BIKKUREI RAMAZ זמר
Torah Teachings from Ramaz Upper School Students
In Honor of the Yahrzeit on Erev Shavuot
of Daniel Schacter,
Father of Four Ramaz Alumni
Grandfather of Eight Ramaz Alumni and Great-Grandfather of Four Ramaz Alumni and Six Current Ramaz Students (1:2
Rabbi Kenny Schiowitz, Associate Principal
Judah Schizer '26 TANAKH
Introduction
Hannah Weisberg '26
Gabe Kornfeld '26
The Problem with Gold
More Than a Rock
A Leader Without a Grave
JEWISH TRADITION & THOUGHT
Haim Heilborn Nigri '26
Truman Edell '26
Zoe Brisman '26
Mikayla Leifer '26
The Restoration of Semikhah and the Revival of the Sanhedrin
Monsters and Demons and Golems, Oh My!
Inspiration through Imitation: How Chanukah Evolved Amidst Christian Traditions
Forgiveness: Necessary or Forced
JEWISH LAW
Sarah Cohen '26
Deborah Rubenstein '26
Jack Friedman '26
Elliot Weiss '26
What is a Woman’s Role in Observing Mitzvot?
Women and Kiddush
Jewish Attitudes Towards Abortion
The Halakhah of Lab-Grown Meat
Cover Art: James Jacques Joseph Tissot. Ruth Gleaning. c.1896-1902, The Jewish Museum. Gift of the heirs of Jacob Schiff. https://thejewishmuseum.org/collection/26473-ruth-gleaning
Words of Introduction
We are extremely excited to present this compilation of essays written by Ramaz Upper School juniors about a wide array of Judaic Studies topics. These works were produced by our students and they offer a window into the types of learning and thinking that our students engage in each day. There is no unified theme to the publication; each student chose a topic that they were interested in researching and writing about. You will see that all of the students took on complex, multifaceted issues that may not have clear answers, but do have rich Torah sources to wrestle with.
Chazal teach (Talmud Bavli, Avodah Zarah, 19a), based on the second pasuk of the book of Tehillim, that we thrive in our learning only when we focus on the subjects that our hearts are drawn to. Moreover, the Talmud adds that through this process, the Torah becomes the possession of the person who learns it. Our students studied topics that they are passionate about, and through their study, took ownership of their Torah. This, in turn, provided them the opportunity to share their findings and to spread this Torah to the community.
We very much hope that you will enjoy this resource and that it will enrich your Chag HaShavuot, the anniversary of Matan Torah on Har Sinai.
We wish you a very healthy, enjoyable and enriching Chag Shavuot, as we hope for besurot tovot for Am Yisrael.
Sincerely, Rabbi Kenny Schiowitz, Associate Principal
The Problem with Gold
Judah Schizer ’26
One of the most notorious sins in Jewish history is the sin of the golden calf, chet ha’egel. While Moshe is up on Har Sinai receiving the Torah from Hashem, Bnei Yisrael grows uncertain and scared. The people are so scared that when Moshe is a little late in returning, they decide to build an idol. What was this idol? And does this experience teach us that any physical manifestation of God is problematic?
Rashi (Shemot 32:1) believes that chet ha’egel was an actual instance of avodah zarah. He says that Bnei Yisrael was terrified of Moshe not returning, and that it caused them to stray from God and monotheism entirely. According to Rashi, Bnei Yisrael decided to return to polytheism. However, Rashi’s approach does not seem to fit the context of this story. Only a few months before, Bnei Yisrael had been saved by Hashem in Egypt. They were saved by miracle after miracle which the Egyptians could not replicate. They saw the incredible splitting of the sea. And now, less than four months later, they decide that God is not good enough? They decide to worship a golden statue of their own creation instead of a being who, with a metaphorical snap of his fingers, wiped out all the firstborn in Egypt? Human nature may be fickle, but that seems highly unlikely. Furthermore, Aharon, the creator of this egel hazahav, is elevated to kohen gadol, high priest, soon thereafter. It seems unlikely that he’d have received this honor, rather than a harsh punishment, if he had indeed facilitated avodah zarah.
While it is clear that Bnei Yisrael did a grave sin when they built the calf, it is not completely clear what the sin was, and not everyone agrees with Rashi’s interpretation. The reaction of Hashem, who wanted to kill all of the people, and the fact that many died as a punishment, reflects the gravity of this sin. I would suggest that the sin was not actually avodah zarah or a return to polytheism, but a rejection of spirituality in favor of materialism and physicality. Bnei Yisrael was brought out of Egypt on a spiritual wave of miracles and supernatural events, but they soon returned to longing for physical things they could see and touch. Many commentators, including the Ramban (on Shemot 32:1), see the chet ha’egel as something different than avodah zarah; they believe Bnei Yisrael were not trying to abandon God. Although they don’t all agree on the exact motivation, most opinions fall under the umbrella of Bnei Yisrael craving a tangible form of God as opposed to seeking to leave God purposefully.
The Ramban believes that Bnei Yisrael was trying to replace Moshe as their leader, not Hashem as their God. The Ramban points out that, according to the pshat, Bnei Yisrael built this calf because they did not know what had happened to Moshe. But Bnei Yisrael’s actions weren’t intended as avodah zarah; rather, they were trying to replace the leader they thought they had lost. The Chizkuni (on Shemot 32:1) strengthens the Ramban’s proof by pointing out that Aharon was never punished for this. If Aharon had built an idol for avodah zarah, by law he would have had to be killed. Instead, he was made the kohen gadol. So, the question becomes, why was replacing a leader such a big sin? In the modern world, democracies do this all the time. Although the Ramban does not spell it out, it seems like, according to him, the sin was a fundamental misunderstanding of what a leader is. Bnei Yisrael viewed Moshe as a telephone line between them and Hashem, nothing more.
That is a job a golden calf can easily fill. But in reality, Moshe was much more. He was their role model, their leader, their rabbi, and more. According to the Ramban, Bnei Yisrael’s sin seems to be their fundamental misunderstanding of the leader’s role: thinking they could replace a living, breathing, spiritual leader, with an unmoving and unchanging golden calf.
Rav Soloveitchik (in Vision and Leadership: Reflections of Joseph and Moses) agrees with the Ramban that Bnei Yisrael was trying to replace Moshe rather than Hashem by building the golden calf, but offers an alternative framing as to why this was a sin. He believes the problem was Bnei Yisrael not believing they could communicate with God personally. One of the strengths of Judaism is the idea that anyone—from a king to a peasant—has equal access to God; all they have to do is reach out. Bnei Yisrael spit in the face of this concept by creating the golden calf. Bnei Yisrael felt they were not good enough to speak to God without an intermediary. Before Moshe went to Har Sinai, that intermediary was Moshe, but when Moshe did not return promptly, they decided to use a golden calf instead. Rav Soloveitchik’s approach not only paints Bnei Yisrael as unable to see Moshe as more than a way for them to speak to God, but also shows their rejection of a fundamental theme of Judaism, having a personal connection with God, in favor of an indirect relationship dependent on physical objects.
Whether one prefers the specific explanation for the golden calf offered by the Ramban, Rav Soloveitchik, or one of many other similar commentators, the theme remains the same. Bnei Yisrael built the golden calf because they needed something physical to connect them with God. The intangible reality of God being all around them was not enough for them. They were unable to transcend their physical nature, relying upon a statue to be their sole connection with God.
However, Bnei Yisrael’s failure to connect with God on a spiritual plane raises another question. Is a relationship dependent on physical objects really such a problem? In fact, one place in the Torah seems to actually endorse it. When Bnei Yisrael is building the Mishkan, Hashem commands them to build the keruvim, two golden idol-like statues, in the Beit Hamikdash. What is the difference between the keruvim and the egel hazahav? For Rashi, who believes chet ha’egel was avodah zarah, the distinction is simple, as the keruvim were commanded by God for the purpose of worshiping God, whereas the golden calf was for worshiping other gods. But if one holds that the golden calf was a sin of physicality, then why are the keruvim not only allowed, but even commanded? According to the Chizkuni (on Shemot 25:18), the reason lies in where they were located. The keruvim were placed in the Kodesh Hakodashim, a room which only the kohen gadol can access, and only once a year at that. The golden calf, on the other hand, was accessible to all. The kohen gadol was on a high enough level that he could benefit from the keruvim. For him, it would help elevate his spirituality and connection with Hashem, not replace it. From this, we understand that an intermediary can be acceptable in Judaism, even beneficial, but only when it heightens spirituality, such as the keruvim do for the kohen gadol. The problem only occurs when one relies too much upon physical objects to connect with God, such as Bnei Yisrael did with chet ha’egel. With chet ha’egel, Bnei Yisrael sought to replace spirituality rather than enhance it; this story warns us of the dangers of over-emphasizing physicality, but is not supposed to turn us all into ascetics.
More Than a Rock Hannah Weisberg ’26
In the beginning of Parashat Vaetchanan, Moshe pleads with Hashem to let him enter the Land of Israel. Despite this, Hashem stood firm in His decision and made it clear that Moshe was not to make this request again, refusing to let him enter the land to which he had dedicated his life to bringing Bnei Yisrael. The Torah provides several reasons as to why Moshe received this harsh punishment. In Sefer Bamidbar (20:12), it is stated that this decision came from Moshe’s choice to strike the rock instead of speaking to it. However, in Sefer Devarim (1:37, 31:2), Moshe gives two additional reasons: the incident with the spies and his old age. Given his dedication to Bnei Yisrael’s journey, are these mistakes, or even a combination of reasons, enough to justify the decision to deny him entry into Israel? By studying the explanations provided by the pshat and commentators such as Ramban, Rashi, and Rabbi Jonathan Sacks, we can derive valuable leadership lessons and a response to this question.
The first and most popular explanation for Moshe’s punishment is his striking of the rock at Meribah. The incident, which occurs in Sefer Bamidbar (20:1-13), unfolds when Bnei Yisrael complain that they have no water. Hashem commands Moshe to take his staff and speak to the rock so that it will give water. Moshe does the opposite by striking the rock twice. The water appears, but Hashem tells Moshe and Aaron that because they did not have faith in sanctifying His name before the people, they will not be permitted to bring them into Israel. This raises the critical question: Why was this mistake so severe?
