make sense; a lion can’t leave the zoo and just walk over to our house in Jerusalem.

Chaviva: Yuh huh. Something happened in the zoo; a gate was le open, a lion escaped, and it’s right outside our front door.

Ahava: (frozen sti , begins to sob uncontrollably)

At this point, seeing that the conversation is no longer lighthearted children’s banter, I immediately tell

Chaviva to take back what she said, but realizing the in uence of her words, she becomes stubborn and replies:

I can’t take it back, because it’s true and I want to tell my little sister so she can protect herself.

Ahava’s body is seized by fear, and she begins screaming. I sternly tell Chaviva:

If you don’t tell her immediately that it’s a joke, you are going to your room for the night.

Chaviva: Okay, okay, it was just a joke; everyone relax.

Ahava now calms down with the assurance that no lion is lurking at the passageway to her home.

e frum world lives like Ahava daily, although there are many di erent faces and voices to the lurking “lion.”

e fear may sound like this:

“You’re moving to that neighborhood? But then your teenagers will go o the derech.”

“You don’t send your kids to summer camps? ey will feel deprived.”

“You buy your challah? How can it feel like Shabbos without homemade challah?”

“You’re leaving kollel? I guess, if

Rabbi Yussie Zakutinsky is the rav of K’hal Mevakshei Hashem in Lawrence, New York, where he lives with his wife and children.

you have no choice and you need the parnassah. . .”

e brain does not di erentiate between an externally induced threat and an internally applied one; it immediately erects an impenetrable wall. Likewise, when a person is emotionally engulfed in a battle of fear, he or she is so preoccupied with survival that there is no room for positive emotional and spiritual feelings to enter.

Spirituality means forming a deep connection to an in nite source of love, warmth, goodness and compassion, which is Hashem. is ful lls the positive Torah commandment of “u’Bo tidbak, “you

Rebbetzin Avigial Gersht, an experienced educator and guidance counselor, has devoted her career to empowering youth and young adults while also studying nonprofit leadership. Residing in Israel with her husband and four children, she continues her mission to shape the future of the Jewish community.

shall cleave to Hashem.” Loving and feeling connected to Hashem must be a reality as tangible as the ground beneath our feet. Rabbi Shlomo Wolbe explicitly stated that emunah is not an intellectual concept but a feeling. e root of ruchniyus is ruach, wind, air, something that the human eye cannot perceive but which is undoubtedly felt on a broad spectrum, from a so breeze to a erce windstorm. Regardless of its intensity, it is undeniably felt. Because ruchniyus is de nitionally experiential, the possession of ruchniyus cannot be faked, not to ourselves or to our children. e most important mindset shi we can make is to have the desire and openness to move from a paradigm of fear and judgment to one of love and acceptance. Love of our fellow Jew is the root of our sense of safety and the foundation on which all of Yiddishkeit is predicated. Moreover, our children will learn and live not by what we

say but

by

who we are

What is unique to Judaism is that we had a national experience at Har Sinai, and that experience is what preserved Judaism for thousands of years. For today’s generation, practicing spirituality is not about learning something new; instead, it is remembering that which was lost.

Rabbi Efrem Goldberg

When Hashem tells us to build Him a home, He doesn’t provide coordinates or details of where it should be constructed. He simply says, “l’shichno tidreshu u’vasa shamah—you shall seek out His dwelling and come there” (Devarim 12:5).

e Ramban explains that when the Torah says tidreshu, it means: if you want to feel Hashem in your life, seek Him, look for Him, reveal Him, connect with Him. Rabbi Joseph Ber Soloveitchik suggests that whether it is the geographic location of the Beis Hamikdash or the spiritual experiences and moments we long for, the coordinates are not provided to us. We aren’t given a map to arrive at the destination; we have to calibrate our own spiritual compass and nd it. We need to ask questions, have our spiritual antennae extended, and be receptive to picking up the signal. Tidreshu: we must seek out Hashem.

e Kotzker Rebbe disagreed with Uncle Moishy. When someone once asked him where Hashem could be found, the Kotzker Rebbe did not answer, Hashem is here, there and everywhere! He answered: Hashem is only where you let Him in. It is up to us to have that relationship, to make that connection, to see behind the curtain and realize that Hashem is there all along.

In Havdalah, we distinguish between several things: bein ohr l’choshech, bein Yisrael la’amim, bein yom hashevi’i l’sheishes yemei hama’aseh—light and dark, Jews and gentiles, the seventh day and the rst six.  e Rav points out that light and darkness are clear for all to perceive. Even animals respond to the di erence in these stimuli. But the

havdalah, the distinction, between kodesh and chol, what is holy and what is profane, is in a di erent realm. It cannot be perceived or measured by the naked eye. We must possess special intuition to distinguish the di erence for it can only be sensed with our hearts.

e Midrash Tanchuma (Vayeira) says that when Avraham went with his entourage to the Akeidah, he saw Har Hamoriah from a distance. He turned to Yitzchak and asked, “What do you see?” Yitzchak answered, “I see a beautiful and praiseworthy mountain and a cloud enveloping it.” Avraham then asked Eliezer and Yishmael, “What do you see?”  ey said, “We see a barren desert.” He said to them, “Shevu lachem poh im hachamor—Stay here with the donkey, for the donkey does not see and you do not see—va’ani v’hana’ar nelchah ad koh—and I and the lad [Yitzchak] will go until there.” is was a reference to Har Hamoriah, the future place of the Beis Hamikdash. Avraham and Yitzchak intuited and were drawn to holiness; the others saw only the mundane, a barren desert.

To be a Jew means l’shichno tidreshu, to seek out Hashem, and to be able to make Havdalah: to distinguish between holy and profane, spiritual and mundane, and be drawn to holiness and spirituality. A donkey sees everything only at its super cial, surface level. It merely wants to sate

Rabbi Efrem Goldberg is the senior rabbi of the Boca Raton Synagogue, an OU shul in Boca Raton, Florida.

Ultimately, spirituality is about internalizing the knowledge that we aren’t a body that has a soul; we are a soul that has a body.

its appetite and be content. If we fail to understand that certain images, ideas, media, language and behaviors are profane and the antithesis of holiness, we are no better than a donkey. Our mission is to see beneath the surface, to determine what brings out the best in us and what satis es a craving that is only skin deep. We don’t strive for happiness, we strive for holiness. To be the progeny of Avraham is to intuit holiness, to calibrate our compass of kedushah and u’vasa shamah, to go to it.

To live a spiritual life, to go “there,” is to see Hashem in everything. Search for Hashem’s presence in the here and now. In every bite of an apple, every sunrise, every meaningful experience and every contact with kindness, you

Rabbi Daniel Korobkin

One of the big mistakes that we Jews make is to think that something plaguing our community is a “Jewish problem.” We are all a product of the larger society in which we live, no matter how high the walls we attempt to build around our communities. We are currently in the midst of a spirituality crisis, not a “Jewish” one, but rather a worldwide one. A recent book, Beyond Doubt: e Secularization of Society, demonstrates de nitively, using hard data, that the “secularization thesis” is correct and that religion is losing its grip on societies worldwide.

Religion is predicated on spirituality. Spirituality is o en de ned as a belief in and commitment to anything that transcends the physical realm, the realm that is observable and

Kotzker, let Him in, make room, invite Him into a relationship.

In order to let Him in, He needs a space to reside, and that place is not our body but our soul. But from the moment we become mindful of our identity and existence, we naturally see ourselves as our physical body. A er all, we eat, drink and sleep. We indulge, pamper, dress and care for our body. We believe we are who we see in the mirror—our external appearance. If we are lucky, we may have encountered our neshamah, perhaps during a meaningful Neilah, the birth of a child, a moving kumzitz or an act of chesed. But those moments are few and far between, and they leave us doubting what is authentic, and yearning for more. Ultimately, spirituality is about internalizing the knowledge that we

aren’t a body that has a soul; we are a soul that has a body.  e real us is connected to a world of immortality and eternity, to Someone and something so much bigger than the here and now. Our soul is nourished with meaning and purpose, with a life of service to Hashem and to others. It is nurtured with mitzvos and Torah learning. Spirituality is not found in conferences and conventions, self-help books and seminars; it is found in being in contact with our authentic selves, our neshamah, and investing in a relationship with its source, Hashem. All relationships need nurturing.  ey are fed with a diet of time, attention and communication. To sustain our relationship with Hashem, the connection between our soul and its source, we need all three.

quanti able. Judaism and other theistic religions simply cannot start without a belief in G-d, which is the epitome of spiritual belief. One of the factors contributing to the great erosion of spirituality is the advent of new technologies, which have obviated the need for any invisible source as an explanation for how and why things exist in our world.

Ryan Cragun, one of the authors of the book cited above, gives the following example of the correlation between tech and secularization: I have a classroom of students, and if I ask them, “How does this iPhone work?” most will not be able to answer the question. But if I suggest that there is a supernatural spirit imbuing the iPhone with abilities, they would know that that is not true. Even though they don’t

understand how an iPhone works, they know that someone else knows how it works. Similarly, technology in general has demonstrated to young people that while they may not have all the answers to the major questions, the answers are out there; they just haven’t discovered all of them yet

In his book e Great Partnership, the late Rabbi Lord Jonathan Sacks wrote about how science and religion are not at odds, but should rather be viewed as working in tandem. “Science teaches us where we come from. Religion explains to us why we are here. Science is the search for explanation. Religion is the search

Rabbi Daniel Korobkin is the rabbinic leader of Beth Avraham Yoseph of Toronto (BAYT) in Thornhill, Ontario.

The essential ingredient for any religious thinker is that of imagination: to be able to imagine a spiritual realm beyond our own. All of the concrete images on the screen that bombard young minds stife our children’s imagination as well as their religious drive.

for meaning.” Unfortunately, Science did not receive that memo. Today, scientists like Sean Carroll and Yuval Harari are claiming that science necessarily provides a sense of purpose and meaning, since anything religion o ers is mythical or delusional. is represents a conscious assault against religion within the larger society. It is no wonder that so many of our children, regardless of the heroic e orts of parents, schools and shuls, are leaving the fold.

I’m not convinced that any single e ort will be able to stem the huge tidal wave of societal in uence. We’d do well to humbly realize that sometimes, societal phenomena are beyond our control. No matter how much we spend on studies and experts, and despite our best e orts, current trends may continue. Part of living our lives as ma’aminim is to resign ourselves to Hashem’s tutelage and master plan. Indeed, when meeting with parents who berate themselves over their children who have opted out of Yiddishkeit, I o en o er this point of consolation.

With that said, there are some tweaks and paradigm shi s that should be considered. Among them are:

l Focusing more on Jewish mysticism and metaphysics in any yeshivah or seminary curriculum. One example is the resurgence of Chassidut, which should be added as a formal curricular subject.

l Creating mentorship programs, where older students are given the responsibility to mentor and tutor younger students, since our youth are empowered through leadership roles.

l Identifying charismatic leaders who will be able to inspire younger generations. Historically, some Orthodox communities have been averse to charismatic leadership, but we should rethink that aversion.

l For younger children, limiting their screen time on all devices, regardless of content. e essential ingredient for any religious thinker is that of imagination: to be able to imagine a spiritual realm beyond our own. All of the concrete images on the screen that bombard young minds sti e our children’s imagination as well as their religious drive.

l Deemphasizing material pursuits in our communities, living with greater humility and recommitting to decorous prayer spaces and serious adult Torah education. Societal pendulums swing back and forth over the years. Several factors led to the great ba’al teshuvah movement of the ‘60s, ‘70s and ‘80s, including the hippie movement—with its introduction of eastern mysticism to the western world—and the Six-Day War. is wave of spirituality transformed world Jewry, despite a period of close to twenty years prior when religious observance among American Jewry was in serious decline. No one has a crystal ball, but world events can shi quickly: “ e salvation of G-d happens in the blink of an eye.”

We should pray that spirituality will be restored to society not through a catastrophe but rather through a great and glorious epiphany. For all we know, arti cial intelligence may one day “discover” G-d and reintroduce Him to humanity. e greatest irony would be for technology, which has stolen our spirituality, to become the antidote.

A Simple Experiment:

How Members of One Shul Sought to Change the Way They Daven

By Rabbi Noah Cheses

Aer Covid, people’s relationship to davening shi ed. For some regular minyan goers, the opportunity to go at their own pace in their living rooms was hard to leave behind. For some nature lovers, the transition from outdoor davening (our outdoor space in Sharon, Massachusetts, is gorgeous) to the passionless pews of the sanctuary was a real letdown. For some who su ered loss, there were philosophical doubts. And for almost everyone, there was a sense that the crisis was now in the rearview mirror. Having survived a once-in-a-lifetime predicament, there was less desperation, at least on a daily basis, to reach out to Hashem for help. Put simply, there was less of a need to daven. Human nature is to feel dependent when there are imminent health, emotional or nancial de ciencies. When we are not desperate, we think that we can wait until the next davening to really focus.

Rabbi Joseph Ber Soloveitchik underscores this point in his explanation for why Chanah’s request for a child is nally granted.1 For the mother of Shmuel HaNavi, the pivotal moment of davening is immediately a er her husband Elkanah tells her to move on and nd joy where joy can be found. It is at this moment of intense loneliness, with the type of pain that risked breaking her entirely, that Chanah davens like she never davened before and shortly therea er, merits to become a mother.

It is no surprise that Chanah’s breakthrough te llah moment was

when she felt most desperate, helpless and alone. But I wonder what happened a er the crisis passed. How intense was Chanah’s te llah the year a er Shmuel was born? What about the year a er that? How was her davening when things were calm, regular and routine? Did she have as much focus and intention? Devotion and emotion? We don’t know, but we could speculate that it might have been much harder to connect.

A Simple Experiment

On Rosh Hashanah 5783, I decided to address the davening challenges by introducing Davening Discussion Groups. Here’s how it worked: Each of the 220 families/adult members of Young Israel of Sharon was assigned to a group of six to eight other families/ adult members. ey were invited to join a WhatsApp chat for their group, create a fun name and become an active member. Each group was to meet four times between Sukkot and Pesach to discuss issues of faith and prayer. I provided material for the discussions and participated in the rst and third discussions. Each group was assigned a captain who was responsible for scheduling. I really encouraged members to join. “Being detached and cynical about te llah is all too easy; being earnest and invested is hard,” I told them. “We are going for the latter.” “ ere is no hidden agenda or building campaign at the end of this initiative,” I told my congregants. “ e goals are serious engagement with the experience of prayer, growing from one another’s struggles and successes, and developing relationships. e reward will be a more connected kehillah, full of individuals with invigorating relationships with our Creator.”

The Results Are In

We ended up with a total of 22 groups, a er those who preferred to opt out. Of those, 19 made it to the second meeting, 15 to the third meeting, and 8 to the nal meeting. ree nights a week throughout the fall, winter and spring, I was sitting in someone’s living room facilitating a discussion on davening, o entimes two groups in one night. ose who opted out were asked to answer a survey about why they were unable to participate. While the most popular reason was “I just don’t have time for this right now,” about one third clicked the option: “I can easily talk about the motions and mechanics of davening but I am not comfortable talking with other people about the spirituality of davening.”

e rst session centered around Berachot 6b: “ ese matters [davening] stand at the top of the world and yet most people take them lightly.” I asked two questions on this text: Why does davening assume this lo y appropriation? And, why do many people struggle to relate to davening seriously?

I took notes on every session and now have pages upon pages of notes to re ect on. People opened up and shared some profound insights and personal re ections. A novelist said that she struggles to be passionate about a script that she did not write. A few parents remarked that they treat davening lightly because in their experience it just doesn’t work, as they have stormed the Heavens to request healing for their children who did not survive. An English teacher said that davening in ancient Hebrew with unfamiliar terms feels, more o en than not, like wrapping her tongue around fossils. A convert shared that a er decades of e ort she still cannot penetrate

Rabbi Noah Cheses, a former OU-JLIC educator at Yale University, is rav of the Young Israel of Sharon in Massachusetts.

the daunting fortress-like language barrier. A neurologist remarked that he cannot understand how the halachic expectation to say the same words, at the same time of day, every day, does not lead to routinization and mindlessness.

I then shi ed the conversation and asked: Who are your role models in davening? Whom do you think about when you are trying to connect? And under what conditions have you experienced euphoric davening moments?

With this prompt, an educator shared: When I evaluate my struggle with te llah and other areas of similar struggle, I arrive at my relationship with healthy eating. One is about bodily health and the other is about soul health. I know that certain foods are good for me, but if I am not actively working on it, I am sliding backwards. e upkeep is constant. I always need to be exerting e ort, making hard choices that involve sacri cing certain pleasures for something else that sometimes doesn’t feel so enjoyable. I o en get lazy and justify that I will make a better choice next time. With davening, this means that if I am not engaged in iyun te llah, learning about the meaning of the words and the layers of the siddur, then I am just coasting and getting by. I o en make the justi cation that I can wait until my next davening to get it right; for now, I’ll just take it easy and let my mind wander wherever it wants to go. But when I put in the e ort, I feel vitality, fully alive, fresh, crisp, just like when I make healthy food choices.

At the end of the rst session, I handed out davening modality cards, a compilation of fourteen di erent paths for connecting to our Creator, based on Rabbi Aryeh Ben David’s book, God le: 10 Approaches to Personalizing Prayer. Each card had a title, such as “ e Listener,” “ e Mystic,” “ e Malcontent,” with Torah sources explaining that pathway to approach Hashem in davening. I asked each person to use this card as a bookmark in his or her siddur over the next few weeks and to come prepared to share his or her re ections on that modality at the second session, led by the group captains.

Captains were charged to take notes on that conversation, which I

then discussed with them prior to the third session —a workshop on the rst berachah of the Amidah. A er connecting some of the comments from the captains’ sessions to the structure and themes of the Shemoneh Esrei, I handed out pens and a worksheet on which the contents of the rst berachah were divided according to their poetic structure, with provocative questions on the te llah. We slowly and methodically went through each phrase of the rst berachah. We traced back all the primary texts upon which the paragraph is based, examined the poetic structure and explored the imagery through the commentary of Rabbi Aryeh Kaplan.2

At the conclusion of the third session, I handed out another essay by Rabbi Kaplan, “Conversing with G-d,” which bemoans the reality that davening has for the most part been relegated to formal te llah b’tzibbur in shul. He provides speci c guidance for having a conversation with our Creator whenever and wherever we are. We should be more comfortable speaking directly to Hashem while running carpool, going for a jog or at the many transition points in our day.

e fourth and nal session focused on Rabbi Kaplan’s article. While I was not in attendance, one of the captains

shared with me that an older woman in her group didn’t understand why I had assigned this essay as it was obvious and extraneous to her. For this is how her mother and grandmother had taught her to daven at every stage of her life. She remarked: “I have a xed date with the Eibishter every night when I do the dinner dishes. at is when we catch up about the day and discuss the day ahead!”

Conclusions

One of my mentors, Marty Linsky, taught me the concept of “getting up on the balcony,” which describes the practice of getting o the dance oor and stepping back to gain a more wholistic perspective on what is really going on.3 is is what our community achieved in the domain of davening through this simple experiment. We stepped above our prayerful lives, created some healthy distance and examined what we have been doing, why we are doing it and how we could do it better. Over these last several months, we tried to upgrade our davening personalities and become a more connected community—both interpersonally and with Hashem. In addition to these primary objectives, there were some other positive outcomes that were not insigni cant. is included having substantive conversations with some individuals who had never attended a class with me before, engaging with millennials who struggle to show up for weekday minyanim, and forming new friendships between likeminded people in di erent age and social groups. Most signi cantly, our daily minyanim are stronger than they have ever been. I am grateful to all the captains who did much of the heavy li ing and for the privilege of serving a kehillah that is seeking to grow through davening.

Notes

1. See Harerei Kedem 22.

2. Jewish Meditation: A Practical Guide (New York, 1985), ch. 12.

3. Ronald A. Heifetz and Marty Linsky, Leadership on the Line: Staying Alive rough the Dangers of Change (Brighton, Massachusetts, 2002).

We stepped above our prayerful lives, created some healthy distance and examined what we have been doing, why we are doing it and how we could do it better.

your eservations.

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SINGLEHOOD IN THE COMMUNITY: ARE WE MISSING THE MARK?

IN 2020,

The Center for Communal Research (CCR), the OU’s research arm, surveyed more than 2,300 Orthodox single men and women and conducted qualitative interviews with 41 unmarried Orthodox Jews in a large-scale research study of the shidduch crisis “The Challenges of Singlehood among American Orthodox Jews.” The study, available at research. ou.org/shidduch/, covered topics including dating, religion, socioeconomic status and health.

The study

demonstrated most saliently that there are, in fact, two disparate crises. The “crisis of process” reflects the fact that the systems and procedures for finding a spouse in the Orthodox community fall short for some single men and women. The “crisis of experience” reflects the fact that single people reported feeling blamed or judged by their Orthodox communities and struggle to participate in Orthodox life.

The following article focuses on the crisis of experience. Specifically, it addresses: How do single men and women feel about themselves, each other and their communities? What do single men and women want from the community at large?

A more extensive study on the shidduch landscape, currently being worked on by the OU’s CCR in partnership with the newly formed Shidduch Institute, will yield data on the “crisis of process” in the months ahead. Specifically, the future study will address issues related to the systems and procedures for finding a spouse in the Orthodox community.

Access full report here: research.ou.org/shidduch/

Much of the study’s findings and recommendations may seem fairly obvious, but by publishing this infographic we hope to start a communal conversation about the experience facing Orthodox single men and women. Our goal is to have a positive, practical impact on the experiences of single men and women in the the Orthodox community.

A SENSE OF BELONGING

79% of survey respondents said that the treatment of single men and women is either somewhat of a problem or a serious problem.

15%

more women than men perceive their treatment in the community as a problem.

Single men and women were very vocal about the lack of a place to belong within the Orthodox infrastructure. They reported this as a signifcant element of their struggle with singlehood, with women voicing this sentiment more than men.

Please note that the statistics in these pages are from the large-scale quantitative data from the OU survey, reflecting the responses of thousands of single men and women across America. The quotes, however, come from qualitative interviews of single men and women, primarily in their 20s and 30s, conducted to lend richness and depth of understanding to the quantitative survey data.

One participant referred to the period of adulthood while not married as an

BETWEEN IN STATE

where single people “lack a place in Jewish society.”

I think the crisis isn’t necessarily that singles aren’t getting married. The crisis is that most singles past twenty-five feel lost to the Orthodox world. Jack, mid-thirties, Los Angeles

The greatest problem with the shidduch crisis, other than the fact that some people are single, is that we lack a true identity. We lack a place in Jewish society. Our society is so family-oriented, and that’s beautiful. But where do we fit?

Rochel, late twenties, Greater New York area

THE WAY WE SPEAK

For many female participants, the linguistic convention in the Orthodox community to refer to single women as “girls” epitomized the feelings of being discounted despite personal achievements. Overall, male participants did not complain about being referred to as “boys.”

I have a challenging job as a mental health provider in an inner-city school system. People often ask me why I don’t devote my professional career to the Jewish community. And even though that has always been one of my dreams, I give them my honest answer: “You know that no one will take me seriously since I’m single. Everyone would question my work with kids, with couples, with marriages. In my secular workplace, I’m seen as an accomplished individual. In the frum community, I’m just a girl.”

Sara, late twenties, Chicago

Many single men and women echoed the feeling of “not having a place.”

FRIENDS HELP

The most helpful and supportive resource for single men and women who are dating:

F.R.I.E.N.D.S.

The emotional support that single men and women reported receiving from friends outstripped that of family, shadchanim and community leaders. Many single men and women also credited their friends with providing the most on-point dating suggestions.

Single men and women reported

SUPPORTIVE NETWORKS AMONG ONE ANOTHER. deep

They reported that their friendships help them stay resilient in the face of the regular setbacks of life and dating.

Having friends as a support group is the most important thing you could ever have while dating.

Chevi, mid-twenties, New York

GETTING TO KNOW YOURSELF

CLARITY

Single men and women told us that over the years they gained clarity on the few things that are really important to them.

Either saying “no” too often.

And the things they regret? NO

Or saying “no” too seldom.

Single men and women who

TO LEARN LISTEN

to their own inner voice and values fare better than single people who don’t.

TO SPEAK UP OR NOT TO SPEAK UP

Women expressed the need to remain silent in the face of community members’ hurtful comments. For some, this occurred when congregants at shul or guests at a wedding addressed them in a demeaning or insulting manner.

I would say to community leaders and community members: We do not want your unsolicited advice. We’re not interested in it. You don’t know what it’s like. You’re not in the trenches with us.

Chevi, mid-twenties, New York

BLAMED, LABELED AS BITTER,

In the face of insulting comments, many of the women interviewed felt it would be counterproductive to defend themselves or answer back, fearing that they would be seen as unmarriageable or would not be set up again in the future.

“How are you sti single? You’re such a catch.”

SILENCE

As opposed to men who reported ending a date early if they felt it was not going well, women said they felt responsible to remain silent while on a poor date.

Some of the women we interviewed relayed that

MATCHMAKERS’ CONTROL

over their ability to meet potential partners often led to silence in the face of mistreatment.

When I have asserted myself with shadchanim, they just completely write me o and will never set me up again.

Leora, mid-thirties, New York

While some men recounted that if a matchmaker said something insulting they would stop using that matchmaker, women’s responses to hurtful comments by matchmakers differed greatly and usually resulted in

PAINED SILENCE.

SHUL MATTERS

The majority of single men and women report that and over half felt that their shul is people at shul are friendly, inclusive of single people.

IN

SHUL

of men agree or strongly agree 88%

with the statement “people are friendly in shul.”

Some single men and women felt community members could do more. When asked whether they are invited to a Shabbat meal,

of women agree or strongly agree 81% of men said “yes”

SHABBAT MEALS

45%

60% of women said “yes”

Many respondents felt that a married status earns community members more respect as well as opportunities for involvement in their shul or community. Some even felt blamed for being single.

FEELING BLAME of men of women

34% 45% &

felt judged or blamed by their communities for being single.

There is a tendency to infantilize single members of the community. This manifests in various ways, including . . . socially (as a twentysomething medical student, I and a thirty-yearold widow were seated at the children’s table at a wedding; our similarly-aged coupled friends were seated together). I think that they highlight some misplaced values in our communities: being married is not an accomplishment and should not confer status.

Sara, early thirties, Chicago

Somehow or another, the community has managed to convince the singles community that if you’re not married by X-number, you’re a failure. I think a lot more people would be getting married if they felt better about themselves.

Jack, mid-thirties, Los Angeles

LONELINESS

Interviewees explained that poor

EMOTIONAL, PSYCHOLOGICAL OR SPIRITUAL WELLBEING

were barriers to finding a partner.

Additionally, the experience of feeling “lost” or out of place in their communities was addressed by several interview participants. Feelings of loneliness varied by age, with single men and women ages 35-44 reporting the highest levels of

reported higher levels of loneliness than women.

This is one of the most trying and embarrassing times in our life . . . There is no way to explain the thousands of times we are discounted, rejected or overlooked while we try to find our own purpose and meaning in life . . . We need to find a place in the frum world for single people . . .

Sara, early thirties, New York

FINDING SUPPORT

EMPATHY

Most of the men and women interviewed felt that communal rabbis and leaders did not empathize with their challenges and should be doing more to help them fnd partners. As one female interviewee put it, while communities have developed greater sensitivity toward infertility, addiction and other challenges, “there’s none of that when it comes to singles.”

A few interview participants did share stories of being supported by personal rabbis and mentors and, at times, by matchmakers as well. The men we interviewed shared more of these stories of support than the women did.

I was talking to a shadchan, and she said, “It’s always important to get out and meet people. If you ever want to come to my house for Shabbat, come.” I think she understood that as people get older, they might feel isolated. I feel that way. And she was just saying, “If you ever want to come, change things up, be with a family, come for Shabbat.” And I appreciated that.

Yisroel, late thirties, New York

Something that changed my whole way of dating came from a rebbi of mine. He [suggested many dates] to me, and his first idea was a woman two years older than me. And he said, “call her up.” And I was like, “What?” and he said, “You’re afraid to call her? Man up and call her.” It seems like such a little thing, but it had a domino e ect in terms of how authentic I felt I could be, and how I could just be myself. I turn to him now for a lot. He’s a big sounding board in my life. But he never tells me what to do, which is the reason I started speaking to him instead of other rabbis I’ve had in the past.

Yaakov, late twenties, Baltimore

WHAT

Help with finding a spouse

To be accepted and not blamed

DO

SINGLE MEN AND WOMEN WANT?

To be valued

More opportunities for meeting naturally

Welcome invitations to meals

Resources for healthy relationship building

WHAT WE CAN DO GET INVOLVED

The most common request from respondents was for more help in finding a spouse—some also specified wanting the community to create more “natural” or “organic” places for single men and women to meet one another.

NO UNSOLICITED ADVICE

Only o er advice if you are asked for it. Show more respect and appreciation for single men and women’s inherent value and dignity.

PROVIDE OPPORTUNITIES

O er ways in which single men and women can be meaningfully involved and contribute to your community. Single men and women are often skilled professionals, and many want to contribute their proficiency to their communities.

INCLUSIVITY

Known for being inclusive, Ner Tamid, Rabbi Yisrael Motzen’s shul in Baltimore, has single men and women on its board and in other leadership positions. Additionally, the shul offers special membership prices for single men and women. Its very active Sisterhood is led by two young single women.

Having single men and women on the board and on committees that create events is critical. We don’t have unique programming for singles. Our model is more about ensuring that people do not only congregate with their own, and we have additional e orts to break down some of those natural divisions.

Rabbi Yisrael Motzen, Ner Tamid, Baltimore

At Manhattan’s Jewish Center, both married and unmarried members have served as president, vice president, offcers of the board and members of shul committees. The shul provides opportunities for everyone to contribute to the community through Shiurim, speaker opportunities and leadership roles. It offers some events and programs that are open to all, and others that are specifc to affnity groups.

There has to be a way to make sure everyone has a voice and there’s an opportunity for that voice to be heard. It doesn’t matter if you’re sixty or in your twenties, married or single or have kids or don’t have kids.

Rabbi Yosie Levine, The Jewish Center, New York

BE WELCOMING

Invite single men and women at the same time and in the same way that you invite other guests.