Ramban’s explanation is rooted in the words Moshe used when addressing Bnei Yisrael: “Shall we get water for you out of this rock?” (Bamidbar 20:10). Ramban explains that by saying “we,” Moshe and Aaron gave the people the impression that they, rather than Hashem, were responsible for the miracle. This diminished Hashem’s sanctity in the eyes of the people. The miracle was supposed to have demonstrated Hashem’s power and reinforced the people’s faith in Him. Instead, Moshe’s language might have led the nation to believe that Moshe and Aaron were capable of producing water. This aspect contributes to the severity of Moshe’s punishment: his role as a leader was to draw attention to Hashem, not to himself. This failure of leadership, at a moment when trust was supposed to be re-established, is seen as a tremendous sin against God.
Rashi provides a similar perspective but differs in that he not only discusses what Moshe said, but how he performed the act. He explains that if Moshe had spoken to the rock as commanded, it would have demonstrated an even greater lesson: that even an inanimate object can obey Hashem’s will. Thus, Bnei Yisrael, who had witnessed countless miracles from Hashem and been saved by Him, would have learned that they certainly should follow Hashem’s directions. This would have been a powerful lesson for Bnei Yisrael. Tragically, by striking the rock instead, Moshe lost the opportunity to take Bnei Yisrael’s loyalty to a new level and taught the exact opposite message, that even Moshe Rabbeinu did not follow Hashem’s instructions. Furthermore, Rashi notes that unlike Moshe’s previous failures of doubt, this was a public occurrence, before all of Bnei Yisrael. The failure to sanctify Hashem’s name
publicly worsened the punishment. Moshe’s actions carried consequences beyond himself because they impacted the spiritual development of the nation as a whole.
Rabbi Jonathan Sacks provides another perspective, arguing that Moshe’s exclusion from Israel was not a punishment, but rather a sign of new leadership needs. He reminds us that almost forty years earlier, Hashem had instructed Moshe to strike a rock to produce water. This time, Hashem instructed him to speak to the rock. Moshe, out of precedent, replicated what he had previously done rather than adapt to the new circumstance. Rabbi Sacks says that Moshe’s leadership style was appropriate for the generation that had left Egypt, a generation that was dependent on Hashem and His miracles. However, the new generation required something else. By striking the rock, Moshe demonstrated that he was still acting in the old way, rather than adjusting to the people’s need for more independence from God. In Rabbi Sacks’s view, Moshe’s exclusion from Israel was not a punishment for a single mistake but an indication that a new leader was needed to lead the people into the next stage of their journey. Moshe had fulfilled his role.
Moshe himself provides additional reasons for his exclusion from the land in Sefer Devarim, apart from the incident of the rock. For example, he relates his punishment to the sin of the spies, suggesting that Hashem was angry with Moses because of the people’s lack of faith: “Because of you, Hashem was incensed with me too, saying: You shall not enter it either” (1:37). This shows that Moshe regarded Bnei Yisrael’s failure as a reflection on his leadership. This perspective highlights Moshe’s deep identification with his people, as he felt his destiny intertwined with theirs. And, once more, Moshe cites his old age as another factor: “I am now one hundred and twenty years old; I can no longer be active. Moreover, Hashem has said to me, ‘You shall not go across yonder Jordan’” (Devarim 31:2). Moshe here is acknowledging his own limitations as a leader and accepting his role in Hashem’s plan. This would be in line with Rabbi Sacks’s explanation that Moshe’s exclusion was not merely a punishment but an acceptance that this new generation of Bnei Yisrael required a new leader.
These explanations indicate that Moshe’s fate was not determined by one incident but was an accumulation of indications of the new needs of Bnei Yisrael. Why was Moshe’s mistake in hitting the rock instead of speaking to it enough for Hashem to deny him entry into Eretz Yisrael? It was not the physical act of Moshe striking the rock that was the problem, but the hidden connotations that his actions had. Speaking to the rock would have elevated the nation’s connection with Hashem. But by not speaking to it, Moshe demonstrated his limitations as a leader. Moshe’s leadership style, reliant on miracles and Bnei Yisrael’s dependence on him, was required to bring a generation of slaves out of Egypt and through the desert. But the next generation needed a leader who would enable them to achieve faith through independence.
In this context, the barring of Moshe from Eretz Yisrael was not a punishment but rather a transition that had to take place in order to advance the spiritual development of the people. But still, the question remains: Was Moshe’s destiny determined from the start? If his leadership style was no longer suitable for the new generation, was there ever any possibility of his entering the land? While
it is difficult to know the answer to this, we do know that the lessons extend beyond Moshe’s story. We, too, encounter times when we strive towards a goal but fall short. Yet, as we learn from Moshe, not achieving an ultimate goal does not diminish the worth of the journey itself. Moshe does not enter Eretz Yisrael, but his legacy as the greatest leader and prophet of Bnei Yisrael continues to live on.
His story teaches us that even when our ultimate goals are unattainable, it is our contribution, development, and influence along the journey that ultimately comprises our successes.
Bibliography: “Why Was Moses Not Destined to Enter the Land?": Covenant & Conversation: Parashat Chukat. The Rabbi Sacks Legacy, 11 Jan. 2022, rabbisacks.org/covenant-conversation/chukat/why-wasmoses-not-destined-to-enter-the-land/.
A Leader Without a Grave
Gabe Kornfeld ’26
To many, the most fundamental example of a leader is Moshe. He is the man who led Bnei Yisrael from slavery and persecution in Egypt to freedom and the Land of Israel. Arguably, aside from the Avot, Moshe is the most influential person in the Torah, not only through his leadership and values, but also through his unique relationship with God. Yet, despite being our teacher, leader, and communicator with God, his burial place is hidden from all of us forever. The Torah (Devarim 34:6) reports that God buried Moshe in the land of Moab and until this day no one knows of his grave. This raises an important question: why do we not know where such a righteous and central figure of the Torah, Moshe, is buried?
A widely accepted explanation for the mystery of Moshe’s hidden grave is the fear of avodah zarah, the worship of false gods. Many fear that revealing Moshe’s burial site would lead people to idolize him. However, this answer raises another question: if we do not know the location of Moshe’s grave, why is the location of other righteous people in Tanach, such as Avraham, and the Avot and Imahot known? The same concern should be applied to their grave as they were extraordinarily influential people. In this essay, I will examine alternative explanations for the reason behind Moshe’s hidden grave, drawing on the insights of several scholars and rabbis.
First, it is important to discuss Judaism’s general attitude towards death. In his book Halakhic Man, Rav Soloveitchik illustrates the negative view Judaism has toward death. Rav Soloveitchik explains that death signifies impurity in Judaism. For example, a kohen (priest) is deemed impure if they are near a dead body. Rav Soloveitchik elaborates and says that Judaism not only “abhors death,” but also “bids one to choose life and sanctify it” (p. 31). The importance of life in Judaism can be seen through mitzvot such as “pikuach nefesh,” the idea that saving a life “overrides all the commandments” (p. 35). This example demonstrates that mitzvot prioritize and glorify life over death. Rav Soloveitchik further claims that “the halakhah is not at all concerned with a transcendent life” (p. 32). In other words, the value of mitzvot and halakhot is reserved for the physical world rather than for the World to Come. In fact, as Rav Soloveitchik explains, when a person dies, they are no longer responsible for the mitzvot, as suggested by the passage in the Talmud (Shabbat 30a):
(“as once he is dead he is idle from Torah and mitzvot”). The idea that the Torah is strictly rooted in our physical world is further reinforced by the fact that rather than handing the Torah to the angels or other “denizens of the transcendent world” (p.33), God brought the Torah down to Bnei Yisrael to “dwell among human beings.” This simple idea that Judaism emphasizes and prioritizes life over death can help us begin to understand that perhaps the grave of the greatest Jewish leader is hidden from us out of the fear that death, a symbol that defiles Judaism, will become a central, holy sight at which people pray. Furthermore, in keeping with the idea that the Torah is strictly rooted in our “earthly, here-and-now life” (p. 33), it makes sense that Moshe’s grave is hidden as a means of ensuring that the transcendent world and material world remain separate.
While Rav Soloveitchik emphasizes Judaism’s disdain for death, Micah Goodman focuses not only on death but also on a transformative shift to a more direct relationship with God, symbolized by Moshe’s hidden grave. In his book The Last Words of Moses, Goodman discusses the three main concerns Moshe had for the future of Bnei Yisrael after his death. First, Moshe was worried that Bnei Yisrael would turn to avodah zarah as they would no longer have an intermediary between them and God. His second concern was whether or not Bnei Yisrael would continue to worship God after they transitioned from living in the wilderness, where they constantly relied on miracles from God, to living in the Land of Israel, where they would be more independent. The final concern was whether Bnei Yisrael would become corrupt with power when they became a more powerful and independent nation. Regarding the first concern, namely that Bnei Yisrael would struggle without an intermediary between themselves and God, one can validate the concern by pointing out the example of the golden calf. When Moshe left Bnei Yisrael at Mount Sinai in Shemot for one day too long, Bnei Yisrael turned to the calf. Goodman argues that Sefer Devarim’s mission is to eliminate Bnei Yisrael’s dependence on intermediaries and thus emphasize the importance of a direct relationship with God. This idea is evident in the differences between how stories are recounted in Devarim as compared with elsewhere in the Torah. In Sefer Bamidbar (20:15-16) we read: “The Egyptians dealt harshly with us and our ancestors. We cried to the Lord and He heard our plea, and He sent an angel who freed us from Egypt.” However, in Sefer Devarim (26:6-8), the story is told differently: “The Egyptians dealt harshly with us and oppressed us…The Lord freed us from Egypt by a mighty hand, by an outstretched arm and awesome power, and by signs and portents.” Unlike Bamidbar, which mentions an angel, Devarim portrays God as acting directly, without intermediaries. According to Goodman, this distinction shows the transformation that Bnei Yisrael underwent in Devarim from having intermediaries to developing a direct relationship with God. Goodman’s thoughts provide an alternative explanation as to why we do not know the location of Moshe’s grave. One can infer from Goodman’s argument that the lack of information regarding the location of Moshe’s grave not only prevents death from becoming central to Judaism but also encourages Bnei Yisrael to cultivate a more direct relationship with God. This answer also offers an explanation concerning why the graves of other righteous people are not hidden from us. It was specifically Moshe’s job to be an intermediary for Bnei Yisrael and God. Other righteous figures, such as Avraham, were not tasked with this mission and thus did not prevent us from cultivating a direct relationship with God.