I am a youth director of a shul that is growing. The parents love me, and I am very successful and valued there. However, in four years, not one person from the shul has set me up or invited me to a Shabbos meal. And they are very nice people. This is not okay. If they knew how I felt, they would be embarrassed, and I know for a fact that I would be invited for Shabbos meals and would get more dates. They just don’t realize what they are doing.

Female survey respondent, mid-twenties

There is a significant lack of formal education involving relationship building and marriages, ranging from what to look for [in a partner], warning signs, how to resolve conflict, financial management, compromise, emotional boundaries, etc. I wish there were formal workshops on these topics.

Female survey respondent, late twenties, New York

OFFER RESOURCES

Some single men and women expressed a desire for more direction when it comes to healthy relationships. Several of those interviewed lamented the lack of caring mentors available during dating, and wished the community provided more resources for coaching and mentorship for young adults.

Special thanks to Channah Cohen, one of the authors of the study, and Batsheva Moskowitz, Jewish Action associate editor, for help in preparing this article.

I am Lauren.

Staring at me from the screen (despite the changed details protecting my anonymity) were my words from the painful, yet cathartic, OU study on single men and women (see page 61 for more information on the study).

When I revealed myself as Lauren to some friends, they immediately laughed and told me, “We are all Laurens.”

I am extremely moved that my words have resonated so deeply with so many other singles. It’s somewhat of a relief

The of My CRISIS EXPERIENCE

When I read Channah Cohen’s online essay on singlehood,* I was struck by a quote attributed to a woman named Lauren: e loneliest thing is a fear that—in the Jewish world—I will have no legacy. But that’s not all. I wish that there were more spaces, more respect for the ful llment that single people have in their lives. . . . Otherwise we just ful ll ourselves elsewhere. And mark my words: it will be a huge loss to the Jewish community because we will just leave. . . . I am just going to leave. And it will have nothing to do with my observance of mitzvot or my relationship with Hakadosh Baruch Hu. It’s just going to be because I don’t have a home.

that I’m not alone, even if the situation makes me profoundly sad.

An update on my circumstances: I am still single. I am still fully observant. I am still looking to date/marry someone who is also actively choosing to be frum. I still sometimes feel like I’m holding on by a thread. And I know too many people who have cut ties with the Jewish community because of this tension.

I still don’t have a place, or a home, in the Jewish community.

e pandemic disrupted my life and, like so many others, exacerbated the feeling of loneliness.

At the time of the survey, I was living in a community with a large young professional population. Many of my friends (both single and married) had

moved out for one reason or another, and I was toying with the idea of moving elsewhere. A few weeks a er my conversation with researchers from the OU study, I was schmoozing with a community lay leader at a shul event. He had heard about my apartment hunt, and we were chatting about it. He turned to me and o andedly remarked, “ e more I think about it, there’s no place for singles in their upper thirties here.”

*Channah Cohen was one of the researchers of the OU Center for Communal Research study “ e Challenges of Singlehood among American Orthodox Jews,” which was launched in 2020 and released, in part, in June 2023. Her essay about the experience of single men and women in the Orthodox community appeared on 18Forty.org, a highly popular podcast and website that explores Jewish thought and ideas.

I was so heartbroken by his throwaway line that I was trembling. I had called this community home for the past decade. I had invested in it, not just as a participant but as an active volunteer, donating time, energy and money. e thought that this community, this shul, this place, was no longer mine or ours but only theirs, was devastating and kept me up most of the night.

I continued the conversation with the lay leader the following day. “I cannot imagine that you would say such a thing about or to any other demographic in this shul,” I told him.

At the time, the shul leadership was bending over backward to be more inclusive, but seemingly, it was for everyone else. I pointed out how the shul provided babysitting so young parents could enjoy events. It o ered daytime activities for retirees. It created new minyanim and programming to attract a younger crowd of recent graduates. “If there is no place for me or other singles in their upper thirties here,” I emphasized, “it’s because this community has done nothing to foster an environment where we belong.”

It’s hard to describe the pain of feeling like you’re the odd one out, or how deeply the systemic rejection cuts. It is di cult to convey the feeling of loneliness. I know those struggling to nd their life partners (either for the rst or second time) experience this acutely. I’m sure there are many others who have felt disenfranchised and can empathize with these emotions. I don’t think this is a singles crisis. I believe this is a community issue.

Have you ever walked into a crowded room by yourself, feeling awkward or slightly uncomfortable yet compelled to go in? You nally eye a single open seat, and turn to your potential neighbor and ask: “Is this spot available?”

ere is a world of di erence between someone smiling and answering “Sure, please take a seat!” versus the person brushing you aside, or rolling their eyes, even if they move over to make room for you.

e discomfort of being unmarried in a family-centric society is magni ed

when you are ignored, shunted to the side or, more unfortunately, dismissed or pitied. With such a chilly reception, do you really want to squeeze into that seat? Would your desire to join the klal, celebrate with others or participate in the event override those insecurities?

I, like many of my unmarried peers, have focused on developing myself as a person. I have taken advantage of opportunities I would not necessarily have had if I were attached. I’ve traveled. I’ve pursued hobbies and interests. I set aside time to learn Torah. I volunteer, help others whenever I can, and have been involved in chesed projects. And I’ve advanced in my career.

Yet it seems like all of my personal and professional development is compartmentalized when I go to shul or to a Jewish communal event. It is overshadowed by the fact that I’m not married, and therefore do not fully belong.

I yearn to nd space, respect and ful llment for myself and other singles within the Jewish community. I wish the Jewish community would do better. I wish more shuls would be more proactive in providing integrated programming, where people from multiple demographics are welcomed and feel welcomed. I wish there were more opportunities for social, educational and religious growth for singles. I wish to be treated as an equal with my married peers, and not viewed as if I were broken because I am single. I would love to invest in the klal; I only wish my contributions would be appreciated. I wish the Jewish community felt like my communal home.

Where do we begin?

I believe each individual can make a di erence. It’s the little things that foster

a warm and welcoming environment, create community and provide reasons for people to stay. Everyone is busy. Life is hectic. But small gestures and considerations go a very long way.

l Try to be more aware. If you notice someone hesitating when she walks into shul, smile at her or pull out a chair. If someone is standing by herself, introduce yourself, start a conversation, widen the group circle and include her.

l Reach out to single acquaintances. If you thought of him, let him know. Ask how he is doing and acknowledge his response. If you read something you think he might enjoy, send him the article, or text that meme.

l Help single people network. If you know someone looking for a job, o er to connect him to someone in that career or eld. Share a job posting. Ask if your suggestion is on the right track. Listen to why it may or may not be for him. Try again. e same holds true for those seeking spouses.

l If you enjoy their company, invite them. Open invitations are lovely, but a request for them to join a speci c Shabbat meal is so much more appreciated. e gesture of asking someone “Do you need a meal?” is nice, but may carry undertones of pity. “We would love the pleasure of your company; are you available?” is so much more meaningful.

Mark my words: it will be a huge loss to the Jewish community because we will just leave. . . I am just going to leave. And it will have nothing to do with my observance of mitzvot or my relationship with Hakadosh Baruch Hu. It’s just going to be because I don’t have a home. I still don’t have a home within the Jewish community, but with your help, we can build one together.

I don’t think this is a singles crisis. I believe this is a community issue.

UNMATCHED:

An Orthodox Jewish woman’s mystifying journey to fnd marriage and meaning

Currently churning with initiatives and opinions, the Orthodox community has embarked on trying to solve the so-called shidduch crisis. Statistical surveys, dating coach training, matchmaker incentives, geographicbased programs, innovative events and plenty of nger-pointing all underscore the failure of our current processes to help those seeking to marry. Community responsibility is a good thing, and the investment of serious ongoing resources, beyond writing letters to the editor, speaks well of the observant community’s e orts to reform, tweak and bring attention to problems in our “systems.”

Addressing systemic change with care, sensitivity and understanding is the hallmark of Jews who feel that they are all one family and act accordingly. Individuals and organizations take up a challenge, doing their hishtadlus for Hashem and His people.

e recently published Unmatched, written by Sarah Lavane, a pseudonym, unpeels the layers of the individual quest for a life partner. Like

Rebbetzin Faigie Horowitz, MS, is a writer, political advocate, and nonprofit veteran who serves as the rebbetzin of Agudas Achim of Lawrence, New York. She is a co-founder of JWOW!, Jewish Women of Wisdom, a community of Orthodox midlife women.

By Sarah Lavane 2022

226 pages

Reviewed by Rebbetzin Faigie Horowitz

the immersive experience of a visitor to a museum of the blind, the reader is plunged into an alien environment— the quest of the Jewish woman in search of a compatible mate, along with the raging emotions, the humility, grief, betrayal, despair and faith. A courageous attempt to explore the pain and the ongoing cycle of needing to please the date, the matchmaker and oneself, the book gets an A+ for achieving the author’s expressed goal

of sharing the mystifying journey of a lonely woman of faith.

With vulnerability at every layer, the author, who has been dating for decades, reveals her growing self-awareness as she talks with the Ribbono Shel Olam during epic disasters and growing relationships that go nowhere. e author shares it all—from her childhood impressions of romance to her concern about what the neighbors will think (“My neighbors were passing by and staring”), her self-doubt (“What was wrong with me? Was I sabotaging myself? . . . Was I subconsciously afraid of marriage?”) and her ongoing e ort to expand her dating opportunities as an open-minded, accomplished, worldly young woman.

Back when the author began dating decades ago, she didn’t have a checklist like many of today’s young people. From the start, she has been openminded and unafraid to date people with varying cultural and observance levels. She attends Shabbatons, goes to events, meets matchmakers, uses online dating sites, volunteers in varying venues, organizes a singles event, learns with the Jewishly uninitiated, seeks berachos from holy people, implements segulos and prays for others. Why G-d, why? She’s trying so hard and she wants His grace.

e warrior who emerges pained from the struggle, yet stronger in faith, is the picture she wants the reader to

take away. Ki sarisa im Elokim, for you have struggled with G-d, is not the end for this daughter of Israel. Vatuchal—and you succeeded—is. e blunt force of e ort to connect with Hashem, emulating Him and bringing His G-dliness into the world, may be brutal, but it brings the woman of faith closer to Him. From the cyclical maelstroms of despair and defeat come meaning and purpose.

Sobering and inspiring though the takeaways may be, the read is an entertaining one. With de showdon’t-tell storytelling skills, the author takes us with her on the highs and lows of the awkward dates with “Biker,” “Grandpa,” “Cool but Kind,” “Seatmate,” “Smitten,” “Goth Guy” and “Swell,” to name a few. O en there is a brief insight at the conclusion of a dating saga, hinting to us that this part of the journey has meaning. She could have used a coach to help her with this one, she was indulging in fantasy with that one, she was developing assertiveness, guilt drove her to say yes, blind dates don’t work, and vetting is better. One of her more memorable conclusions: “Men are like a pair of high-heeled shoes. ey could make women feel beautiful and pained at the same time.”

e author’s style is illuminating,

with a wry touch as she points to external sources of pain: being called a girl, receiving unsolicited counsel (“Compatibility, comshmatibility doesn’t matter… all you really need is a good person . . . You’ll never nd someone perfect…”), the instant expertise of the recently married, the suggestions without research, the assumptions about frequent vacations (“Did people realize that singles don’t necessarily have a built-in partner to go on vacation or spend holidays with—that we o en have to scramble to make plans or go solo?”), the invasive questions about age, the interview-style dater, and the dumping without closure. e biases against her Brooklyn background and other presumed biases abound. We’re there with her at uncomfortable singles weekends, therapy appointments, and dates with men of varied levels of observance. She exposes her need for intimacy, and her deepest yearnings, feelings and e orts to resolve her challenges, with authenticity and clarity. How much hishtadlus must she invest? How much e ort must she put forth only to experience humiliation and pain again?

Anger at G-d is a subject for many philosophers as well as for survivors of the Holocaust. How could a benevolent G-d subject His faithful follower to so

much inhumanity and atrocity?

At Rachel’s Place, the Brooklyn shelter that I helped found for young women who cannot live at home, a similar emotion is o en expressed. e residents o en ask: Why did You give me parents who neglected me? Parents are supposed to care for their children, and You gave me these?! As the young women work through their emotions, they o en come to realize that even anger is an expression of a relationship. Telling G-d what we feel, even if it is anger, hurt and betrayal, is connection. While de ly keeping it personal, Sarah Lavane deepens our respect for and sensitivity to the individual unmatched woman of faith. Courageously acknowledging that her physical and spiritual desires are at odds, she takes us through her dilemmas and choices. Her honesty and self-knowledge compel the awareness that we know little about the spiral of inner struggle and growth of the unmatched. Rather than condescend to an object of chesed, stand up for the lone woman of faith. While this riveting narrative has many elements—bargaining with G-d, jealousy, gratitude and the ultimate acceptance of G-d’s mystery—some concepts are absent. e infrequency of the word “single” in the narrative, for example, struck me. Perhaps by de-emphasizing the word, the author is subtly telling the community: Don’t de ne me by my marital status. I’m a person with accomplishments and feelings, and I don’t want to be de ned by the object of my yearning.

Loneliness is another term that seems to be missing. ere is no direct discussion of this emotion in the book, but it is obvious that the writer is seeking someone to communicate with easily, to engage with, as well as to marry if he is compatible.

e lack of bitterness in Unmatched and the absence of shrill railing at our community’s processes, prejudices and preferences validates the truth of the author’s resolve. She controls herself to do the good and the G-dly that may or may not change her fate, as she grows closer to the true Controller of her destiny.

The author is subtly telling the community: Don’t defne me by my marital status. I’m a person with accomplishments and feelings, and I don’t want to be defned by the object of my yearning.

On Being a Single Woman

Only You C an

Months went by and I was trying to refocus on the positive aspect of the men I was meeting. I had heard about the tile syndrome. One can walk into a room tiled with a thousand tiles and if one tile was missing, the eye would be drawn to what was missing, instead of what was there. Was I guilty of that? Was I judging men for the one thing they lacked rather than everything else they o ered? I resolved to try not to do that. As much as I recognized when a man was nice or kind, if I didn’t feel I could be myself with him, if I didn’t feel our personalities or interests were anywhere in the same ballpark, if I didn’t feel I could develop a friendship, was I expected to force things and marry him? Some people o ered guidance. “Oh, you’ll be so busy when you’re married; you’ll talk about the kids, you won’t need to share interests!” or “Compatibility is overrated.” None of their advice seemed sound to me and I wondered whether they were happy. Didn’t I deserve as much? Or if

Boys and Girls

It doesn’t matter how old you are, or if you’ve never been married in the observant world, you are considered a “boy” or a “girl.” If you are male, you are called up to the Torah in the synagogue as a bachur—a lad. e indignity of it should spur the bachelors to marriage. e older I grew, the less I wanted to date a bachur. I felt that one who had experienced the companionship of a spouse or the responsibility of children o en had a certain gravitas that others who had never been married, including myself, did not. I myself was considered a “girl” but wanted to marry a “man,” not a “boy.” I had responsibilities at work, obligations toward my parents and family, volunteered as a Big Sister, and o ered help to others in need, yet I felt myself living a more juvenile life than

they were not, did they expect me to follow suit? Had they married young? Could they comprehend what I’d been through? Mostly I didn’t want advice that felt like judgment. I wanted them to introduce me to men. But those who gave unsolicited advice freely very rarely came up with a date suggestion. ere were others who were sensitive and knew that single women were not overly picky. ey saw the situation for what it was. ey knew that as di cult as dating was for men, the odds were stacked against women. ese sympathetic people were generous with their time and their encouragement, and they worked hard to come up with good suggestions. But the pool of eligible men was shrinking. As much as they helped, G-d was in control, and I needed His help more than theirs. So I prayed again and again. Please help me to do Your Will. To marry someone Jewish. To build a Jewish home. Only You can.

Excerpted, with permission, from Unmatched, p. 77.

I should’ve been. I was self-centered in a way that a married person cannot be. I could leave my lights on or o , my windows open or shut, set the alarm for any hour, never wait for my turn to shower. Of course, many married people are just as sel sh, o en to the chagrin of their spouse and at the price of their marital harmony. . . .

As a “girl,” circumstances at times made me feel out of place, stupid, or childlike: when I stood in line with men to sell my chametz and the rabbi disregarded me; when I attended a Tishah b’Av lecture and the speaker railed against singles for causing a “new holocaust;” when a salesman in a furniture store sailed right by me to assist a young couple who had entered the store a er me; when I’d be the only single in a room full of married people, or worse, as a friend related, she’d been

shunted o to a children’s table at a wedding. My self-esteem and that of other “girls” worked hard at combating all these pitiable moments. I also held o on doing things, thinking I’ll do that as soon as I marry. My roommate had taken her microwave oven with her, and I had resisted replacing it for months thinking my husband would have his own and we’d buy one together. It was silly. In the same vein, the day I bought my apartment, I was in tears. ough it was scally wise, I had wanted to commit to a husband before committing to a mortgage. is was not the way I had imagined things happening. It took time to unpeel the layers of mental blocks preventing me from living fully.

Excerpted, with permission, from Unmatched, pp. 111-113.

Confronting the Suboptimal

Most of our encounters with inadequacy, however, are far more complex. Rarely can we “have it all,” and so we grapple with trade-o s and acclimate to the imperfect. In the mundane and in the signi cant, in pragmatism and in halachah, communally and individually, we are perpetually required to compromise and accommodate.

performance mistakenly falls short, halachah will occasionally deem the de cient performance to be acceptable bedieved (meaning “a er the fact”).

By Moishe Bane

Whether attributable to Voltaire, to Montesquieu or to Rabbi Yissocher Frand, shlit”a, at the most recent Siyum HaShas, “perfect is the enemy of the good” is an aphorism most of us commonly embrace. Success in life, peace of mind and most surprisingly, even religious growth are dependent upon recognizing that perfection is an elusive ideal. is realization, however, is also accompanied by challenges.

We begin our encounter with imperfection by acknowledging human frailty and the inescapability of sin. Even the most strict religious leaders sympathetically cite the pasuk in Koheles (7:20) “Ein tzaddik ba’aretz asher ya’aseh tov v’lo yecheta” there is no righteous person in the land who does good and never sins.” In acknowledging our vulnerability to sin, however, we also recognize sin’s impermissibility. e issue is black and white, good and bad. We may fall prey to transgressions, but a er acknowledging a failure, we feel regret and seek to do better.

Initially we may resent the imperfections of life and the awed world that surrounds us, but eventually we adapt. As part of our maturation process, we learn to tolerate dashed expectations. And just as we learn to accept our own weaknesses and inadequacies, we eventually accept the same in our spouses, children, friends and others. If we are truly mature, we further mitigate our cynicism and indignation by acknowledging that no community is pristine, no culture unblemished, no job unchallenging and no journey free of bumps.

Becoming comfortable with the suboptimal, however, comes at a cost. For example, being overly generous in judging ourselves and others can result in lowered expectations. It would be tragic if tolerance of compromised standards suppressed aspirations for greatness. It would be equally tragic, however, if failure to temper excessively ambitious goals quashed joy and satisfaction. is paradox arises in all aspects of our personal lives, ranging from developing skills to fostering relationships, from building wealth to preserving one’s health. For Orthodox Jews, however, the danger of succumbing to mediocrity is probably most acute in the realm of religious growth and observance.

SUBOPTIMAL IN HALACHAH

A rabbinically mandated mitzvah should be performed lechatchila, in an optimal manner (lechatchila literally means “in the rst instance”). When mitzvah

For example, before consuming wine, fruits, vegetables and baked items, we are required to recite a berachah speci c to that category of food or beverage, rather than the catch-all berachah of “Shehakol,” which is recited prior to consuming other categories of food and drink. If one mistakenly recited Shehakol when a di erent blessing was required, a er the fact, bedieved, the Shehakol berachah su ces.

e suboptimal bedieved standard is periodically sanctioned even in advance of the performance of a mitzvah, but only under onerous circumstances. For example, in advance of the Pesach Seder, a rabbi may deem it acceptable for an individual who falls ill a er drinking wine, or who has insu cient funds to purchase wine, to substitute grape juice to ful ll the obligation to drink four cups of wine. In addition to occasionally permitting bedieved options for individuals, the halachic system also recognizes the occasional need for sanctioning lowered standards on a broad, communal-wide basis. For example, to avoid signi cant nancial loss or to safeguard human dignity, Chazal will occasionally moderate a general halachic ordinance. And rabbinic recognition of the occasional need to tolerate a less-than-ideal standard is perhaps most conspicuous in the dictum that a communal decree, however purposeful it may be, should not be issued by the rabbis “ela im kein rov tzibbur yecholin la’amod bah, unless most within the general community can reasonably be expected to abide by it”

(Bava Kamma 79b).

THE HAZARDS OF SUBOPTIMAL IN HALACHAH

While halachic bedieved, and the occasional kula (leniency), are

Moishe Bane, president emeritus of the OU, serves as a contributing editor of Jewish Action.

necessary accommodations, these variances can also be disconcerting and disorienting. Similarly, confusion and resentment may result when encountering a commonly misguided assertion that a particular chumra (stringency) is a necessity, rather than a suggested or optional stringency. Perhaps because there is rarely a single halachic standard applicable to all, chumras and kulas, as well as the lechatchila or bedieved manners of practice, are frequently mistakenly viewed as mere menu options, to be selected at whim. Performance of a mitzvah in accordance with a bedieved standard, however, is only valid a er the fact if it had unwittingly been performed that way in error or if extenuating circumstances compelled its adoption. I must have been about twelve years old when I overheard a friend of my parents, a”h, dismissively belittling rabbis who declined to recognize particularly lenient kashrus standards. “Either it’s kosher or it’s not kosher,” he asserted. At the time, the statement struck me as logical and reasonable. Alas, it is actually untrue.

While lechatchila itself may have a range of acceptable standards, there are boundaries beneath which a leniency is valid only bedieved, as a last resort. Sometimes bedieved standards are mistakenly adhered to out of simple ignorance. Other times, however, people deliberately choose ease and convenience, improperly allowing the less-than-optimal standard to become the norm. For example, bedieved, one who unavoidably arrives late to morning minyan may truncate Pesukei D’Zimra, if necessary, to catch up to the minyan. Some men inappropriately adopt this practice when davening at home or rely on the practice to deliberately arrive late to minyan. And there are women who regrettably curtail or entirely abstain from daily davening even in the absence of any halachic justi cation, such as competing parenting obligations.

Occasionally a bedieved, or an even wholly inappropriate halachic standard, is adopted by people as normative a er they observe the practice seemingly being condoned by trustworthy individuals, while failing to appreciate

the circumstances involved. By way of illustration, I received a call from the president of a small shul complaining that the newly hired young rabbi was being overly stringent and oppressive by disallowing social dancing at shul events. e president recalled that many decades earlier, the cathedral synagogue he had attended as a teenager had hosted dances without any objection from the shul rabbi. e president noted that the synagogue’s rabbi at that time is now a highly regarded and extremely pious elderly rosh yeshivah Recently I spotted that particular rosh yeshivah at a wedding. I introduced myself and we sat together and chatted. A er a bit, I inquired, and he a rmed that decades earlier he had been the rabbi of the referenced cathedral synagogue. I gingerly inquired whether there had been social dancing at synagogue events during his tenure and if so, why he had allowed it.

e rabbi, mildly amused, placed his hand on mine and whispered, “Not a single member of that shul observed Shabbos or kept a kosher home. Protesting ballroom dancing was not high up on my list of battles to wage.”

e fervent pursuit of halachic leniencies results in something else as well: the undermining of a foundational objective of Torah observance. Rather than a dispassionate exercise in checking o boxes on a halachic playlist, Torah observance is intended to be a meaningful and purposeful lifestyle that enriches our souls and elevates our lives. Each mitzvah, whether exhilarating or exhausting, sweet or strenuous, is an opportunity to upli our neshamah and advance an ever-deepening connection with Hashem. e relationship we seek

to develop with Hashem draws parallels to our other loving relationships. Any relationship is doomed to dissatisfaction, if not abject failure, if either of the parties perpetually seeks shortcuts, prioritizing personal convenience and grati cation. And a relationship inevitably becomes stale if e orts undertaken on the other’s behalf are regularly performed to the minimal degree necessary “tzu yotzei zein,” which is the Yiddish equivalent of “checking the box.”

SPIRITUAL SUB-OPTIMALITY IN HISTORY

While the challenge in avoiding the adoption of suboptimal halachic observance is tangible and pragmatic, our more profound challenge is acknowledging and confronting the very suboptimal nature and circumstance of our relationship with G-d. In fact, all of spiritual history is dominated by the suboptimal.

Spiritual imperfection began as early as the days of Creation. Mankind was to dwell in the nirvana of Gan Eden, but that design was quashed upon Adam and Chavah sinning by eating the fruit of the Eitz Hada’as, the Tree of Knowledge. Humanity’s subsequent journey has been dominated by the aspiration to remedy the spiritual imperfections and return to Gan Eden. A er the exodus from Egyptian slavery and the miraculous splitting of the Yam Suf, the Jewish people arrived at Mount Sinai. In an unparalleled spiritual apogee, each Jew personally heard Hashem audibly communicate the rst two of the Ten Commandments, with the subsequent eight Commandments conveyed by Hashem through Moshe

Rather than a dispassionate exercise in checking off boxes on a halachic playlist, Torah observance is intended to be a meaningful and purposeful lifestyle that enriches our souls and elevates our lives.

Rabbeinu. e majesty and spectacle of Mount Sinai represented the emergence of the Jewish People as a nation, infused with the mission of advancing the universal recognition and service of G-d. Alas, these spiritual heights were promptly abrogated by the sin of the Golden Calf. Our nation’s subsequent journey has thus been dominated by the aspiration to eradicate the imperfections and return to the intimate relationship with Hashem experienced at Mount Sinai. In the Holy Land during the subsequent centuries, the Jewish nation experienced both triumph and ruination, piety and sacrilege. But though far distant from the spiritual summit of Sinai, the nation did merit prophets and kings, and a sacred relationship of gilui Shechinah.

Alas, de ciencies continued to mount, and this magni cent state of spirituality was also forfeited by our iniquities. e destruction of Bayis Rishon ushered in our current suboptimal relationship with Hashem of hester Panim (hidden Divine Presence). e subsequent millennia have continued to be dominated by our aspiration to surmount the imperfections and welcome the lo y relationship with Hashem that will accompany the arrival of Mashiach

So what should be our attitude regarding our inherently suboptimal state of spirituality? Should it be a perpetual source of shame and frustration, or a challenge to be embraced and celebrated? Should we be focused on reversing the declines of history, pining to return to an era of gilui Shechinah, to the intimacy of Har Sinai, or even to the nirvana of Gan Eden? Or is our charge to recognize our current circumstances as Hashem’s design—and thus necessarily the optimum for us? Are we to dolefully try to make the best of a rather disagreeable situation, or view the religious opportunities we currently enjoy as the new ideal?

THE PROPER REACTION TO OUR LESS-THAN-OPTIMAL CONDITIONS

Close to twenty years ago, a friend arranged for me to meet with the esteemed late rosh yeshivah and dayan Rabbi Shlomo Fischer, zt”l

(1932–2021). Sitting in the sefarimlined dining room of Rabbi Fischer’s Jerusalem apartment, I sought guidance on how to rectify a awed, yet prevalent, communal practice.

e Rav discounted my concern, waving his hand in a sweeping motion, while remarking that everything is bedieved. I bewilderingly followed the hand motion, not comprehending what Rabbi Fischer was pointing to. My friend whispered, “Rabbi Fischer is pointing to the sefarim ey are writings that are all supposed to be Torah Shebe’al Peh [Oral Torah, which was meant to remain oral but due to historical circumstances was compelled to be written down].” Rabbi Fischer was conveying that circumstances of history have compelled a suboptimal relationship with Hashem, and this is a reality we must confront if we are to pursue avodas Hashem appropriately.

But accepting our realities does not mean that we ignore the imperfections. Perhaps there are three sequential steps we might take to properly address our current less-than-ideal spiritual reality: identifying what the ideal would be, yearning for that ideal, and recognizing that there are currently sparks of the ideal in the avodas Hashem that we can still fully pursue.

e rst step in assessing how to adjust to an imperfect situation, whether in the mundane or religious, is to identify what optimal would look like. Consequently, the rst step in considering how to best grow religiously in our suboptimal state of hester Panim is to identify the lechatchila state of gilui Shechinah that we once enjoyed. By conceptualizing what the ideal state of Judaism would look like, we are better equipped to identify the religious direction to pursue and thereby the best path to religious growth, despite our suboptimal circumstances.

e second step is to yearn for the more sublime state of spirituality that was lost. While it is only natural to acclimate to new realities, the alluring peril is embracing our mundane comforts and indulgences, and our current manner of relating to G-d, as the ideal. We must remind ourselves of the vistas of holiness that have

been lost and recapture the yearning of the lamenters on the riverbanks of Babylonia. By weeping over the loss of Zion, we avoid allowing the current spiritual mediocrity to diminish our hope and con dence in returning to an era of gilui Shechinah. e duty to long for a return to the elevated spiritual state of the past is perhaps most dramatically conveyed in the Talmud (Shabbos 31a), which delineates the handful of questions posed to the departed Jew arriving before the Heavenly Tribunal. A er being asked whether he had been honest in his nancial a airs, whether he had designated time for Torah study, and whether he had tried to build a family, he is asked: “Tzipisa liyeshuah? Did you yearn for the period of spiritual redemption?”

Finally, we must identify and perhaps place extra emphasis on those aspects of avodas Hashem that remain pristine and una ected by the ravages of history. In his commentary on Shir Hashirim (6:4), the Vilna Gaon (1720–1797) provides guidance. He observes that of the three pillars upon which the world rests (Avos 1:2), both Torah study and avodah (which is now prayer in place of animal sacri ces in the Temple) are not identical to their practice during the period of the rst Beis Hamikdash and earlier. By contrast, however, the third pillar, gemilus chasadim, notes the Vilna Gaon, has always remained a service of Hashem in its original, unaltered state. e Gaon concludes by citing a teaching of the Tanna Rabbi Yochanan Ben Zakkai recorded in Avos D’Rabi Nosson (4:5). Rabbi Yochanan Ben Zakkai taught that service in the Beis Hamikdash had been the most powerful source of forgiveness for the Jewish people. In the absence of the Beis Hamikdash following its destruction, Hashem le us with a replacement—the pillar of chesed, which remains an una ected and unaltered service of Hashem. Today, despite the suboptimal absence of the Beis Hamikdash, we can continue to rely upon Hashem’s forgiveness by properly embracing and conducting a life, individually and communally, lled with benevolence and care.