Rabbi Nachman of Breslov provides a very different answer to the question and focuses more on a spiritual approach. According to Rabbi Nachman, when Moshe died, his physical body disappeared (Likutei Moharan 4:9). Moshe became a purely spiritual being and, as a result, does not have a grave which we can locate. Perhaps Rabbi Nachman is conveying the idea that we should strive to incorporate all of Moshe’s spiritual and moral qualities into our lives. For example, we should strive to embody Moshe’s humility and loyalty. Moshe has taught us valuable lessons on how to act and lead, and while Moshe may not be physically present in our lives, his lessons and legacy still live on.
The Netziv offers a unique approach to the question by focusing on what sets Moshe apart from other righteous individuals. In his book Haamek Davar, the Neziv explains the three criteria for burying a righteous person. First, they must be buried in a plot of land that they own. In the case of Moshe, according to a
midrash, one of the ten things made by God at the close of the six days of creation was a plot of land destined to be Moshe’s burial place. The second criteria is to be buried in a holy place. Moshe was buried near Beit Peor, the house of Peor (Devarim 34:6). Presumably, this was a place of worship to false gods and a house of prostitution. While this may not seem holy, the point of burying Moshe near the house was to repel people from entering the house of Peor and committing sins out of respect for Moshe’s grave. In this sense, Moshe is the one who transformed that plot of land into a holy place. The final criteria is to be buried around other righteous people. The Netziv explains that Moshe would not fit into this category as no one could compare to him in any of his characteristics. For example, in Devarim (12:3) it says that Moshe was more humble than anyone in the land. As a result, according to the Netziv, Moshe was unparalleled in his qualities as a leader and therefore could not be buried next to anyone else as doing so would understate and diminish his greatness. It logically follows that we should not know the location of Moshe’s burial so that we have no possible way of burying anyone next to him.
A significant element of the Netziv’s approach is his emphasis on Moshe’s isolation. The idea of isolation is a motif that is seen throughout Moshe’s life. He is set apart from Bnei Yisrael starting in Egypt where he is raised by the Egyptians. When he runs away from Egypt, he marries Tzipporah, a Midianite, a non-Israelite. Furthermore, we know that Moshe was the only person ever to have conversations with God on his own terms and not necessarily through dreams or prophecies like all the other prophets. In fact, Moshe is able to argue and bargain with God, convincing him on multiple accounts to spare Bnei Yisrael, an act that is very rarely done by other prophets. Even when he becomes the accepted leader of Bnei Yisrael, he is still on a different path from the nation. We see all throughout the desert that Bnei Yisrael complain about food and water or the harsh journey. However, unlike Bnei Yisrael, Moshe prioritizes his spiritual values over his physical desires and devotes his entire life to serving God. Even in death, he is not buried in Israel, where he would be surrounded by Bnei Yisrael. Moshe constantly lived in a state of isolation, and this does not change with his death.
Rav Soloveitchik, Micah Goodman, Rabbi Nachman, and the Neziv offer compelling insights into why Moshe's grave remains hidden. However, I would also like to present an idea of my own. I believe that the absence of a physical grave for Moshe is not only to benefit or teach us a valuable lesson but rather to serve as a reward to Moshe. Moshe is given closure at the end of Devarim in the sense that his difficult duty as a leader is over. From the very beginning, Moshe was reluctant to be the leader of Bnei Yisrael. In Shemot, when God talks to Moshe for the first time at the famous burning bush and tells Moshe to free Bnei Yisrael from Egypt, Moshe tries to turn down the job. Later, in Bamidbar, Moshe complains to God that the burden of Bnei Yisrael is too great for him to bear alone. The task of being a leader was never easy and never came naturally to Moshe. Perhaps by hiding his grave, God has also rewarded Moshe by relieving him of his duties as our leader. He no longer has to carry the burden of our prayers and requests, as his physical presence is no longer accessible to us. Of course his values, morals, and legacy still live on and teach us how to act to the best of our abilities. However, these are goals that we alone must strive for independently, and ultimately, no one else can achieve them on our behalf.
The Restoration of Semikhah and the Revival of the Sanhedrin
Haim Heilborn Nigri ’26
With the death of Rabbi Gamaliel VI in 425 CE,1 one of the most ancient Judaic traditions was lost, semikhah. This tradition was a transfer of legislative and judicial halakhic authority from Moshe to the rabbis of the Mishnah and, later, to the rabbis of the Jerusalem Talmud. From generation to generation, it was passed on from teacher to student. Moshe was the original bearer of this authority bestowed by God. Moshe passed it on to his student Yehoshua, Yehoshua passed it on to the Elders, the Elders to the Nevi'im, and the Nevi'im to the men of the Great Assembly.2 Each bearer of this authority bestowed it upon his student, if deemed worthy, and so was formed an unbreakable chain spanning thousands of years. The authority of semikhah enables its bearer to serve as a judge for all cases3 and to serve as a judge in the high court, the Sanhedrin. The Sanhedrin is the only court with the legislative authority to define laws especially via biblical interpretation or through the creation of a fence for the law. For this reason, this court is of utmost importance for deciding law and is a fixture of halakhic literature. The members of this court must bear semikhah, and so most solutions have focused on reviving the court by means of restoring this status. The question at the forefront of this essay
1 “Gamliel VI,” The Jewish Encyclopedia (1906). Sources point to his death being sometime before 426 CE, according to an imperial decree from that year.
2 Mishnah Avot 1:1.
3 Unless the teacher who bestows it restricts the range of his adjudication.
is how semikhah can be revived if the chain has been broken, if the Sages have come and gone, and if there is discord among the most prominent opinions. Having retaken the Land of Israel, perhaps the next step for the Jewish People is to restore semikhah and revive the Sanhedrin. It has been 1600 years since the loss of semikhah, and the discussion surrounding a solution has waxed and waned. In this paper, I will attempt to gather the most relevant sources, adding my own perspectives and analysis.
1) The Laws of Ordination
The literature about semikhah is surprisingly sparse. In the entirety of Judaic literature, no authoritative solution has been offered for restoring the broken chain of transmission. One could even call the lack of discussion suspicious. Why did the Sages not offer a solution? When the Romans were persecuting them, and the court was in dire straits, they convened to fix the calendar.4 How did they not foresee the loss of semikhah and devise some sort of remedy?
There are only two possibilities: either the Sages did not worry about the loss of semikhah, or they thought they weren’t allowed to make a law to enable its restoration. The former assumption might suggest that semikhah could be easier to restore than commonly thought, and might point toward the Rambam’s solution, which will be discussed below. However, the latter assumption might mean that there is no way for semikhah to be restored. Both possibilities face challenges. The Sages did indeed worry about it, and lent the authority of semikhah gravity, as will be discussed below. In fact, Rabbi Yehudah ben Bava sacrificed his life to preserve the tradition.5 Also, if there was really no way to restore it, would they have not said so explicitly? This all points to the fact that either they did not think a solution would ever be needed, or they thought it was obvious. This is important to keep in mind given the limited sources related to semikhah.
The most important story when it comes to the laws of semikhah is the story of Rabbi Yehudah ben Bava,6 at one point the last sage with semikhah. 7 Rome had issued a decree against ordination. The punishment was the death of the ordainer, the death of the ordained, and the destruction of the city in which the ordination takes place. Rabbi Yehudah ben Bava went into a valley between two large mountains outside the Shabbat boundaries of both Usha and Shefar'am (in the Galilee), in order that no city would be destroyed. He ordained at least five elders (Rabbi Meir, Rabbi Yehudah, Rabbi Shimon, Rabbi Yose, and Rabbi Elazar ben Shammua, and – according to one opinion – also Rabbi Nehemiah) and paid for the act with his life. These elders are none other than the students of Rabbi Akiva who brought the Sanhedrin to Usha.8 The sacrifice of Rabbi Yehudah ben Bava informs us of a crucial fact: that only one ordained rabbi is necessary for ordination. This is critical for the revival of the Sanhedrin, for only one ordained rabbi would be needed to restore the chain of semikhah
4 “Hillel II,” The Jewish Encyclopedia (1906). See the “Calendar, History Of” entry for further reading.
5 Babylonian Talmud, Sanhedrin 14a.
6 Ibid.
7 Ibid. The Talmud’s seṯam layer says that the laws of fines would have ceased from the Jewish people, i.e. if he hadn't ordained those elders on that day, no court have been able to give fines because no sage would have had semikhah at that time but him.
8 Please consult the chart of rabbinic genealogy in Aryeh Carmell, Siya’ta li-Gemara = Aiding Talmud Study, Revised Edition (Jerusalem: Feldheim Publishers, 1998), pp. 85-8.
That the original chain of semikhah originated from Moshe supports this hypothesis.9 As a side note, it is important to state that according to Rabbi Abba, ordination must be done with the consent of the Sanhedrin and the Nasi,10 though this seems to be contradicted by the Babylonian Talmud and other sources.
Among the most crucial questions relevant for the revival of the Sanhedrin is how ordination is conducted. As was learned above, only one rabbi is required to ordain, though he may or may not require two others with him to gather a court (Rabbi Yehudah ben Bava was ordaining five, so he certainly wasn't alone). Furthermore, ordination is restricted to the Land of Israel. Or is it? According to the rabbis of Caesarea, one may ordain an elder outside Israel on the condition that they return to the country.11 Whether the ordination is in force before they do so is unclear. This may just mean that while ordination is technically allowed outside Israel, the Sages refrained from granting it.