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SIGNS, SEALED, DELIVERED!

By Naomi Ross

For many years now, it has become a fun household “tradition” to incorporate the symbolic foods of Rosh Hashanah into my holiday menus. I like a good challenge as much as the next gal, but there are some foods that need a little “gussying up” to make them a bit more appealing to my family!

An interesting practice, serving several simanim (symbolic foods) whose names allude to good things or have positive connotations goes as far back as Talmudic times. e source for this custom comes straight from the tractate of Keritot 6a, which states, “Abaye said: ‘…at the beginning of each year, each person should accustom himself to eat gourds, fenugreek, leeks, beets and dates.’” e word for beets, for example, is “silka,” which sounds like “siluk,” meaning “removal.” We therefore ask G-d that “our adversaries be removed (she’yistalku oyveinu).” Why the roundabout approach to ask for the blessings we seek?

On a day in which we devote the entirety of our prayers and thoughts to establishing Hashem’s malchut (kingship) in the world, we use this small opportunity during our festive meals to pray for ourselves and the Jewish people in a covert way—by

Naomi Ross is a cooking instructor and food writer based in Woodmere, New York. She teaches classes throughout the country and writes articles connecting delicious cooking and Jewish inspiration. Her first cookbook, The Giving Table, was recently released.

hinting to the things that we each deeply wish for. In this way, we remind ourselves that the main focus of the day is really G-d. At the same time, using a tasty prop gives us a tangible way of acknowledging that the source of all of the blessings we yearn for is G-d alone. Despite such signi cance, it’s not uncommon to rush through the simanim to get to the main food. Instead, why not highlight these foods by bringing out their best avors in special dishes? is will enable us to focus on them more. Here is a siman-based menu, perfect for Rosh Hashanah! May this year be one of removing our enemies, removing our own limitations and enjoying the sweetness that Hashem puts into our lives.

Brisket with Red Wine & Date Sauce

Yields 8 servings

e rich caramel avors of the siman “tamar”—Medjool dates and silan (date syrup)—shine in this spiced winebraised meat. is recipe can also be made with “top of the rib” or a chuckeye roast with delicious results.

1 (4-pound) brisket

1½ teaspoons salt

1 teaspoon coriander

1 teaspoon cinnamon

1 teaspoon paprika

½ teaspoon black pepper

¼ teaspoon allspice

2 tablespoons vegetable oil, divided

1 large or 2 medium onions, chopped

4 garlic cloves, peeled and chopped (about 4 teaspoons)

1½ 2 cups dry red wine (Merlot or Cabernet)

¼ cup silan (date syrup)

2 tablespoons tomato paste

8 Medjool dates, pitted and quartered

Combine all dry spices in a small bowl and rub over meat (can be done a day ahead).

Preheat oven to 350°F. Heat 1 tablespoon of oil in a large skillet over high heat. Place meat in the skillet and sear, turning once, about 2 3 minutes per side, until browned. Transfer to a large roasting pan or baking dish. Reduce heat to medium and add remaining tablespoon of oil. Add onion and garlic; sauté until so ened, about 5 6 minutes. Add 1 2 tablespoons of the wine and stir, scraping up browned bits from the bottom of the pan, about 3 minutes; remove from heat.

Pour mixture over and around meat, adding enough remaining wine just to cover meat. Whisk together silan and tomato paste; pour and spread evenly over the top of the meat and surround with sliced dates. Cover and bake for 2½−3 hours until meat is done (fork tender). Remove from oven to cool.

Transfer meat to a cutting board and slice thinly against the grain. Arrange the slices on a platter. Skim excess fat o of surface of sauce if necessary. Pour sauce over meat and serve.

Chef’s Tip: Make ahead. e brisket is best sliced when cold.

EASY HERBS EVERY SEASONN

Pre-portioned chopped garlic and herbs

Rice Pilaf with Melted Leeks

Yields 6 servings

Leeks are the unsung hero of the onion family, and the perfect avor base for this delicious rice dish, studded with the siman “karti”—leeks.

2 large leeks*

¼ cup extra-virgin olive oil

1½ teaspoons Kosher salt (or more to taste)

1 cup Basmati rice

Freshly ground black pepper, to taste

1¾ cups chicken stock (low-sodium)

*Check leeks for bugs if not using pre-checked

Cut o tough dark green tops of the leeks (discard or save for stock!) and trim root bottoms. Slice in half lengthwise and swish in cold water, running your ngers in between leek layers to clean and remove all the dirt and grit. Drain; Slice light green and white parts thinly crosswise.

Heat oil in a large deep skillet over medium-high heat. Add leeks and salt; sauté, stirring o en until leeks reduce by at least half and become silky and so , about 8 10 minutes.

Add rice and toss to toast and coat with oil. Season with black pepper. Add stock, cover, and reduce heat to low; cook for 23 25 minutes undisturbed or until all the liquid is absorbed. Remove from heat. Let rice rest, covered, for 5 minutes. Flu rice with a fork. Season to taste with salt and pepper as needed.

Roasted Beet & Orange Salad

Yields 6 servings

Bright and vibrant contrasting colors and avors make this salad a winner! While some advanced prep is needed to roast the beets (“silka”), vacuumsealed cooked beets can also be used for an easy shortcut. All components of this salad can be done ahead, but assembly is best done right before serving time (the strong color from the beets will run and dye the other ingredients over time.)

3 large beets (or 4 small), scrubbed and trimmed

1 tablespoon water

1 teaspoon Kosher salt, divided Segments from 3 4 large navel oranges

2 garlic cloves, minced or crushed

⅓ cup red wine vinegar

2 teaspoons sugar or honey

½ teaspoon cumin

¼ teaspoon coriander

Freshly ground black pepper

⅔ cup olive oil

2 3 scallions, chopped

Handful of chopped mint (optional)

Preheat oven to 400°F. Layer 2 large pieces of tin foil, one on top of the other, on top of a baking sheet. Place beets in the center of the foil layers. Drizzle water over the tops and sprinkle with ½ teaspoon Kosher salt. Gather the tin foil around the beets and close to form a tightly sealed pouch. Roast for at least 1 hour, or until beets are tender when pierced with a fork. When tender, remove from oven and cool. Gently peel or scrape away skin from beets so that you are le with the inner red esh. (Disposable gloves are handy for this messy job!) Cut the beets into ½-inch pieces; set aside. Meanwhile, prepare orange segments.

Combine garlic, vinegar, sugar, remaining ½ teaspoon salt, cumin, coriander and pepper in a cruet or tightly covered container. Whisk in olive oil or shake vigorously until emulsi ed. Season to taste with more salt and pepper as needed.

Combine beets, orange segments, scallions and mint in a mixing bowl. Pour dressing over and toss to coat evenly.

Seared Tuna Tapas with Apples and Honey-Miso Dressing Yields 15-18 Tapas

A fun holiday starter, the classic pairings of tuna and miso create a unique counterpoint to the sweet holiday tastes of apples and honey. Tuna can be seared a day ahead. For best results, slice tuna and apple thinly before assembly.

Tuna

1-pound tuna steak (sliced into 1-inch thick steaks)

Kosher salt, to taste

Freshly ground black pepper, to taste

2 3 teaspoons canola oil

2 3 large heads Belgian endive* leaves separated

1 large Granny Smith apple (unpeeled), halved, cored and very thinly sliced (⅛inch thick)

2 scallions,* green parts thinly sliced

Sesame-Miso Dressing (yields about ½ cup)

2 tablespoons red miso paste

Juice of 1 lemon (about 2 tablespoons)

1 tablespoon apple cider vinegar

1 tablespoon water

1 tablespoon honey

1 teaspoon sesame oil

1 teaspoon sriracha or chili paste (or more for a kick!)

½ teaspoon grated fresh ginger

1½ teaspoons toasted sesame seeds

Freshly ground black pepper, to taste

4 5 tablespoons olive oil

Salt, to taste

*Check endives and scallions for bugs if not pre-checked

Season tuna steak with Kosher salt and freshly ground black pepper on both sides. Heat oil in a heavy-bottomed skillet over high heat. Sear on each side for about 2 minutes, leaving center rare. Remove from pan; let rest for 5 10 minutes before slicing. Using a sharp knife (non-serrated), thinly slice tuna against the grain, about ¼-inch thick. Combine all dressing ingredients except olive oil in a mixing bowl. Whisk until well blended. Add olive oil in a slow stream while whisking constantly until oil is incorporated. Season to taste, adding salt or pepper as needed.

Arrange endive leaves on a platter. Line up 2 3 alternating rows of apple and tuna inside each leaf (you may have to place them on the bias to t slices and/or cut long tuna slices in half as needed). Drizzle with miso dressing and sprinkle each with a few scallions.

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WHAT’S THE TRUTH ABOUT...

THE “EXPIRATION DATE” OF RABBEINU GERSHOM’S BAN ON POLYGAMY?

By Rabbi Dr. Ari Z. Zivotofsky

MISCONCEPTION : e famous cherem (ban) of Rabbeinu Gershom1 Me’or Hagolah, enacted in the early eleventh century, prohibiting polygamy2 was limited to 1,000 years, a date that is now approaching and at which time polygamy will again be permitted.

FACT : ere are various opinions about the expiration date of the cherem, many maintaining that it was the end of the h millennium in the Jewish calendar (1240 ce), but all agree that whether or not the ban was meant to be permanent, polygamy remains generally prohibited and the situation has not and will not revert to the pre-cherem situation.

Background: Biblically, polygamy is permitted. e Torah states, “when a man has two wives” (Devarim 21:15), and bars the king from taking “too many” wives (Devarim 17:17), indicating that a few are allowed. e Gemara (Sanhedrin 21b) derives from these pesukim that the prohibition of having too many wives applies only to a king— anyone else is not Biblically limited.

e rst instance of polygamy is early in the Torah, when Lamech takes two wives (Bereishit 4:19), and Chazal see negative motives in that act (see Rashi). Many Biblical gures, among them Avraham, Yaakov, Elkanah and King David, had multiple wives.3

In the Talmudic period there was no ban on multiple wives, but e orts were made to encourage monogamy and to protect the rights of all wives.4 For example, the Talmud says (Yevamot 44a) that the city elders were to provide “free advice” to a man faced with a potential yibum (Levirate marriage) situation: a young man should not marry an old

woman, nor an old man a young woman, and in all cases a man should not marry more women than he can nancially support and for whom he can ful ll all his husbandly obligations, assumed to be no more than four.

Rava (Yevamot 65a) permits as many wives as a man can support, and this is how the Tur (EH 1) rules. Rav advised (Pesachim 113a) against marrying two wives, as they might conspire against him. Regarding an infertile couple (Yevamot 65a), Rabbi Ami says that if the husband marries a second wife, he must divorce the rst and pay her the full amount outlined in the ketubah

Rabbi Reuven Margoliot (d. 1971; Olelot 5-6, 1947) demonstrates that Chazal were against polygamy, barring exceptional circumstances, and that in practice it was uncommon in the Talmudic period.5 He shows that the legend that Bar Kapparah married twelve wives who had agreed to jointly support him in his studies is based on a misreading of the story in the Yerushalmi (Yevamot 4:12 together with Bavli, Yevamot 109b) in which he did yibum with the wives of his twelve brothers. Rabbi Margoliot points out

that Chazal looked for a justi cation to explain Elkanah having two wives, and they explained the Ruth story such that Ploni Almoni and Boaz did not want multiple wives. e famous mishnah at the end of Ta’anit (4:8) about dancing in the vineyard is explained (Ta’anit 31a) as referring to unmarried men looking for a wife. And Rabbi Margoliot shows that even Rava, who permits polygamy in principle, was averse to taking a second wife himself (see Yevamot 34b, Tosafot s.v. datai). He asserts that in the thousands of incidents and stories in rabbinic literature, there is only one, involving the overseer of King Agrippas’s estate (Sukkah 27a), in which there is an incidence of polygamy.6 e Aruch Hashulchan also states (EH 1:32) that among all of the Tannaim, Amoraim and Geonim, none had more than one wife

During the Geonic period, and later in locales without a ban on polygamy, families that sought to protect their daughters inserted a clause in the ketubah (see Shulchan Aruch, EH 76:8) prohibiting the husband from taking an additional wife.7 Such a clause was found in the Cairo Geniza.”8

Rabbeinu Gershom ben Yehudah was born ca. 960 ce (4720) in either France or Germany; he later settled in Mainz and disseminated Torah from his yeshivah to the nascent Ashkenazic community. He died in 1028 (4788),9 leaving behind many students, among them Rabbi Yaakov ben Yakkar and Rabbi Yitzchak HaLevi, the teachers of Rashi, who disseminated Rabbeinu Gershom’s Torah and reputation throughout Ashkenaz. is helped spread his many decrees, which might have originally been intended solely for the Mainz community, throughout Ashkenaz.

Rabbi Dr. Ari Z. Zivotofsky is a professor of neuroscience at Bar-Ilan University in Israel.

Among his enactments are the interconnected ban on more than one simultaneous wife and the invalidation of a divorce given without the woman’s consent (Rema, EH 115:4, 119:6).10 As many authorities point out, a ban on a man divorcing his wife against her will would have little meaning absent the ban on polygamy.11 is was meant to create a situation where neither spouse could walk out of a marriage at will.

Various reasons have been suggested for the ban on polygamy.12 e Mordechai (cited in Darkei Moshe, EH 1:12), Gra (EH 1:34) and Aruch Hashulchan (EH 1:23) say it is to prevent quarrelling, viewed as an inevitable consequence of multiple wives. Rabbi Yosef Shaul Nathanson (Sho’el U’meishiv, kamma 1:178) explains that it was to prevent unethical men from taking a second wife and then mistreating the rst by leaving her “abandoned within marriage.” Rabbi Yaakov Meir Pado (Shu”t Maharim 16) suggests it is because a man may not be able to support multiple wives, and this violates the Talmudic principle (Yevamot 65a) of not having more wives than one can a ord.13 A close disciple of his, Rabbi Binyamin David Levin (ca. 1825–1906; Shemen Sasson, 34) o ers another reason he heard from his teacher Rabbi Pado. e Gemara (Bava Batra 60b) records that in response to the anti-Torah decrees of the Romans, the rabbis contemplated banning marriages (possibly stated as an exaggeration), but decided to permit the people to continue marrying. But, says this theory, one wife is su cient, and thus in light of the ongoing persecutions of the exile, Rabbeinu Gershom barred additional wives. Rabbi Levin also quotes Rabbi Yaakov Emden, who suggests that Jews who lived in Christian lands would be in danger if they had more than one wife, as this was anathema to Christianity. e Gra (EH 1:34) also suggests that it is an extension of the Talmud’s admonition (Yevamot 37b) that one may not marry one woman in one region and another in another region, lest the children of the two marriages unknowingly marry. Rabbi Yaakov Bruchin of Karlin (d. 1844; Mishkenot Yaakov, EH 1) elaborates on why this Talmudic concern had not previously yielded such a prohibition. He explains that due to the exile, Jews now wander from place to place and it can easily happen that a man will marry a woman in one place, move on to another locale, not heed the concern and marry another wife.