However, the Sanhedrin may judge outside the land of Israel.12 According to the Rambam, they may even judge capital cases, although not according to Sefer Hahinukh. Another law allows for any court to ordain another judge if more judges are needed to judge the case.13 If the Sanhedrin may judge outside the land, and a court may ordain as necessary for a case, then they may ordain outside the Land of Israel! This is speculation, but is supported by cases like that of Yehudah ben Titus, who was in Rome when the Sages ordained him. It therefore seems that semikhah can be conferred outside the Land of Israel, if there is no way of doing it in Israel.
Still, what action is required for ordination? The Talmud (Sanhedrin 13b) says:
Rav Aḥa, son of Rava, said to Rav Ashi: Do they ordain him literally with the hand? Rav Ashi said to him: They ordain him by name by announcing it publicly; he is called: Rabbi, and they give him permission to adjudicate cases involving laws of fines.
For the Sages, ordination is an entirely verbal act. There is no document, and no physical action necessary other than the verbal action of calling the ordained, “rabbi.” Regrettably, this is a late source, and the lack of an earlier one is worrying, though that is the case for most halakhot for semikhah, which seem to be mentioned only in passing. Putting all of the evidence together, an argument can be made that ordination may be performed outside the Land of Israel, by the verbal address “rabbi,” and by a single rabbi (perhaps in the presence of two others). Of course, this is an unprecedented opinion.
9 Jerusalem Talmud, Sanhedrin 10:1.
10 Jerusalem Talmud, Sanhedrin 1:2.
11 Jerusalem Talmud Bikkurim 3:3.
12 Babylonian Talmud, Makkot 7a.
13 Mishnah Sanhedrin 4:4.
2) Responsa on the Revival of the Sanhedrin
There have been few attempts at reviving semikhah. It’s been viewed as a fool’s errand for much of Jewish history. Only two recorded attempts were made before the 20th century, after which the issue gained much more traction mostly due to Zionism and the establishment of the State of Israel. Of these, only one gained enough prominence to rattle the Jewish world: the famous attempt of Rabbi Yaʼakov Berav, the leader of the rabbis of Tzefat (Safed) in the 16th century. The attempt of the rabbis in Tzefat was due to a serious crisis: the Spanish Inquisition. Many Jews practiced Christianity in the public eye, but practiced Judaism in secret, and finally found refuge to return openly to Judaism later on. However, they feared they would be subject to the punishment of karet (being cut off from the Jewish people) since they practiced Christianity during those dark times. For this reason, Rabbi Berav felt compelled to re-establish the Sanhedrin in order to carry out malkot (lashes) to release these Jews from karet. The question was, how could he revive the Sanhedrin?
Only one method had been previously discussed at this point, by none other than the Rambam. Both in his commentary on the Mishnah and his Mishneh Torah, he offered a solution to reviving the Sanhedrin, with slight differences. The first, which he wrote in his twenties, offered an idealistic solution: a rosh yeshivah automatically has semikhah, because all of the students chose him as their head.14 Later, in his forties, he wrote that all of the sages in Israel must choose the new nasi. 15 Sadly, he had no proof for such a claim, arguing merely that there had to be a solution, otherwise there will never be a Sanhedrin again, which is necessary for Mashiach to come (as the Sanhedrin must appoint him). Knowing this, he states at the end, roughly translated: “the matter requires a decision.” The fact is, his method is not definitive. Nevertheless, Rabbi Berav went for it.
In 1538,16 the rabbis of Tzefat chose him and thereby “ordained” Rabbi Berav.17 Then, he ordained his students. Alas, only the rabbis of Tzefat chose him, so when Rabbi Levi ibn Haviv, then the Chief Rabbi of Jerusalem, received a letter indicating that Rabbi Berav is now ordained, it was quite the shock. Rabbi Levi criticized the letter,18 saying that it wasn’t legitimate since it says all the sages of Israel agreed upon his ordination, which was impossible since Jerusalem was out of the loop on this revival of semikhah. Strife then rose between the rabbis of Tzefat and Jerusalem, with Tzefat being adamant that the ordinations were valid and Jerusalem denying their legitimacy. It is from this feud that many a kunteres (booklet) was written. These mini-booklets containing arguments from both sides were recorded and preserved. Interestingly, Rabbi Yosef Karo was ordained but still doubted the validity of the ordinations, on the grounds that the Rambam wasn’t sure of his method himself.19 The Radbaz also criticized the Rambam, offering the alternative explanation that the
14 See the Rambam on Mishnah Sanhedrin 1:3.
15 See Mishneh Torah, Halakhot Sanhedrin 4:11.
16 Or 1537, it’s unclear what time of year it was.
17 Kiryat Sefer Hilkhot Sanhedrin 4.
18 R. Levi ibn Haviv, Kunteres Hassemikhah.
19 Kesef Mishneh Halakhot Sanhedrin 4.
semikhah can be revived by Eliyahu Hanavi, Mashiach himself, or perhaps the tribe of Reuven.20 This last suggestion is especially interesting, since he must have thought the tribe was outside Israel, perhaps leading one to believe that semikhah can be given outside the Land of Israel. Of course, the Rambam was a rationalist, and would have denied the Radbaz’s miraculous explanations. Still, the Radbaz was right about one thing: the Rambam has no proof. In the end, the revival died out due to widespread discord in the Jewish world.
Later, in the 1830s, a prominent student of the Vilna Gaon who had settled in Jerusalem, Rabbi Yisroel Shklov, sent Rav Baruch to find the tribe of Reuven, on the basis of the Radbaz’s suggestion.21 Sadly, it isn’t known what became of Rav Baruch, whose last known location was in Yemen. It’s strange to think that the tribe could have continued semikhah if they were outside the land. To this objection, Rabbi Shklov answered that the tribe of Reuven wasn’t around when the ruling that semikhah must be given in Israel was made. This is especially strange, because it would deny the Sanhedrin’s authority when making that decision, no matter where the missing tribe was. Unfortunately, no tribe was found.
All later attempts have taken the Maimonidean suggestion. All of those attempts have been controversial or failed. A new method or widespread approval is required for a successful attempt.
3) A Proposed Method for the Revival of the Sanhedrin
Throughout history, no attempt has landed its mark, and only the Maimonidean method has been seriously considered. In the face of widespread disagreement on halakhic practice, the chance of all rabbis deciding on one nasi for the new Sanhedrin seems slim. Furthermore, the Rambam’s method faces obstacles, such as its lack of sources. Many have accepted the Radbaz’s suggestion that Eliyahu Hanavi or Mashiach must revive the Sanhedrin (not mentioning the tribe of Reuven, but that’s very unlikely). However, Mashiach must be anointed by the Sanhedrin, so he can’t revive it. Also, Eliyahu Hanavi won’t come back according to a textual reading or rationalist opinions.
However, every rabbi with modern-day semikhah might bear actual semikhah. How is this possible? Well, it has already been established that ordination is possible outside the Land. Considering this, and that any rabbi who got semikhah was called “rabbi” by his teacher, it seems that every rabbi has semikhah, including the Amoraim of the Talmud. Why were they called “rav” then? There’s no answer, but perhaps that was purely linguistic. Even if one says that ordination cannot be done outside the Land of Israel, surely there’s a chain of rabbis who have been calling their students rabbis all this time? The bottom line is that semikhah still exists, as it must. Semikhah can’t be revived. There is no magical procedure that revives an ancient chain that has been broken. No amount of rabbis can ordain a nasi. The Sanhedrin can be created now, and it must be created now.
No matter the opinion of the reader, I hope that this paper was hopeful, informative, and the source of “food for thought.” May the reader be blessed in Torah and mitzvot.
20 The Radbaz Hilkhot Sanhedrin 4, Halakhah 11.
21 Sefer Halikutim to the Shabsei Frankel edition of the Rambam, Hilkhot Sanhedrin 4:11.
Monsters and Demons and Golems, Oh My! What role do monsters and other mythological creatures play in Judaism?
Truman Edell ’26
From the Behemoth and the Leviathan to Lilith and the Golem, monsters and other mythological creatures appear across various Judaic sources. They serve not only as agents of destruction but also as means to overcome challenges, provide protection, and deepen our relationship with Hashem. Monsters in the Jewish tradition are not overcome through violence and strength of arms but rather through piety, prayer, or acts of Hashem Himself. The Jewish tradition of reliance on education, study, and faith stands in stark contrast to other cultures’ mythologies, where typically, the violent acts of a lone hero bring down the monster (and thus, the monster serves as a foil to elevate that hero).
The Behemoth of the Thousand Mountains and the Leviathan (the Dragon of the Sea) – primordial monsters that rule the land and the sea – are excellent examples of the role monsters play in Judaic narrative. They show up most prominently in the Tanakh in the book of Job. In this text, Job, a devout follower of Hashem,
is challenged by God time and time again, each case requiring him to demonstrate unfaltering trust in God. Towards the end of the book, God asks him “how he intends to deal with the two most powerful and imperious beasts He created: the Behemoth, which consumes all vegetation, leaving nothing behind, and the Leviathan, which preys on all other sea creatures” (Malbim on Job 40-41).
The Behemoth is one of the last challenges of Job and is the “first of God’s works”; the monster is invincible to all but the “Maker[s]...sword unto him” (Job 40:19). God describes it as a monster with “strength in his loins, his might in the muscles… his tail stand[s] up like a cedar… His bones are like tubes of bronze, his limbs like iron rods… the mountains yield him produce… He can restrain the river from its rushing… the stream will gush with his command” (Job 40:16-8, 20-23). Given its power and apparent invincibility, Hashem tells of how only He could slay the Behemoth, and He does this to illustrate to Job His might. When Job recognizes God’s power, He states: “You have… spoken the truth about Me…My servant Job” (Job 42:7). This foreshadowed downfall of the Behemoth requires Job to show humility before, and faith in, Hashem. Even this, the most powerful beast, cannot hold a finger (or claw) to Hashem and thus deepens our respect and awe of Him.
Similarly, the Leviathan is a massive fear-invoking sea dragon, “no one so fierce to rouse him; Who then can stand up to Me?... His bared teeth strike terror. His protective scales are his pride, locked with a binding seal… His sneezings flash lightning…Flames blaze from his mouth… Divine beings are in dread as he rears up… There is no one… who can dominate him” (Job 41:2-25). The intimidating description of the Leviathan demonstrates its power. However, as with the Behemoth, Hashem will destroy it in the time of Mashiach. The Talmud (Bava Batra 75a) states that all who are righteous will eat from the Leviathan’s flesh and that its skin will be a great sukkah (every year, on Hoshana Rabba, we say a prayer about this). In other words, the primordial beasts will be sources of divine reward and glory for tzadikim. The idea that the Leviathan will be used as a sukkah shows that Hashem is here to protect us, provide sustenance for us, and ensure we are safe — a comforting concept. One of the main reasons behind these monsters is the demonstration of God’s love for his people.
The Leviathan and Behemoth contrast sharply with the monsters of more well-known mythologies. Take, for example, the Hydra and Minotaur of Greek mythology. The Hydra, a many-headed lake monster with regenerating heads, is associated with one of Hercules’s Twelve Labors. He must overcome the great beast on his path to becoming a classic hero. He does so through the use of his semidivine strength, sword, and flame. The Minotaur, a bull-man who guarded the maze of King Minos, acted as the climax of Theseus’s heroic journey. Theseus is often portrayed as having slain the Minotaur with his bare hands — without reliance on any divine inspiration or even a weapon. These monsters represent hurdles to their respective hero’s struggle, with an emphasis on self-reliance and individual accomplishment — almost the antithesis of the Jewish tradition. While they do share certain aspects of physical struggle, the Leviathan and Behemoth are not beasts to be overcome by man; instead, they are used as symbols to underscore God’s majesty and, ultimately, His generosity towards the righteous, who may feast on the Leviathan in Messianic times. Similarly, Job uses the challenge presented by the beast to understand the might of God and continues down his path of righteousness following God’s word and, as a result, receives a great reward. The core motivation behind Hashem’s creation of these beasts is not to strike fear into the hearts of men or to inspire their individual greatness but to deepen their connection with the Jewish religion and God Himself.
The Jewish tradition of demons, likewise, serves an important role: “They are more numerous than we are and they stand over us like mounds surrounding a pit” (Berakhot 6a) wrote Abaye in reference to demons. Though demons are not so prevalent in Tanakh (Judaism’s core text), they are commonplace in other books of Judaism, such as the Talmud. Various rabbis in Berakhot 6a warn of the abundance of demons around us: some cause physical suffering, some epilepsy, and some yetzer hara. Others believe that demons are not actual sentient entities in and of themselves but rather the physical manifestations of evil intent (sitra achra). For example, in Bava Batra 16a, Reish Lakish argues that “Satan, the evil inclination, and the Angel of Death are one,” implying that demons, specifically Satan, are the same thing as the evil inclination. Interestingly, demons can also be messengers of God: “an evil spirit from the Lord began to terrify him” states Samuel 16:14, and Pirkei Avot 5:6 says that on Erev Shabbat of the week of creation, “some say: also the demons” were created. This raises the question: why does Hashem make demons in the first place?
The answer, in examining the liturgy, is that demons serve to help reinforce traditions and behaviors, to challenge us and help us grow. For example, behaviors that guard against demons range from saying the Shema (Berakhot 5a), to being in another’s company while asleep (Berakhot 6a), to being modest in the bathroom (Berakhot 62a). There are many ways to defend against demons and the spiritual and physical challenges they impose, and by conquering them we better ourselves. One of the first lessons in the Torah is that which God gave to Cain: “Sin crouches at your door; its urge is toward you, yet you can be its master” (Genesis 4:7). Demons, which cause sin, represent challenges that one can overcome through discipline rather than violence and, by doing so, one becomes a master of his or her impulses.
Lilith is a great example of this tradition - she is a demoness who is said to be Adam’s first wife. She preys on women in childbirth, young men, and children. She is traditionally portrayed as a succubus, a demon that seduces men to commit sexual sins. Though Lilith is referenced many times in Jewish literature, the Alphabet of Ben Sira 34 is the most important source on her. Here we read that God “created for [Adam] a wife out of the earth like he had been, and called her Lilith… Lilith responded, ‘we are equal to each other’... But they would not listen to one another. When Lilith saw this, she pronounced the Ineffable Name and flew away… The Holy One, Blessed be He said to Adam, ‘If she agrees to come back, good. If not, she must permit one hundred of her children to die every day.’ … She said to them, ‘Let me be. I was created only to cause illness to infants’... Every day, one hundred demons perish….”
Lilith, a being as old as creation, mothers demons, injures infants, and, as mentioned later, targets men who sleep alone. The Baal Shem Tov adds that Lilith takes prayer without intent, or disqualified prayer, and renders it useless, possibly even making it work against the person in prayer; this threat, however, can incentivize one to pray with intent and thus deepen their connection with Hashem. One potential way to defend against Lilith is to put the name of the three angels that Hashem sent to retrieve her — Sanoy, Sansanoy, and Semangalof in the Alphabet of Ben Sira — on birthing amulets. Another interpretation of how to defend against Lilith is brought by Rabbi Isaiah Halevi Horowitz in his Shnei Luchot HaBerit (Shelah, Part 3:34), “we are to serve the Lord with fear, awe, and tears, to help us eliminate Lilith.” These two sources teach us that by improving ourselves spiritually through sacred rituals, such as with amulets, or by serving Hashem, we can protect against Lilith.
Lilith has many parallels with the Greek mythological creatures known as the Sirens. The Sirens are halfwoman, half-bird creatures who, with their beautiful songs, lure men to their deaths. Odysseus, the protagonist in Homer’s Odyssey, avoided their call by having his crew plug their ears with wax and tie him to a mast so that he could hear the call but not be lured. The lesson of the Sirens aligns with that of Lilith as both represent the intense and rewarding struggle to overcome the yetzer hara. However, Odysseus’s triumph is an individual feat and physical triumph — he is physically restrained from responding to the Siren’s temptation. In the case of Lilith, we are taught that temptation is resisted through deference to Hashem’s teachings.
Judaic monsters are not all embodiments of destruction and chaos; take, for example, the Golem, which is created to protect and serve the Jewish community. A Golem is an anthropoid creature made of unformed clay and imbued by learned rabbeim with a soul, just like Hashem made Adam. The primary method for animating the construct appears in Sefer Yetzirah, chapter 2, which discusses how forms can be imbued with speech and the 22-letter name of Hashem. There are many examples of Golems in Judaic texts, the most famous of which is the Golem of Rabbi Judah Loew, the Maharal of Prague, who inscribed in clay the word emet (truth), spoke the divine name, and brought the form to life. It protected the Jewish people from persecution by the Holy Roman Empire. However, it soon became difficult to control, and R. Judah ended up erasing the letter ayin, transforming the inscription to met, meaning death. One central lesson that the kabbalists derive from the Golem is that we are participating in Hashem’s divine act of creation. Similarly to judges who connect with Hashem through their judgment, creating a living thing also imitates Hashem’s divine act of creation. Unlike demonstrably evil demons or destructive monsters, Golems deepen our understanding and appreciation of Hashem, just as His miracles provide us with physical protection from enemies.
Monsters and mythological beings are prevalent in Jewish literature, wherein they act as catalysts for spiritual growth. These creatures serve to deepen our connection with Hashem by emphasizing his power, offering opportunities to emulate Him, presenting physical obstacles, or embodying spiritual hardships that we must overcome. The Leviathan and Behemoth highlight God’s might and generosity. Lilith and the demons represent physical and spiritual temptations. The Golem represents God’s protection. This is quite distinct from other well-known mythologies, where similar entities often serve as catalysts for violence and the development of the individual hero. It is important to note, however, that this study is based on more high-profile creatures of Jewish mythology and is not yet comprehensive — there may, in fact, be monsters in Judaism that serve a more classic narrative role. Similarly, the comparison with other religions was anecdotal and based principally on Greek mythology — a more expansive study would perhaps yield mythologies whose monsters serve the same purpose as Judaism’s. It is clear, however, that the ones presented in this paper highlight the unique nature of Jewish mythology. Each story serves to deepen our appreciation for Jewish tradition and our connection with Hashem.
Inspiration through Imitation: How Chanukah Evolved Amidst
Zoe Brisman ’26
Christian Traditions
The month of December famously marks the winter holiday season. While Jews celebrate Chanukah and Christians celebrate Christmas–two seemingly different holidays entirely–the holidays do share some similarities, particularly as exhibited through shared customs and traditions. The story of Chanukah transpired around 165 BCE, predating the birth of Jesus, which occurred sometime between 4-6 BCE, by about 160 years. While Chanukah began to be celebrated immediately after the events that established it, Christmas was not really celebrated until the mid-fourth century CE. The manner in which these two holidays are marked has evolved over time such that they share various similarities, prompting the question, “who copied whom.” In Vayikra 18:2 we are told,
You shall not copy the practices of the land of Egypt where you dwelt, or of the land of Canaan to which I am taking you; nor shall you follow their laws.
Our tradition has extrapolated this to mean that Jews should not engage in activities or behaviors that mimic the gentiles, on the understanding that Jewish ways of doing things are more holy and ethical than those of their neighbors. So, if, in fact, the Jews adopted some Christmas traditions for use during Chanukah, might this pose a problem requiring the reconsideration of our Chanukah traditions?