Rabbeinu Gershom therefore totally banned a second wife.14 e ban spread and was quickly accepted in Germany and France, but not in other locations. Rambam (d. 1204; Hilchot Ishut 14:3) wrote that multiple wives are permitted as long as one can ful ll all his obligations to all of them. e

Beit Yosef (EH 1) quotes the Rashba (d. 1310, Barcelona) as saying that the ban was not accepted in his region and also not in Provence, bordering on France. It was so not accepted, the Rashba reports, that many people, including scholars and prominent people, married multiple wives with no concern.

e Ritva (d. 1320; Yevamot 44a), writing in Christian Spain, explained that the Rambam might have only been permitting it in Muslim lands, where Jews permitted polygamy.15

Rabbi Yosef Karo (Shulchan Aruch, EH 1:9-11), in early

sixteenth-century Muslim-ruled lands, wrote that polygamy is permitted; however, he notes that in places where the Jewish custom is not to permit more than one wife, it is banned. He mentions Rabbeinu Gershom’s enactment, notes that it was not accepted in all lands, and suggests that making such bans is actually a good idea. And, basing himself on the Rashba, he says that the ban was only until the end of the millennium in which it was enacted, the h millennium (counting from Creation), i.e., 1240 ce. In other words, it was not a 1,000-year ban, but a ban until the end of the “thousand” in which it was promulgated. e Rema immediately comments that even according to those who say that the ban has expired, in any place where it had been accepted, polygamy remains forbidden, for even if the ban expired, Ashkenazic Jewry had accepted the prohibition as a custom. Rabbi Solomon Luria (d. 1573; Shu”t Maharshal 14), in the course of discussing a wild case involving a forged claim that a get was accepted by the woman, counters that the Rashba’s statement is baseless and should be outright rejected, and that the ban, like all bans, is for perpetuity unless revoked, which it wasn’t.

In his responsa, Rabbi Karo (d. 1575; Shu”t Beit Yosef, Dinei Ketubot:14) is emphatic that the decree ended in 1240, yet Ashkenazim have maintained the practice and most people have no idea that it ended. erefore, he says, an Ashkenazi who is aware that it ended and is in a non-Ashkenazi land is not bound by it. He cites an example where an Ashkenazi man in Yerushalayim, with a wife and children, married another wife, and relates that in Salonika, Constantinople and Adrianople no one ever questioned an Ashkenazi who married another wife.

In the context of discussing the request of an Ashkenazi man living in Salonika to marry a second wife, Rabbi Samuel de Medina (d. 1589; Shu”t Maharshdam, EH 120) quotes a Rabbi Yechiel Ashkenazi as asserting that the cherem was instituted until the coming of Mashiach.

e Pitchei Teshuvah (EH 1:19) observes that in general, rabbinic

decrees are not time-limited. He then notes that many great leaders who lived at the beginning of the sixth millennium were silent about an expiration and many maintain that it is a permanent ban.

e Aruch Hashulchan (d. 1908; EH 1:23) says that it is irrelevant if it originally had a terminal date; it has been accepted by most Jews and is still in force. Furthermore, unless it is known otherwise, the assumption in all locales is that it applies. He stresses that even in America and Australia, it is in e ect. And, unlike the Sephardic posekim, he says that an Ashkenazi who moves to a Sephardi land is still bound by the ban. Despite his strict approach to the ban, he says that if a man makes aliyah and his wife refuses to join him, owing to the importance of living in Israel, he can send a get to her, wait the time it takes to arrive, and then marry another wife in Israel because it is obvious (to him) that a ban would not have been instituted in such a case.

Discussions of the cherem include possible exceptions, such as: yibum, a barren couple (childless for ten years), a wife who became insane or converted to Christianity,16 and a wife who gave permission for the husband to marry an additional wife.

e Rema (Darkei Moshe, EH 1:10) cites a variety of opinions on all of these situations. And then there are unusual, o en tragic, cases. Rabbi Gershon Ashkenazi (d. 1693; Avodat HaGershuni, 36) describes the case of a Ukrainian refugee, a beloved student of his, whose wife was captured by the Tatars during the 1648 massacres and converted under duress. e student now wanted to marry another woman. He records that Rabbi David HaLevi, the Taz, permitted it unconditionally, although he then decided that a divorce for the rst wife should be written and deposited with an intermediary. Rabbi Chaim Hezekiah Medini (d. 1904; Sdei Chemed, vol. 4, ma’arechet ishut: 24), while serving as rabbi in Crimea, was asked about a man whose wife was found guilty of counterfeiting and was sentenced to four years of hard labor in Siberia followed by permanent exile to Siberia. A er monumental,

unsuccessful attempts to free her, the husband felt he could not move there, and the wife refused a get. A er a great deal of deliberation, the rabbis permitted him to deposit a get with the beit din and remarry.

Even in circumstances in which taking a second wife despite the ban may be permitted, it cannot be done easily and without serious consideration. e process, known as heter me’ah rabbanim, is described by the thirteenth-century Rabbi Meir of Rothenburg (5774 ed., pp. 91, 577) and involves getting 100 people from three countries and three communities to approve the abrogation, and o en, depositing a get for the rst wife. It was designed to be an arduous process.17

Rabbi Moshe Feinstein (Iggerot Moshe, 9:EH:5) emphasizes that the cherem is still in force even though we are in the sixth millennium, and he was emphatic (Iggerot Moshe, EH 4:3) that there can never be a takanah that would leave a woman an agunah, and thus a heter me’ah rabbanim must include the husband depositing a get with a beit din e husband cannot demand money from the rst wife even if he is legitimately owed, and, Rav Moshe says, if there is no get there is no heter, even if 1,000 rabbis sign. Rabbi Ovadiah Yosef (Yabia Omer, 8:EH:3) says that although it was not always required that the husband deposit a get, that is the rule nowadays.

Over the years there were a few authorities who were not pleased with the cherem. Rabbi Yaakov Emden (d. 1776; Shu”t Yaavetz 2:15; pp. 51-2 in 2015 ed.) theorized that the cherem had Christian roots; he thought the Torah permitted polygamy for valid reasons, and saw taking a concubine (pilegesh)18 as a means to circumvent the cherem and increase the Jewish population, something he viewed as important.

Rabbi Akiva Yosef Schlesinger (d. 1922) has a long discussion about the cherem in his Beit Yosef Chadash. In the introduction,19 there is a letter from 1876 from Rabbi Dr. Shmuel Heller of Tzfat (d. 1884) in which he attests to having heard multiple times from Rabbi Yisroel Ashkenazi of Shklov (d. 1839) that he personally heard from the Gra

that if he could, he would take o time from his study and prayer and wander from city to city to abolish the cherem of Rabbeinu Gershom, and that this would hasten the redemption.

Rabbi Yosef Eliyahu Henkin (Teshuvot Ibra [Kitvei HaGri Henkin, vol. 2] 71) wrote that today anyone who wants a second wife is doing it for the wrong reasons, the prohibition has the strength of a Biblical prohibition, and the State of Israel should legislate harsh punishments to deter violators. Polygamy is outlawed in Israel; the law was updated in 1977, punishable by up to ve years in prison.20 In Israel, a Jewish man may receive permission to marry a second wife if a rabbinic tribunal approves of it and one of the two chief rabbis signs on it.21

e Meiri (d. 1315) says that while polygamy is permitted, monogamy is the ideal and that the Talmud hinted at this with the story of Rebbi’s son (Ketubot 62b). Avot D’Rabi Natan (B:2) portrays Iyov contemplating how many wives is ideal and noting that G-d could have given Adam as many wives as He wanted, but chose to give him one, a testament to monogamy being the normative. And when marriage is used as the metaphor for the relationship between G-d and Israel, as in the Book of Hosea, it is clear that a typical, ideal marriage is a monogamous one.

Notes

1. Commonly spelled Gershom (“mem”), it is sometimes spelled Gershon (“nun”), e.g., Aruch Hashulchan, EH 1:23; Chida (Shem Hagedolim, 5752 ed.) pp. 55, 105, 169 (although in other places he uses a “mem”); and Yabia Omer 3: EH:18.

2. Polygamy is actually a marriage in which either spouse has more than one mate. e more accurate words are polygyny for a man having multiple wives and polyandry for a woman having multiple husbands (which will not be discussed herein, as it is Biblically prohibited). Nonetheless, the less precise, more common term “polygamy” will be used in this article.

3. Note that these were not all planned. Avraham took a second wife only a er Sarah, through a Divine spirit, encouraged it (Rashi, Bereishit 16:2), and Yaakov had four wives as a result of Lavan’s trickery and his rst wives giving him their maidservants (Bereishit 30:4, 9). Notably, Yitzchak had only one wife despite experiencing childlessness for twenty years.

4. is has a Biblical source. e Torah orders that if one takes a second wife, the rights of the rst wife must be ensured (Shemot 21:10).

5. e academic world reached similar conclusions. See S. Lowy, “ e Extent of Jewish Polygamy in Talmudic Times,” Journal of Jewish Studies 9 (1958): 115–138; and R. Katzo , “Polygamy in ‘P. Yadin’?” Zeitschri für Papyrologie und Epigraphik 109 (1990): 128–132. Strangely, Yaakov Elman wrote (“Babylonian Echoes in a Late Rabbinic Legend,” Journal of the Ancient Near Eastern Society [1972]: 4[1], n. 11): “Conditions in Babylon, however, were di erent [than in Palestine], and there is ample evidence that polygamy continued to be practised there.” Tiferet Yisrael (Yachin, Yevamot 2:10:60) sees a proof in a mishnah that polygamy was uncommon in the Mishnaic period.

6. Regarding the gemara (Yoma 18b; Yevamot 37b) in which Rav and Rav Nachman seem to request a second, temporary wife, he rejects all previous explanations and gives a creative, non-polygamous explanation (Pninim u’Margoliot [Jerusalem, 2006], pp. 130–4).

e story of Rabbi Tarphon, a kohen, marrying 300 women during a famine to permit them to eat terumah was a utilitarian arrangement in a time of dire necessity (Yerushalmi, Yevamot 4:12).

e parable (Bava Kama 60b) of the man with two wives who went bald because his young wife plucked out his white hairs and his old wife pulled out his black hairs has parallels in other cultures. See Lorena Miralles Maciá, “ e Fable of the MiddleAged Man with Two Wives: From the Aesopian Motif to the Babylonian Talmud Version in b. B. Qam. 60b,” Journal for the Study of Judaism 39, no. 2 (2008): 267–81.

7. e Rambam (Shu”t 373) was asked about someone who had such a ketubah and then his brother died childless. Rambam ruled that in such a case he may do yibum despite the wife’s objections.

8. See Louis Epstein, “ e Jewish Marriage Contract,” JTS (1927): 272.

9. e notion that he passed away the year of Rashi’s birth, 1040, is widely known (and is even quoted in Shu”t Maharshal 29), but appears to be false based on manuscripts and statements of Rabbeinu Tam (Avraham Grossman, Chachmei Ashkenaz Harishonim [Jerusalem, 2001], pp. 109–11).

10. For a discussion of his other famous ban, that on reading other people’s mail, see Journal of Halacha and Contemporary Society LV (spring 2008): 99–127. For a list of his enactments, see the very end of Be’er Hagolah, YD 334.

11. e ban against forcible divorce by the man, usually viewed as the stricter of the two (see Shu”t Chatam Sofer, EH:167), was universally accepted and was for perpetuity. Cf. Beit Shmuel 115:7; Rabbi Yosef Shaul Nathanson, Shu”t Sho’el U’meishiv, mahadurah kamma 1:113.

12. e reason based on Rabbeinu Gershom’s personal life experience, found in Marcus Lehman’s book Rabbeinu Gershom Meor Hagolah, seems to be without historical basis.

13. e seventh Lubavitcher Rebbe (sichah 3 Iyar 5747, Tazria-Metzora) suggests that the harsher nature of the Ashkenazic galut over the Sephardic, including in earning a living, explains why the ban on polygamy was accepted by the former and not the latter.

14. Given that polygamy was rare in early eleventh-century Germany, scholars have also wrestled with the question of what motivated Rabbeinu Gershom to ban polygamy. Professor Avraham Grossman ( e Historical Background to the Ordinances on Family A airs Attributed to Rabbenu Gershom Me’or Ha-Golah in A. Rapoport-Albert and S.J. Zipperstein, eds, Jewish History: Essays in Honour of Chimen Abramsky [London, 1988], pp. 3–24) shows that German-Jewish women were of high social standing and the decree was to protect them from being abandoned by husbands who would travel on business for long periods of time and great distances to Arab lands, where some would marry a second wife. He quotes a series of related ordinances from Rabbeinu Tam, such as forbidding absences of longer than eighteen months, a mandatory period of six months between trips, et cetera. Similarly, the Rambam enacted a decree that a non-native could not marry an Egyptian-Jewish woman until he proves or swears on a Chumash that he is single. And when an outsider did marry a local, he could not leave on a business trip unless he le a conditional get contingent upon his failure to return a er a speci ed time period.

15. Among Yemenite Jews, polygamy remained accepted and common well into the twentieth century. Ethiopian Jews permitted polygamy but it was not common (Sharon Shalom, From Sinai to Ethiopia [Hebrew edition], p. 235).

16. See Yabia Omer 7:EH:4.

17. See Rabbi Gedaliah Schwartz, “Heter Me’ah Rabbanim,” Journal of Halacha and Contemporary Society XI (spring 1986): 33–49. 18. e main subject of this lengthy responsum.

19. I found this in the 2005 reprint, but have been unable to locate it in the original 1876 edition although Rabbi Ovadiah Yosef in a 1980 teshuvah (Yabia Omer 8:EH:2) quotes it from there as part of his “minimizing” the cherem.

20. Despite this, the government turns a blind eye to the rampant polygamy among the Negev Bedouin, where supposedly approximately 30 percent of the population is in a polygamous relationship, are registered as such and even receive government bene ts. 21. See Amihai Radzyner, “Halakha, Law, and Worldview: Chief Rabbis Goren and Yosef, and the Permission to Marry a Second Wife in Israeli Law,” Dine Israel 32 (2018): 261–304.

NEW FROM OU PRESS

The Rav on Tefillah: An Anthology of Teachings by Rabbi Joseph

Soloveitchik on Jewish Prayer – The Levovitz Edition

Edited and annotated by Rabbi Dr. Jay Goldmintz

B.

Rabbi Joseph B. Soloveitchik is known as “the Rav” because he was the teacher par excellence of his generation, but his contributions to our understanding and practice of tefillah are particularly noteworthy. The Rav approached tefillah with great depth and intellectual rigor, exploring its philosophical and existential dimensions. His teachings have had a profound impact on the Jewish community; however, they are not always readily accessible. The vocabulary of the Rav’s philosophical writings sometimes acts as a barrier for the uninitiated, while many of the Rav’s shiurim are available only in Hebrew. In addition, these teachings are dispersed in a wide variety of publications as well as in unpublished lecture notes, often making them di cult to obtain and locate.