Regarding thematic similarities, Christmas and Chanukah are both religious holidays that commemorate a unique event. In practice, Christmas and Chanukah are similar in that they both fall in December and involve
family time and gift-giving.1 Thus, while some Christians engage in the renowned gift-giving game of Secret Santa2 during the holiday season, Jews instead might play Mystery Maccabee,3 which seemingly differs from Secret Santa only in its title. In almost all other aspects, however, the holidays are completely distinct. First, they each commemorate a different historical event. Chanukah is a celebration of the victory of the Maccabees in their revolt4 against the Greek Seleucid Empire, followed by a successful rededication of the Second Temple of Jerusalem that had been desecrated by the Seleucids under the rule of King Antiochus IV Epiphanes. By contrast, Christmas commemorates the birth of Jesus, whom Christians believe to be the son of God and Messiah. Christmas and Chanukah are also different in regards to the length and time of their occurrence. While Christmas consistently falls on December 25th of each year of the solar, Gregorian calendar, Chanukah is celebrated on the 25th of Kislev in the Jewish lunisolar calendar. Due to the differences between these two calendars, the holidays sometimes overlap on the Greogrian calendar. The number 25 that both holidays share is likely a pure coincidence: the 25th of Kislev was simply the day on which the Maccabees had rededicated the temple, while the 25th of December was the date of the Sol Invictus (associated with the Winter Solstice) in the Roman Empire, where many Christians lived. Not only do the dates of the two holidays differ, but the length of time that each holiday lasts differs as well. Chanukah is celebrated for a total of eight days, commemorating the vial of oil in the desecrated temple that while appearing to be sufficient for only one day of Menorah lighting nevertheless miraculously lasted for eight. Christmas, however, lasts for one day, though there are certain Christian denominations that celebrate it for twelve, a festive time known as the Twelvetide.5
The centrality of each holiday for their respective religions is drastically different as well. Christmas is a very important holiday for Christians, with the most central one being Easter, which commemorates the day Christians believe Jesus was resurrected. In fact, Christmas is a federal holiday, which means time off from work, as many Christians congregate in churches on both Christmas Eve and Christmas Day to remember Jesus’s birth. The early 20th century marks the beginning of more secular celebrations of Christmas involving Christmas trees, parades, decorations, gift-giving, and Santa Claus. On the contrary, while Chanukah may be special and beloved, it is a minor holiday for Jews, in comparison to Rosh Hashanah and Yom Kippur, for example. Even in the cultural sense, Chanukah is less significant than other Jewish holidays, as it does not warrant time off from work and is more so a matter of lighting candles, telling the Chanukah story, and reciting prayers for eight nights. It is not even a biblical holiday; rather, it is a holiday established by the rabbis to commemorate specific events from the second century BCE. Finally, Christmas and Chanukah are generally celebrated differently. Christmas involves going to Christmas Mass, enjoying a hearty supper, and opening presents under the Christmas tree. Chanukah celebrations, on the other hand, involve candle lighting, prayers, and fried food, yet there are few special services at synagogue.
1 Gift-giving on Christmas began around 336 CE, yet it became an increasingly widespread tradition in the early 19th century. Gift-giving on Chanukah, however, was introduced for the first time only in the late 19th century.
2 This game is believed to have originated in the early 19th century.
3 Also known as Chanukah Harry, this game has been traced back to 1989.
4 Namely, the Maccabean Revolt.
5 The Twelvetide begins on the day that commemorates the birth of Jesus and ends on Epiphany, the feast commemorating the visit of “wise men” to the baby Jesus in Bethlehem, i.e. December 25-January 5 at night.
While Christmas and Chanukah are considerably different, their numerous similarities present a question regarding the origins of their traditions. Did one religion adopt the traditions of the other? Looking strictly at the evolution of Chanukah in the U.S., there is no doubt that over the past two centuries, Jews have modified Chanukah celebrations in the image of Christmas. For example, in the 19th century, American rabbis feared that Jewish children would feel no interest or incentive to attend synagogue during Chanukah. This fear, combined with inspiration from Christmas events held for children in churches, resulted in the introduction of special Chanukah celebrations for children at synagogue by American rabbis. The rabbis would recite the Chanukah story, light candles, sing hymns, and distribute candies. Gradually, Chanukah evolved into a holiday that enabled families to connect to their Jewish roots and traditions. Beginning in the early 20th century, Jews began to be inspired even more by Christmas traditions. Because gift-giving on Christmas had become such a pivotal Christian tradition, Jews in America began buying gifts for their children on Chanukah to prevent them from feeling excluded from the excitement of the holiday season. Jewish immigrants from Europe engaged in this new tradition partly for the purpose of making their children feel included and partly for the purpose of signifying their economic success in the New World. Until this point, there was never a strong historical tradition of Jews giving gifts on Chanukah, yet there was the historical tradition of giving children Chanukah gelt, a word which means “money” in Yiddish. Additionally, in 1973, the Lubavitcher Rebbe launched a worldwide campaign aimed at promoting public menorah displays and candle lightings. This new tradition seems to be related to the public displays of Christmas trees throughout the U.S. but is importantly intended to also reflect Jewish pride and confidence. It is also noteworthy that it is also an expansion of the value of pirsumei nisa (publicizing of the miracle) that is recorded in the Talmud as a goal of the menorah (Shabbat 23).
So, to answer the question of “who copied whom,” it is evident that Christmas in the U.S. has certainly impacted how Jews celebrate Chanukah. I do not feel, however, that all Chanukah traditions necessarily mimic the Chrisitian ones entirely, or even intentionally. For example, while there is an aspect of the Chanukah gift-giving tradition that stemmed from not wanting Jewish children to feel left out, there is also an aspect of Jewish immigrant parents being proud of their economic success and exhibiting that pride through the presents they give their children. There are thus two ways to perceive the Chanukah traditions that bear resemblance to Christian ones: either the Jews are mimicking the gentiles for the sake of being like the gentiles, or the Jews are merely finding inspiration in others’ religious practices that they choose to implement as their own. I believe the latter explanation is the more compelling and accurate of the two. Just as Christians proudly celebrate and commercialize Christmas through placing Christmas trees in public domains, so too Jews display their joy and pride by placing and lighting menorahs in public areas. Even if one chooses to understand this behavior as “copying,” it is not an imitation that stems from wanting to be more like the other nations of the world; on the contrary, it stems from a desire to develop pride in being Jewish and being distinct. In the verse from Vayikra mentioned earlier that prohibits the Jews from copying the deeds of the Egyptians and the Canaanites, Rashi clarifies that this is due to the fact that the Egyptians and Canaanites were more corrupt than other nations. It is thus clear that God issued the prohibition for the Jews of copying the other nations of the world to prevent them from adopting their immoral ways. In fact, the poskim say that if a gentile practice makes sense and is not religion-based, we are allowed to follow it. Yet, given that the mimicking of Christian traditions in this case is used for good, namely to strengthen our Jewish pride, I would argue that the similarities between Chanukah and Christmas traditions are not problematic at all and rather serve as a point of strength in our faith.
Another justification for Jews imitating Christmas traditions, if they do so at all, can be derived from the history of the dreidel. In the seventeenth century, Rabbi Yair Haim Bacharach (1638-1702) mentions a practice whereby Jews, perhaps due to guilt from past persecutions,6 avoided playing games and indulging in levity throughout the year, reserving the games and gambling with dreidels for Chanukah. Adamant that Chanukah should be a time of praising and thanking God, Rabbi Yair Haim Bacharch’s father, Rabbi Shimshon Bacharch (1607-1670), disagreed with this practice and proposed an alternative. Rabbi Shimshon Bacharch suggested that levity be reserved for the eight days between Christmas and New Years, rather than during Chanukah, but the other rabbis of the time fervently rejected this proposal. In the eighteenth century, Rabbi Yaakov ben Tzvi of Emden, also known as the Yaavetz (1697-1776),7 accused his peers of hedonism and indulging in excessive drinking, games, and gambling during Chanukah rather than focusing on the spiritual meaning of the holiday. Unlike in the past, specifically during the time of Rabbi Bacharch and the Yaavetz, when dreidels were used for excess gambling, the dreidel today is merely a toy for children that offers a chance at fun family bonding time. It is proof, as Rabbi Haim Ovadia suggests, that “any practice could be turned into a positive one, provided that it is not done to mimic others, and that we invest it with a unique and inspiring narrative.” It is noteworthy that Rabbi Ovadia views the practice as permissible “provided that it is not done to mimic others,” as opposed to saying, “provided that it does not mimic others.” The careful choice of language here demonstrates the significance of intention, suggesting that the act of copying gentiles alone does not pose an issue but the act of copying gentiles for the mere sake of mimicking them becomes problematic. Following this logic, Jewish traditions on Chanukah that are inspired by Christian ones are acceptable with the stipulation that they are not adopted with the sole objective of being “like the other nations” and are implemented in a meaningful way. So, next year, when we light our Hanukkiyot, exchange gifts with friends, and celebrate Chanukah, let’s strive to infuse more unique meaning into our inspired traditions and pride into our Jewish hearts.
6 In the 17th century, many Jewish communities faced hardships such as pogroms, forced conversions, expulsions, etc. Accordingly, many Jews all over the world felt the need to curb their frivolity in solidarity with their Jewish brothers, reserving leisure for only truly festive times, like Chanukah, in this case.
7 His life overlapped with that of Rabbi Yair Haim Bacharach for five years.
Forgiveness: Necessary or Forced
Mikayla Leifer ’26
The world is filled with people who make mistakes, some of which can deeply hurt others. These wrongdoings are not limited to crimes. They can also include acts of betrayal, dishonesty, cruelty, or disrespect toward a friend or peer. In Judaism, we are taught that we can do teshuvah when we sin, and Hashem will forgive us. While seeking forgiveness is a process with clear steps, granting forgiveness is far more complex. This raises several important questions: How does a person truly forgive? Is there a minimum level of forgiveness that we are obligated to give? If forgiveness is tied to emotions rather than actions, how can we be commanded to do it? I have often struggled with these questions in my own life. When someone I trust hurts me, I wonder what comes next. Do I forgive them and try to move forward, or do I hold onto my pain to protect myself? Is there a specific “correct answer” or should it depend on my feelings? The Torah provides guidance on this issue but does not offer simple answers. This essay will explore the concept of forgiveness between adam lechavero, one person and another, using textual sources to examine what true forgiveness looks like and whether a broken relationship can ever fully heal.