To address these issues, veteran educator Rabbi Dr. Jay Goldmintz, a pioneer in the teaching of Jewish prayer, has compiled The Rav on Tefillah. Rabbi Goldmintz has collated teachings of the Rav that focus both on the macro and micro features of prayer, organizing them according to the sequence of the siddur but without the space constraints of a siddur commentary. Rabbi Goldmintz prefaces the Rav’s words with brief introductions that o er relevant context and background; notes contain sources, additional references and alternative interpretations. In his “Overview,” Rabbi Goldmintz presents the central themes to which the Rav returns throughout in his approach to tefillah, such as the paradox inherent in man’s attempt to praise G-d, the requirement of historical precedent for prayer, and prayer as an expression of self-sacrifice and man’s total dependence on G-d.

The Rav’s teachings on tefillah o er a profound and multifaceted understanding of prayer, and have continued to inspire and guide countless individuals in their personal and communal prayer experiences. In keeping with the fundamental idea that tefillah is not merely a verbal recitation but avodah shebalev, “worship of the heart,” the Rav emphasized that the external act of reciting the words of prayer must be accompanied by an inner mental state of standing before the Almighty. Rabbi Goldmintz’s work will help readers understand both the particulars of prayer and its overall structure so as to achieve the goal of prayer, standing before G-d.

Torah United: Teachings on the Weekly Parashah from Rav Avraham Yitzchak HaKohen Kook, Rabbi Joseph B. Soloveitchik, and the Chassidic Masters –The Wintman Family Edition

By Rabbi Aaron Goldscheider

Rabbi Aaron Goldscheider’s Torah United is a two-volume parashat hashavua book that is unique both in its content and its underlying philosophical approach.

Torah United pays homage to the well-known aphorism, “shiv’im panim laTorah—there are seventy facets to the Torah.” For each parashah, Rabbi Goldscheider has crafted three separate essays, each based on the thought of one of the following: Rav Kook, Rav Soloveitchik and the Chassidic masters. The essays do not merely cite excerpts from these noble sources; rather each contain Rabbi Goldscheider’s in-depth analysis and perceptive discussion of these views. Assembling these three distinctive approaches— Rav Kook’s love of Eretz Yisrael, Rav Soloveitchik’s intellectual and philosophical perspective, and Chassidut’s mystical and spiritual fervor—in one book, all with Rabbi Goldscheider’s overview, provides the reader with a rare experience of Torah study. The whole is truly greater than the sum of its parts.

The author’s goal, however, is not just to provide convenient access to these three strains of Jewish thought. As Rabbi Goldscheider makes clear in his eloquent introduction, his underlying philosophical approach to Torah study is that this synthesis of thought is the proper and correct way to study. Bringing together the diverse traditions of Chassidim and mitnagdim is part and parcel of achdut which we should all be seeking.

Rav Kook, as Rabbi Goldscheider emphasizes, was a vocal proponent of achdut that included Chassidim and Mitnagdim and extended to communal harmony on all levels. Rabbi Goldscheider paints vivid descriptions of the cordial relationship between Rav Soloveitchik and the Lubavitcher Rebbe; the positive attitude of Rav Soloveitchik toward Rav Kook; the rapport between Rav Kook and Chassidic leaders; and other examples of achdut among Jewish leaders and luminaries.

Torah United is a worthy sequel to Rabbi Goldscheider’s two earlier works, The Night that Unites, on the Haggadah, and The Light that Unites, about Chanukah, both of which contain the thoughts of Rav Kook, Rav Soloveitchik and the Lubavitcher Rebbe. In Torah United, Rabbi Goldscheider unites the Torah by weaving together three diverse strands of thought into a beautiful tapestry. Torah United also admirably unites Jews everywhere by transforming Torah study into an emphatic endorsement of achdut.

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By JA Sta

When Steve Savitsky started his term as OU president in 2004, he and his wife Genie began traveling nearly every other weekend to a di erent Jewish community in North America. It gave the couple the opportunity to experience the warmth typical of many smaller out-of-town communities. But they also got to see firsthand how families were being priced out of the housing market in the New York Tri-State area and big cities like Los Angeles.

“I realized we needed to help build Jewish life in smaller communities,” says Steve, who is the co-founder of ATC Healthcare Services, a nationwide provider of temporary medical sta ng.

In 2008, Savitsky launched the OU’s Jewish Community Relocation Fair, a groundbreaking space for small communities to network with frum Jews seeking more a ordable places to set down roots. Held in

conjunction with the OU dinner that year, the Fair drew sixteen communities and several hundred registrants. It was the first step in establishing communal growth and sustainability as foundational priorities of the OU. “We wanted to o er alternatives to major metropolitan areas, where the cost of Jewish life is so high,” says Savitsky, who has been involved with the OU for decades, serving as OU Board Chairman from 2002 to 2004; OU President from 2004 to 2011; and then Chairman again from 2011 to 2015. “I believed the OU was the right organization to take on this issue.”

Over time, the biennial Fair became extraordinarily popular, inspiring thousands of people to relocate to communities where they participate in strengthening Jewish life while enjoying the lower cost of living. At the most recent Fair, held virtually, more than sixty communities were

featured and more than 2,500 people from thirty-five states and nineteen countries attended.

Recently, the Savitskys rea rmed their commitment to community sustainability by partnering with the OU to create the new Savitsky Communal Growth Initiative. Their major investment will expand the OU’s strategic approach to North American Jewish communal development.

“Steve and Genie are community builders; due to their vision and generosity, we will be able to assist small communities to grow and prosper and thousands of Orthodox families and individuals to have a better quality of life,” said OU President Mitchel R. Aeder.

“Within larger Orthodox communities, there is significant local peer partnership and support,” said Rabbi Moshe Hauer, OU Executive Vice President. “Smaller communities tend to be more isolated, making ongoing support from national organizations so much more valuable. Every person and every organization must strive to be there for those who need us most. The generosity of the Savitsky family will enable the OU to be there for our smaller and emerging communities.”

In addition to sponsoring the highly successful biennial Fair, the Savitsky Communal Growth Initiative will o er essential resources to those seeking to relocate, as well as to communities seeking to grow. Aside from supporting an existing Community Guide in which each community showcases its amenities and services, the Initiative will sponsor a reimagined communities website that will o er information about the Fair; individual community web pages; and an array of resources, including such seminars as Home Buyer Basics 101.

“As a couple who has traveled the vast expanse of North American Jewish communities, Steve and Genie have profound insight and experience in areas related to

Stamford, Connecticut representatives discussing the amenities of the community and answering questions about housing during an OU Jewish Community Relocation Fair.

Photo: Zush Heinrich/Zee photography, Inc.

communal growth,” said Rabbi Yaakov Glasser, OU Managing Director for Communal Engagement.

“This initiative embodies the enduring impact of the Savitskys’ legacy at the OU in elevating the value of communal growth and development as a core priority for the OU.”

The Initiative will also include leadership training for community leaders, as well as a leadership conference. OU sta will engage in one-on-one leadership training on an ongoing basis for communal leaders. A leadership conference, held in the alternating years that do not feature the Community Fair, will bring together community leaders to share best practices, learn from successful community builders, develop leadership skills, and extensively network among likeminded communal leaders. Lastly, a new biennial award will recognize one community for its commitment to sustaining Jewish life outside the major centers.

Many variables factor into an individual or family decision to move. While quality of life and cost of living are foremost among them, the Savitskys understand that the impetus is often more nuanced. That’s where the Fair comes in—serving as an unparalleled networking space where families can find a community that suits their particular needs best.

“The Communities Fair is the only national platform of its kind. It plays a significant role in our

ongoing growth by allowing us to a liate with the OU’s branding and its embrace of a wide spectrum of Jews,” points out Rabbi Avi Goldstein, rav of Beth Jacob Congregation in Columbus, Ohio.

“It gives me tremendous nachat to meet people who tell me that they are able to better a ord Jewish life in a smaller, out-of-town community,” says Steve. “I think the Fair has helped change the face of Jewish life in America. If that’s my legacy at the OU, I could not be prouder.”

The day-long Fair, which has been held virtually since the pandemic, features video presentations and group sessions with North American community representatives, who are also available for private appointments. For those interested in aliyah, Nefesh B’Nefesh is also on-site, showcasing various Israeli communities.

“The Savitskys’ vision has helped thousands find a ordable communities in which to raise their children,” said Rebbetzin Judi Steinig, Senior Director, OU Community Projects and Partnerships.

“Steve is looking to be a leader in this area. He wants to inspire others to give, to follow in his and Genie’s footsteps,” says Rabbi Simon Taylor, National Director, OU Community Projects and Partnerships. “We look forward to a transformative partnership with the Savitskys—for both the OU and North American Jewry.”

Finding the Right Place for Their Family

Marissa and Eitan Barlaz met while undergraduates at the University of Illinois Urbana-Champaign (at the home of the OU-JLIC couple on campus), staying on to complete their doctorates. After they married and moved nearby, they realized there were very few Jews o campus. When their son came home from his secular preschool asking for a holiday tree, they knew they had to relocate before he started kindergarten.

“We wanted a community where we’d feel valued right away. Someplace small, but not too far from our families,” Marissa recalls.

As a busy mom of three working full-time as a data scientist, Marissa appreciated being able to do all her research online through the OU’s communities website.

“It was great that all the resources were in one place,” she notes. They also visited five communities during the virtual 2022 Communities Fair, selecting them based on size, professional opportunities and location. Albany stood out because “the community rep invested in a transparent, honest conversation about its strengths, weaknesses and growth priorities.”

Now happily settled there, Marissa is grateful. “The Fair helped us find the right place for our family.”

Steve and Genie Savitsky.

Photo: e Visual Image

A GUIDE TO THE GUIDE

By Rabbis Yosef Chaim Elazar Kohn and Yaakov Yosef Reinman Shufra Institute

New Jersey, 2022

416 pages

Reviewed by Rabbi Shmuel Phillips

Moreh

Nevuchim is a book that has provoked an enormous amount of discussion and debate since it was rst published a thousand years ago. Rambam’s masterpiece of Jewish thought was a bold embodiment of the rich and vibrant approach to Jewish philosophy that had taken hold in Andalusia—a philosophy that sought to express and develop the received Geonic tradition in the contemporary Aristotelian milieu. While the Judeo-Andalusian world had been somewhat self-contained up until Rambam’s time, Almohad persecution sent Rambam and many others into exile in North Africa. is spread of Andalusian thought beyond its original borders, coupled with Rambam’s famed scholarship and reputation in the halachic sphere, meant that the Moreh could not be ignored by its diverse rabbinic audience. e question of what the rest of the Jewish world was to make of this philosophically rigorous work— whose ideas appeared both seductively mysterious and also frustratingly elusive—has confronted and occupied rabbis and thinkers ever since.

A Guide to the Guide, a newly released synopsis and summary of the Moreh

Rabbi Shmuel Phillips is the author of Judaism Reclaimed: Philosophy and Theology in the Torah (Beit Shemesh, 2019) and Talmud

Reclaimed: An Ancient Text in the Modern Era (Beit Shemesh, 2023). He lives in Jerusalem with his wife and four children.

by Rabbis Yosef Kohn and Yaakov Reinman, adds a new dimension to the discussion of how Rambam’s Jewish philosophy should be approached in the modern world. Rabbi Reinman is a wellestablished talmid chacham in Lakewood and a veteran author. He partnered with Rabbi Kohn, a medical doctor, for ve years to write this book.

It is an enduring irony that perhaps the most complex book that has ever been written on Jewish thought was to be de ned by the reaction of those who were not its intended readership. One thing that Rambam does appear to make abundantly clear in his introduction is that “its purpose is to give indications to a religious man for whom the validity of our Law has become established in his soul and has become actual in his belief—such a man being perfect in his religion and character, and having studied the science of the philosophers and come to know what they signify.”

Yet the Moreh, together with philosophical chapters of Rambam’s Mishneh Torah legal work, was banned and burned by rabbinic opponents in Christian-dominated France, for whom philosophy was a foreign pursuit. ese rabbis were quick to denounce what they perceived to be an unwelcome Aristotelian or rationalist attempt to reconstruct Judaism in its own image.

e strong criticism, bans and book burnings of the Moreh in its early years set the tone for an uneasy relationship with the work, which for many religious Jews has continued to this very day.

In the other corner of the ring, Jewish thinkers who had indeed studied the “science of the philosophers” but for whom the validity of our Law had not “become established in their soul” (a requirement Rambam set for readers in his introduction) found that the Moreh fell short of their own Aristotelianrationalist attempts to interpret Judaism. Samuel ibn Tibbon, who rst translated Rambam’s work into Hebrew, criticized what he considered to be its overemphasis on worldly religious activities at the expense of philosophical contemplation. Even rationalist rabbinic sages such as the Ralbag were critical

that some of Rambam’s positions were “not implied by any philosophical principles . . . it seems rather that theological considerations have forced him.” ese critics deemed Rambam insu ciently rationalist.

Meanwhile, Rambam’s indication that the Moreh contains some deliberate contradictions and concealments opened up the work to interpreters from less traditional quarters to speculate as to what Rambam’s true meaning and agenda had been.

Set against this daunting backdrop, A Guide to the Guide is a bold statement as to the signi cance—and continuing relevance—of the simple meaning of Rambam’s masterpiece. By providing a clear and concise English summary of each chapter, Rabbis Kohn and Reinman are inescapably taking a position on two questions that are controversial among interpreters of the Moreh.

(1) Value in the Moreh’s plain meaning

For the Moreh’ s traditionalists, Rambam’s masterpiece cannot be neatly distilled into easily digestible bite-sized summaries. Such purists draw on Rambam’s own introductory guidance to the Guide, which insists that a careful methodology be employed to plumb the depths of his intricate theological theories:

If you wish to grasp the totality of what this Treatise contains, so that nothing of it will escape you, then you must connect its chapters one with another; and when reading a given chapter, your intention should be not only to understand the totality of the subject of that chapter, but also to grasp each word that occurs in it in the course of the speech, even if the word does not belong to the intent of the chapter

In fact, Rabbis Kohn and Reinman freely acknowledge in their own introduction that Rambam did not intend the Moreh to be an easy read. Nevertheless, despite recognizing that many of the deeper secrets will remain beyond those who are insu ciently grounded in both Torah and philosophy, Rambam does not deem it to be entirely unhelpful to an uninitiated audience:

I know that, among men generally, every beginner will derive bene t from

some of the chapters of this Treatise, though he lacks even an inkling of what is involved in speculation

(2) e Moreh’s relevance to twentyrst-century Judaism

While Rambam’s own consideration of the bene ts that various groups can derive from studying his work is, of course, important, it cannot be ignored that the elds of science and philosophy—which he sought to reconcile with the Torah—have advanced enormously over the past millennium. e long and winding passages that seek to rebut aspects of Aristotelian astronomy or subsets of medieval Islamo-rationalist philosophy will strike the typical modern reader as tedious and unrewarding. Once these chapters have been set aside, however, a modern, educated and religious reader of the Moreh may nd some of the challenges that Rambam grappled with to be strikingly similar to some of those that confront twenty- rst-century Jewry. Today’s faithful, who must contend with widely accepted theories of evolution and the age of the universe, can nd comfort in the style of techniques and arguments adopted by Rambam to rebut the science of his day or reconcile it with received Torah wisdom. More broadly, recent decades have seen a shi toward viewing mitzvot and other ritual customs as forms of segulot—mystical actions that can manipulate spiritual dynamics in order to achieve desired results.