In my personal experience, I have found that forgiving those who have hurt me can be easier than holding onto resentment. Otherwise, too much of my time and energy becomes consumed by negativity, preventing me from focusing on personal growth and improvement. In short, holding grudges can feel like a waste of time. However, the Rambam presents a strong and definitive stance on forgiveness. In the Mishneh Torah, he writes:
When the person who wronged him asks for forgiveness, he should forgive him with a complete heart and a willing spirit. Even if he aggravated and wronged him severely, he should not seek revenge or bear a grudge (Laws of Repentance 2:10).
According to the Rambam, forgiveness is not merely encouraged: it is an obligation. He makes it clear that once someone seeks forgiveness, we must grant it wholeheartedly, without lingering resentment or the desire for retribution. This perspective raises a significant challenge. The commandment is not just about actions but also about emotions. The Rambam believes that the law is not only dictating behavior, but is commanding an internal emotional state, requiring a person to forgive even when they may not genuinely feel ready. While this emphasizes the high moral standard Judaism sets for interpersonal relationships, it also raises the challenge of aligning one’s emotions with religious obligations. This idea leads to a broader discussion about whether the Torah can command emotions and what that means for those who struggle with forgiveness.
There is a debate about whether the Torah can command emotions. In the Shema (Devarim 6:4-9), the Torah commands us to love Hashem. Understanding this commandment presents a challenge—how can we be expected to control our emotions? While it is more practical for the Torah to command actions that are within our control, emotions are more complex and not always easily regulated. This difficulty is similarly evident in the commandment, “Love your fellow as yourself” (Vayikra 19:18). Is it truly possible to love someone as much as we love ourselves? The Rambam addresses this question by explaining: “What I want for myself, I should
want for him, and whatever I do not want for myself or my friends, I should not want for him” (Sefer HaMitzvot, Positive Commandment 206). He acknowledges the challenge of loving others to the same extent that we love ourselves. Instead, he interprets the commandment as an instruction to avoid jealousy and to genuinely wish for others to succeed, just as we desire success for ourselves. The Ramban also derives a similar idea from the wording of the pasuk itself. He notes that the Torah does not say ve-ahavta et re’akha kamokha but rather ve-ahavta le-re’akha kamokha (Vayikra 19:18). This distinction suggests that we are not expected to love others in the same way we love ourselves, but rather to extend love toward them. You should want the best for them and rejoice in their well-being without jealousy. This interpretation clarifies that the commandment is not about feeling identical love for others but about fostering a mindset of generosity and goodwill. While we have established that the Torah may not directly command us to feel love for someone, we must still address whether it can command us not to hate or hold a grudge against others.
Another aspect of this discussion is the commandment against harboring hatred. The Torah commands, "You shall not hate your kinsfolk in your heart. Reprove your kin, but incur no guilt on their account. You shall not take vengeance or bear a grudge against members of your people" (Vayikra 19:17-18). These verses emphasize that we are prohibited from holding hatred or grudges against others. According to the Ramban, this means we should not allow hatred to fester in our hearts. Instead, we are required to confront the person who has wronged us, offering them an opportunity to apologize or make amends. Everyone seems to agree that the Torah does command us against the emotion of hatred, including Ramban. The Ramban also highlights that, even after addressing the situation, we should not harbor any lingering resentment. Therefore, we must forgive and remove the sin from our hearts. From this perspective, the Torah teaches that we should not hold hatred toward anyone and that we should always allow others the chance to seek forgiveness and atonement.
According to the Ramban, it is clearly very important to allow everyone the opportunity to seek forgiveness. However, many people try to avoid confrontational situations. This raises the question: how can someone tell another person that they have wronged them, giving them a chance to ask for forgiveness? How can we do this in a way that is effective and does not cause more harm? In Parashat Yitro, we see Yitro critique Moshe’s leadership. He says:
What is this thing that you are doing to the people? Why do you act alone, while all the people stand about you from morning until evening?...The thing you are doing is not right; you will surely wear yourself out, and these people as well. For the task is too heavy for you; you cannot do it alone
(Shemot 18:14, 17-18).
Yitro criticizes Moshe for the way he is handling his responsibilities as a leader. Rabbi Dr. Mordechai Schiffman, a psychologist and author of Psyched for Torah, explores how psychological concepts are woven into the Torah. Specifically, Rabbi Dr. Schiffman speaks about this encounter between Moshe and Yitro. He highlights Moshe’s ability to accept criticism but also emphasizes the way Yitro delivers it. Rabbi Dr. Schiffman outlines three key factors that made Yitro’s critique effective. The first important factor is having a strong relationship with the recipient. When someone knows that the person giving feedback cares about them, they are more likely to see it as constructive rather than harmful. In Moshe and Yitro’s case, Moshe trusts Yitro and knows he
respects him, making the criticism easier to accept. The second factor is focusing on a specific issue rather than criticizing the person as a whole. If criticism is too general, the recipient is more likely to become defensive because they feel personally attacked. Lastly, when offering criticism, it is important to provide guidance or advice on how to improve. This helps the recipient feel empowered rather than discouraged. Giving criticism, especially when seeking an apology, can be challenging. However, following these three guidelines—having a close relationship, making the criticism specific, and offering advice—can make the process smoother and more effective.
Although we understand that forgiveness is crucial and a commandment from the Torah, it remains one of the most challenging actions for a person to take. What is it that drives people to forgive their peers, especially when their instincts might urge them to protect themselves and hold on to their anger? The Gemara (Rosh Hashanah 17a) provides insight into this question. Rava states:
With regard to whoever forgoes his reckonings with others for injustices done to him, the heavenly court in turn forgoes punishment for all his sins, as it is stated: “He bears sin and forgives transgression” (Micah 7:18). Whose sins does He bear? The sins of one who forgoes his reckonings with others for injustices committed against him.
This teaching emphasizes how crucial forgiveness is in the eyes of Hashem. Hashem wants us, as his people, to forgive others and release any grudges. Not only does forgiving benefit us spiritually, but it also leads to a more peaceful and harmonious life. However, while we recognize the importance of forgiveness, it is also vital to consider what happens to our relationships after we forgive. Does forgiveness restore a relationship to its original state, or does it change it in some way? These questions lead us to reflect on how forgiveness can impact the bond we share with others and how it shapes the way we interact moving forward.
To fully grasp the meaning of forgiveness, we must recognize the impact a dispute can have on a relationship. Consider a scenario where Friend A betrays Friend B’s trust by revealing a personal secret. What happens next? Typically, the sequence of events unfolds as follows: First, Friend B, who was betrayed, feels hurt and upset. Then, Friend A approaches Friend B to ask for forgiveness. What happens after that depends on the individuals involved. If Friend B forgives Friend A, what does their relationship look like now? Can they truly return to the way things were before? Or will a lingering sense of distrust always remain? This dilemma is explored in Sefer Shemot, chapter 34, where Hashem demonstrates the process of forgiveness. Hashem instructs Moshe (34:1): “Carve two tablets of stone like the first ones, and I will inscribe upon the tablets the words that were on the first tablets, which you shattered.” Later (34:6), Hashem reveals His 13 Middot, emphasizing His compassion and mercy: “Hashem passed before him and proclaimed: ‘Hashem, Hashem, a God compassionate and gracious, slow to anger, abounding in kindness and faithfulness.’” These verses illustrate that while Hashem forgives Bnei Yisrael after the sin of the Golden Calf, the second set of luchot is only “םיִ֑נַ
“like the first ones.” The key distinction here is the letter “ָכָּ ”, meaning “like.” According to R. Dena Weiss (https://www. youtube.com/watch?app=desktop&v=6dIX9WWHbL0), this subtle linguistic difference teaches us an important
lesson: even when forgiveness is granted, the relationship is not necessarily restored to its original state. Hashem forgives Bnei Yisrael, but their connection with Him is altered in some way.
This concept is deeply relevant to interpersonal forgiveness. As humans, we are called to emulate Hashem’s ways, as demonstrated by the Talmud’s guidance to embody the 13 Middot—mirroring Hashem’s traits in our own lives. Yet, just as Hashem’s relationship with Bnei Yisrael evolved after chet ha’egel, human relationships inevitably change following a betrayal. Even when forgiveness is granted, the bond may not return to its original state. Recognizing this is crucial because it emphasizes that forgiveness does not erase the past but rather allows for moving forward with a deeper understanding. This reflects the core message of this essay: while forgiveness is vital, we must acknowledge that healing does not always mean a return to the way things were, but instead, a growth towards something new. Sometimes that new stage of the relationship is even stronger than the original was, and sometimes it is weaker. Mostly, it will be changed in some way.
The topic of forgiveness has many different layers that need to be addressed. My goal for this essay is to show the importance of forgiveness both from the Torah’s point of view and for its impact on our own lives. In life, we are faced with difficult situations, like forgiving those who hurt us. I have found that forgiveness is not always easy, and it can be hard to let go of past hurt. However, when I do forgive, I feel a sense of relief. Forgiveness allows me to rebuild and strengthen relationships in a new way. The Torah’s teachings on forgiveness remind us that, while it might not erase the past, it is essential for our personal growth and for maintaining meaningful relationships.
What is a Woman’s Role in Observing Mitzvot?
Sarah Cohen ’26
The question of what is a woman’s role regarding the completion of commandments is a highly discussed topic with many varying ideas and explanations. The general agreement that has emerged from these discussions is that women are obligated in the negative commandments (except for a few, such as shaving one’s face) but are not obligated in positive time-bound commandments. Women can voluntarily take on fulfilling these commandments, with a few possible exceptions, such as tallit and tefillin.
Why are women not obligated to perform positive time-bound commandments?
The exemption of women from positive time-bound mitzvot has been a debated topic amongst religious scholars for centuries. This exemption is not found explicitly in the Torah itself but is derived and discussed in the Mishnah (Kiddushin 1:7) and Talmud (particularly Kiddushin 29a) where it says
All positive time-bound commandments, men are obligated and women are exempt. The reason for this, however, is not stated explicitly in the Talmud and is debated. Some commentators attribute this exemption to the traditional household roles of women, while others believe there is a fundamental spiritual distinction between men and women. Many commentators have their own unique views which I would divide into three main categories: 1) The “traditional” or “oldfashioned” perspective which includes Rabbi Abudarham and Rashi, both commentators from several centuries ago, whose ideas seem to reflect the time periods they lived in; 2) The “different but equal” approach, which includes Rabbi Eidels and the Zohar, both of which incline in a kabbalistic direction. And finally, 3) the understanding that contrasts a woman’s spirituality to a man’s.