Rambam’s emphasis on the Torah and its commandments as a means to develop a serious intellectual (and thereby providential) relationship with G-d over the course of a lifetime may be seen by some as a welcome alternative. His approach to prayer as a primary tool for maximizing a meaningful relationship with G-d, rather than an aggressive storming of the heavens to make demands of the Almighty, may be similarly bene cial. Such bene ts can be enjoyed by modern readers even if they lack a precise sophisticated insight into some of Rambam’s more intricate ideas that are woven subtly into the Moreh. In this regard, A Guide to the

Guide is of particular value to today’s perplexed readership who can identify and internalize core components of Rambam’s Judaism and thereby enrich their own relationship with the Torah.

ey need not, for example, grasp the elusive nuances of the Moreh’ s negative theology—Rambam’s solution to the problem of describing G-d by instead describing what G-d is not—in order to sense the theological gulf between the human and Divine realms that forms the basis of Rambam’s monotheism and, in the reported words of Rabbi Avraham Yitzchak HaKohen Kook, “served as a brake against the deterioration of Kabbalah into idolatry.” It would be wrong, however, to characterize A Guide to the Guide merely as an accessible English summary of Rambam’s work. e book also includes many helpful footnotes, with cross-references, contextualizations, insightful explanations and o en crucial background information for uninitiated modern readers. Perceptively, these notes draw upon the fundamental distinction Rambam makes in his second chapter between good and evil and true and false, recognizing that this idea is placed at the start of the Moreh as a conceptual platform upon which subsequent theories would be constructed. Certain details, though, could have been more polished. In that same chapter, for example, Rambam adopts the translation of Onkelos to explain the verse (Bereishit 3:5) “And you will be kelohim knowing good and bad,” which Onkelos translates as ravrevaya; Rambam explains this to refer to political leaders. By simply writing that G-d did not want humans to be inordinately powerful, the book misses an important nuance. According to Rambam’s approach, political leaders, due to the nature and requirements of leadership, must construct policies based on conventional values of tov v’ra (good and bad), rather than absolute truths of emet v’sheker (true and false), which Rambam says is only appropriate for humanity before Adam and Eve committed the initial sin. Rambam was making a point about the nature

of political leadership and not just the limitations placed on leaders.

For the most part, however, these notes are useful and informative. Readers will be assisted by background information they are likely to have been unfamiliar with—such as ancient beliefs in the intelligence possessed by celestial beings (1:2)—as well as thoughtful suggestions as to the nature of the theological error that Rambam (1:5) understands the atzilei Bnei Yisrael to have made at Mount Sinai when they “gazed at G-d, and ate and drank” (Shemot 24:11). Following Rambam’s own path, the authors appear to have a particular interest in explaining how prophecy functions. A number of their longer footnotes relate to this subject, drawing upon both Talmudic passages and Rambam’s other works to help explain his theories. Some footnotes are creative and even entertaining. In their speculative attempts to make some of the more remote passages of the Moreh relatable to a modern readership, Rabbis Kohn and Reinman explain the esoterics of Ma’aseh Bereishit in terms of a “primordial biological supercomputer” that controlled “the DNA of nature” (2:30).

Some readers may be disappointed with the paucity of explanatory notes on the crucial closing chapters, where Rambam provides detailed guidance as to how to maximize one’s providential relationship with G-d (3:51) and emphasizes the importance of being morally and ethically engaged with the world (3:54). Taken in its totality, however, the authors should be applauded for an important contribution to Torah literature, which will open up Rambam’s systematic religious philosophy to a readership that might not otherwise have had access to it. In a generation whose youth, like those during Rambam’s time, are grappling with how to reconcile the Torah with outside ideas and seeking a philosophy of Judaism that is both comprehensible and comprehensive, A Guide to the Guide is a valuable gi and a praiseworthy project.

Reviews in Brief

By Rabbi Gil Student

important, perhaps life changing, were the sessions with Mrs. Yocheved Schacter, an experienced psychotherapist.)

THE GOLDEN AGE OF THE LITHUANIAN YESHIVAS

TORAT CHAIM: WORDS TO SHARE AT LIFE’S MEANINGFUL MOMENTS

By the Rabbis of Yeshiva University’s Yarchei Kallah

Edited by Rabbis Wes Kalmar, Noah Cheses, Steven Miodownik and Brahm Weinberg

Shikey Press, 2023

440 pages

pprenticeship is an important part of becoming a professional. When it comes to Torah, joining the chain of practical tradition and learning from an experienced mentor is even more important. e Talmud (Berachot 47b) says that even if someone has learned many Torah texts, if he has not served under an experienced scholar, he is an am ha’aretz, an ignoramus.

For twenty years, Rabbi Dr. Jacob J. Schacter has been gathering young rabbis twice a year to help them prepare for holidays and hone their rabbinic skills. For the many rabbis who were fortunate enough to attend these “Yarchei Kallah,” Rabbi Schacter served as a mentor, guiding them through their challenges in the congregational rabbinate. (Also

Rabbi Schacter began the Yarchei Kallah when he was dean of the Rabbi Joseph B. Soloveitchik Institute in Boston, and took the project with him when he moved to Yeshiva University. For well over a decade, the Yeshiva University Yarchei Kallah has trained Modern Orthodox rabbis in the practical aspects of the rabbinate. A mainstay of the Yarchei Kallah are the binders of primary sources of homiletical material that rabbis can incorporate into their sermons. Prominent scholars are also invited to address the gathered rabbis. Overall, the Yarchei Kallah o ers rabbis the opportunity for continued training and a safe space to share experiences with colleagues and seek guidance from those who have faced similar challenges.

ATo celebrate the twentieth anniversary of the Yarchei Kallah, alumni of the program have compiled a book of sermons for lifecycle events. One who is familiar with this type of book will expect to nd divrei Torah for standard events like circumcisions, weddings and funerals. However, this is a book compiled by rabbis, who know that there are more events at which a rabbi is expected to speak than just the obvious times. ese include a pidyon haben, an aufruf, graduations, an unveiling and more. For each event, multiple rabbis o er divrei Torah that re ect their individual styles.

Readers will be struck by the spectrum of rabbis who contributed to this volume. Rabbi Schacter’s trainees range across the spectrum of the Yeshiva University world. ey include rabbinic superstars, many of them household names in the Orthodox world. rough the Yarchei Kallah, Rabbi Schacter has le the imprint of his wisdom and scholarship on Modern Orthodox communities around the world. is book is a tribute to his e orts and evidence of his success.

By Ben-Tsiyon Klibansky Indiana University Press, 2022

91 pages

Yeshivot are commonly seen today as the heart of the Jewish community. However, this sentiment was not always widespread. Additionally, the very nature of a yeshivah has evolved over time.

Surprisingly, despite the importance of the yeshivah institution to the Jewish people, very few academics have studied its history. Ben-Tsiyon Klibansky seeks to remedy this lack. Born in postwar Lithuania, Klibansky moved with his family to Israel and studied in yeshivah and university there. With his deep understanding of the Lithuanian culture and language, he accessed the local archives to uncover the historical facts about yeshivot during what he calls their golden age, the years between the world wars.

Many of the great postwar roshei yeshivah in America and Israel studied in Lithuanian yeshivot during the interwar years. e stories they told their talmidim inscribed their experiences on the hearts of the Jewish community. Klibansky builds a foundation of historical scholarship to explore these experiences based on archival evidence and “to correct mistaken impressions and portray a more balanced picture, based on historical facts” (p. 20). He o ers fascinating details about the struggles faced by yeshivot in those years and how they succeeded in surprising ways.

Following the displacement and immense poverty experienced during and a er World War I, in addition to the trend of secularization among

Eastern European Jews, Lithuanian yeshivot could no longer survive from local community support. Instead, they restructured, and separated from the local communities. In doing so, they also consciously sought to attract students who otherwise might attend secular schools. Yeshivot broke into the equivalent of high schools and post–high schools, rather than mixing together students of very di erent ages.

e study of ethics (musar) gained wide acceptance and the mashgiach, the yeshivah’s musar guide, became a powerful in uence over the students.

e yeshivot raised money across communities, rather than locally, forcing roshei yeshivah to travel far and wide on fundraising trips. In 1924, the Vaad Hayeshivot was established to distribute funds to the di erent schools and alleviate the fundraising challenge. While this endeavor never quite succeeded, it created a long paper trail that provides tremendous information about the yeshivot, their leadership and their students.

Klibansky shows us the unusual energy and innovation of this period.

e Novardok Yeshivah, for example, organized a network of yeshivot and continually created new branches and coordinated between them. Some Chassidic groups, such as Stolin, sensing the changing times, adapted the model of the Lithuanian yeshivah to t their needs. Additionally, the small number of Westerners (mainly Germans and Americans) who traveled to study in Lithuanian yeshivot had a profound e ect, attesting to the fact that even sophisticated and comparatively wealthy students valued the yeshivah education.

In this fascinating study, Klibansky tells a fact-based story of the yeshivah movement that continues to exert profound in uence on our community.

By Shaul Moshe Alter Adir Press, 2023 352 pages

here is something amazing, even inspiring, in seeing the halachot formulated in ancient times applied to contemporary situations. Once upon a time, an ox goring and a pit causing damage were common, almost everyday occurrences. Nowadays, our cars are more likely to cause damage than any oxen. It takes great knowledge and skill to extract the concepts underlying Talmudic laws and apply them to the modern world.

with multiple dayanim, rabbis who specialize in monetary halachah, Rabbi Alter has written a detailed, well-organized book that o ers speci c guidance to those who desire to follow halachah in their professional lives.

TSo ware Ethics in Halacha is divided into four sections: Marketing and Implementation; Intellectual Property; Damages; and Employment Relations. roughout the book, which covers much ground, the author raises common dilemmas in the industry and o ers speci c guidance. He quotes statistics and anecdotes to explain the extent of problematic practices, and clearly de nes the attendant halachic issues. Questions include: selling unnecessary features, charging a client for work you reuse a er doing it for a previous client, installing malware that causes damage only a er time, and the halachic validity of a non-compete clause.

Rabbi Gil Student writes frequently on Jewish issues and runs Torahmusings.com. He is a member of the Jewish Action Editorial Board.

As a rule, technology develops rst, and then ethicists rush to catch up. e same applies to halachic ethics. e world of computer so ware has been around for at least two generations. We are long overdue for a book that carefully analyzes the attendant halachic challenges. Rabbi Shaul Moshe Alter, a so ware engineer, has thoroughly mined his own experiences and those of colleagues for potential halachic pitfalls in the life of a so ware developer. In consultation

Rabbi Alter addresses so many questionable practices that a reader who is not familiar with the eld may be le wondering about the seeming widespread lack of ethics. Perhaps this is just the nature of a book structured around problematic practices. Regardless, as the ethicists catch up with technology, more awareness is generated around the proper behavior expected of a re ned individual. A cutting-edge book of this nature may not be the nal word on so ware halachah, but it is an important work that is fascinating for anyone interested in the application of halachah to new elds.

Klibansky shows us the unusual energy and innovation of this period. . . that continues to exert profound infuence on our community.

CHOSHEV MISHPAT: SOFTWARE ETHICS IN HALACHA

Witnessing the Power of Chesed

By Sara Spielman

One early morning in December 2021, my world turned upside down. My oldest daughter, who was spending the year in seminary in Israel, was found unconscious in her room. She was rushed for a CT scan, and suddenly I was dealing with the worst nightmare a mother could face.

A few months earlier, we had moved from New York to Florida. It was 5 am when I received the life-changing call from the dorm mother. My husband was in New York working, as he had not yet transitioned to his job in Florida.

I called my parents in Brooklyn to relay the terrifying news, but I needed someone at my side because I had no idea what the next phone call would bring. In desperation, I called a neighbor whom I had recently met. She arrived at my door within minutes and held my hand through it all, staying with me for the next critical twenty-four hours. Such extraordinary acts of kindness followed us throughout this journey.

Soon, my father, a physician, was on the phone conferencing with me, the seminary dean and the neurosurgeon. It was then that we learned the diagnosis: my daughter had a brain tumor. She would need a seven-hour surgery. She was intubated and unconscious. It felt like the earth was crumbling beneath me.

By this time, my younger children were awake. My neighbor anchored me while arranging rides for them to school and helping them get ready. She also posted for communities around the world to say Tehillim.

In the meantime, my husband, still in New York, was scrambling to gure out how to get to Israel despite the closed borders due to Covid. Another neighbor connected us to someone at the Israeli embassy, who expertly arranged emergency clearance. A ight was arranged for that evening. My husband suddenly realized, though, that his passport was in Florida. is was about 4 pm, and his ight to Israel was at 11 pm. My neighbor, still at my side, called her son. He picked up the passport and headed straight to Fort Lauderdale International Airport. Checking the departing ights to New York, he arrived at the terminal and approached the rst frum-looking couple he saw. He con rmed that they were ying to New York and explained the situation; the couple agreed to take the passport. ey arrived at JFK Airport around 9 pm and called my husband just as he arrived there for his ight.

e chesed continued non-stop. Strangers came in and out of my home all day to help. Every night for the next month we received delicious home-cooked meals from concerned neighbors, some of whom I didn’t know.

One neighbor whose kids went to the same school as mine texted me, “I’ll be taking your daughter to and from school every day.” Despite having a houseful of her own young children, she continued to drive my daughter every day until the end of the school year.

With all the turmoil, it was weeks later when I realized that we had been paying daily parking fees for my husband’s car, which was still parked at the airport in Florida (awaiting his weekly return from New York) for the entire time he was in Israel at our daughter’s side. My husband had the only set of keys. A neighbor contacted a friend in Haifa near Rambam Hospital who was ying to Florida; the woman picked up the car keys from my husband and brought them to the States. en, one night, another neighbor took a cab to the airport to retrieve the car.

If only I could have kept track of the kindness we experienced every hour of every day.

A few mothers with daughters in the same seminary showed up one evening to provide support. Noting my utter exhaustion, they watched my children as I rested for the rst time in days. Over the next few weeks, we continually received packages of toys, games and art supplies, as well as owers, chocolates and cards from the “seminary moms.”

A month later, when my daughter was given clearance to y home, a Jewish organization that nds volunteer EMTs to accompany patients arranged to have an EMT y especially to Israel to assist my husband on the ight home with our daughter.

An in nite light of unconditional love, concern and generosity from community members has embraced our family for the past year and a half, which is certainly bringing muchneeded healing to our world.

People from around the globe donated generously to a fundraiser launched by my daughter’s seminary friends to help us cover her staggering medical expenses. is past Rosh Hashanah, we needed to stay in a chesed apartment near the hospital as my daughter continued her treatments; once again, my community arranged yom tov for us. All day long the bell rang with people delivering sh, soup, challah, chicken, roasts, kugels, grilled vegetables and cakes.

Baruch Hashem, my daughter is on the road to recovery. With time she will, G-d willing, be back to her former wonderful self. But my family will never be the same. We have seen rsthand the power of chesed. It’s not easy to be on the receiving end, I o en think, but then I remind myself that kindness brings redemption and that there needs to be a vessel for it. Why G-d chose my family to be that vessel is a question I grapple with, but in my heart I know that we are all here for a mission and we all play a part in bringing positive change to this world. My role right now is to accept the chesed, and yet I pray for the day when I can be on the giving end, helping to transform our world, one good deed at a time.

Sara Spielman is

freelance writer living in Florida.