1) The “Old-Fashioned” Approach
In the Sefer Abudarham, Rabbi David Abudarham explains that women are exempt from these mitzvot because a woman is subservient to her husband and must first satisfy his needs, before attending to her own. He presents the scenario of a woman’s husband asking her to help him perform his commandments, noting that there isn’t a good outcome, no matter how she acts. If she performs the duty for her husband, “woe is to her from He (i.e. Hashem) who formed her.” But if she performs the duty for herself, “woe is to her from her husband.” Therefore, in order that the woman can be at peace with her husband and not sacrifice fulfilling commandments for Hashem, she is not obligated in these mitzvot.
It is often suggested that the reason that women are exempt from time-bound commandments is because their primary duty belongs to the domestic responsibilities of the home. Similarly, in his halakhic responsa, the Igros Moshe, Rabbi Moshe Feinstein explains that women’s primary role is childbearing and that in order not to conflict with that and the care of children, they are exempted from positive time-bound commandments.
2) Different but Equal
Rabbi Shmuel Eidels (the Maharsha) offers the “different but equal” explanation. He explains:
Man and woman are two parts that come together to make a whole. Their spiritual roles are divided: men have mitzvot that will help with certain aspects on their part while women have mitzvot that help with certain aspects on their part. At the end of the day, when they come together, everything is completed as a whole.
The Zohar presents a similar idea, namely that man and woman are equal but have different natural inclinations. It explains:
Men are more drawn to judgement while women are more drawn to the attribute of kindness; therefore, men are given more commandments. Through this, Judaism is able to achieve a balance of kindness and judgement.
3) A Woman’s Spirituality
Rav Yosef Dov Soloveitchik explains in his writing ברָהַ שִׁפְנַ that the woman’s exemption stems from the fact that she has no need for the extra mitzvot. He explains:
Women are inherently holy and don’t need positive time-bound commandments to achieve closeness to Hashem.
The Maharal had previously explained that a woman’s spirituality is inherently whole and timeless but that men need the external framework of mitzvot to grow themselves spiritually. Building on the same theme, Rav Hirsch explains that a man needs more reminders to make sure he stays on the path of his spiritual journey, but a woman does not need reminders.
Exceptions
Although women are not typically obligated in positive time-bound mitzvot, there are a number of exceptions to this general rule. Some notable ones include: eating matzah on Pesach; participating in kiddush on Shabbat; participating in Hakhel, the Torah reading by the king every seven years during Sukkot; lighting Chanukah candles, hearing Megillat Esther, and drinking four cups of wine.
The Talmud (Pesachim 43b) teaches that
i.e. women are obligated in the eating of matzah because we connect the positive and negative commandments of matzah and chametz. In other words, since women are obligated in the negative commandment of not eating chametz, they also must
fulfill the positive commandment of eating matzah. From this we learn the general rule that if a positive commandment is directly related to a prohibition, women are obligated in that positive commandment. Similarly, because women are obligated in the negative commandment of רָוָמִש, they are also obligated in the positive commandment of רָוָכִז, sanctifying Shabbat, including through kiddush.
In the case of Hakhel, the Torah explicitly states “ףטהַוָ
(Devarim 31:12), namely that all men, women, and children must listen to the reading. Therefore, we learn that women are included in this positive time-bound mitzvah.
Finally, women are obligated in lighting Chanukah candles, hearing Megillat Esther, and drinking four cups of wine on Pesach, based on the same principle of סָנַהַ
Because women were involved in these miracles, they are nowadays required to be involved in these mitzvot.
Through learning that a woman’s role in mitzvot differs from a man’s, we learn that faith and relationships with Hashem are highly individual, and that each person must find their own meaning in their faith and their own ways to serve Hashem.
Women and Kiddush
Deborah Rubinstein ’26
Friday night kiddush is a ritual. In my house, every Friday, my father recites kiddush. The man of the house making kiddush for his family is what I had always viewed as normal, as the tradition. It was not until recently that I realized that the father is not the one reciting the prayer in some households. When I stayed at a friend's house for Shabbat, her mother said kiddush. Not only was it odd that it was not the father, it was not even a man. This led me to ask whether women can make kiddush for men. If yes, is this ideal?
To begin to answer this question, I looked at the source for the mitzvah of kiddush. We learn that we must recite kiddush from the pasuk in the Ten Commandments that commands us to “remember the Shabbat” (Shemot 20:8). According to halakhah, we remember Shabbat by reciting kiddush. This mitzvah seems to be a positive time-bound commandment, in which women are generally not obligated (Mishnah Kiddushin 1:7). To understand why women could be obligated in the mitzvah, I looked in the Talmud, at Berachot 20b.
In this Gemara, Rav Ada bar Ahava states that according to the Torah, women are obligated in kiddush. The Gemara then questions how this is so since women are not obligated to perform positive time-bound mitzvot. Abbaye answers the question by saying that women are exempt on a Torah level but still obligated on a rabbinic level. Rava is displeased with this answer for two reasons. First, Rav Ada bar Ahava said their obligation was according to the Torah. Second, this logic would imply that women are obligated in all positive time-bound mitzvot on a rabbinic level, which is untrue. Rava makes sense of this by explaining how women are obligated on a Torah level in kiddush, based on the juxtaposition of the positive zachor (remember) and negative shamor (keep) aspects of Shabbat. The midrash believes that Hashem miraculously uttered both words simultaneously at Har Sinai, in order to accentuate the connection between the two aspects of Shabbat. Since women are obligated in the negative aspects of Shabbat and refrain from work (רָוֹמִשִׁ), they are also obligated in the positive (רָוֹכִז) aspects. This reasoning makes sense to me because when thinking about the obligations of Shabbat, I think of them as a whole rather than the separate obligations of רָוֹכִז and רָוֹמִשִׁ.
Even though women are obligated to perform the mitzvah of kiddush, we are still left with the question of whether women can say kiddush on behalf of men. The Shulchan Arukh (Orach Chayim 271) rules that since women are obligated on a Torah level just like men, women can discharge men from their obligations. As Rava had previously explained, women are obligated in kiddush according to the Torah, just as men are. However, this is still not the final answer to the question. Even though women are technically allowed to say kiddush on behalf of men, is this ideal? The Mishnah Berurah on the Shulchan Arukh answers this question.
The Mishnah Berurah (271:4) says that women can say kiddush on behalf of men in their own homes but should not do so publicly, and this can be taken to mean when there are guests. It says that women saying kiddush on behalf of men when there are guests from a separate home could be אָתלֵימִ אָלֵיז (“zila milta”), meaning something that is inappropriate or degrading. While he does not elaborate on this, the Mishnah Berurah might assume that men are dominant in society (this is how men were perceived at the time), and a woman saying kiddush on their behalf implies that the men are too ignorant to say kiddush. Nevertheless, the
Mishnah Berurah agrees that fundamentally, a woman can and should say kiddush on behalf of men and his only concern is for some public shaming.
I question whether the sensitivity of the Mishna Berura is relevant to our time and culture, since societal norms have evolved, and gender roles are not as set as previously. Men are not seen as inherently socially dominant anymore and education is equally available to men and women. Therefore, women saying kiddush on behalf of guests should no longer be an issue.
To conclude, women have the same obligation in kiddush as men, and have the ability to recite kiddush for men. Some might still consider women saying kiddush for guests an issue because of the problem of אָלֵיז אָתלֵימִ while others might no longer follow this reasoning as the logic is no longer applicable. This answer teaches me that although kiddush is a ritual, the traditions that go with it vary for every family. Even though my father always makes kiddush in my home, that does not mean that other households that do differently are incorrectly following the mitzvah. Additionally, I now greatly appreciate varied traditions within the halakhic guidelines. Although kiddush has the same content across households, it is presented differently in every home.
Jewish Attitudes Towards Abortion
Jack Friedman ’26
The sanctity of life is a core tenet of Judaism. Many halakhic teachings, including those from the Torah, the Talmud, and later rabbis, value life above all else. However, the ever-present issue of abortion appears to blur the lines of life, with seemingly two competing lives at play. In the modern political climate, where abortion is a divisive and controversial topic, it is more important than ever to investigate the Jewish position on this issue, and the greater Jewish view on the value of life.
We are taught that the mitzvot are meant to facilitate life, not lead to death. As the Torah states (Vayikra 18:5), You must keep my laws and my rulings, which a person will do and live by them. In the Gemara (Yoma 85b), Shmuel notes that the phrase “םהַב יחׇוָ” - live by them, teaches us that a person should not die as a result of doing a mitzvah. Indeed, the Rambam cites this same proof in the Mishneh Torah to state that if one is faced between violating a Torah commandment or being killed, one must violate the commandment. However, there are a few notable exceptions to this rule (that is, mitzvot which are רָוֹבֲעֲַי
The Gemara (Sanhedrin 74a) teaches that murder is one of these exceptions, i.e. a person may not declare their own life more precious than another’s and therefore may not kill another in order to preserve their own life. These underlying Jewish principles serve as the basis for the arguments about abortion itself.
A fundamental question underlying the issue of abortion is the status of a fetus in halakhah. In other words, when exactly does “life” begin? For example, a traditional Catholic Christian perspective is that life begins immediately at the point of conception, so the life of the fetus is equal to the life of the mother, and abortion would not be permitted under any circumstance, even if the mother’s life is threatened. The Talmud’s opinion, on the other hand, is far more nuanced. The Gemara (Yevamot 69b) teaches that a fetus is just water or fluid up until the fortieth day of pregnancy. Thus, the Gemara doesn’t believe that life begins at conception. This seems to suggest that there would be less of a halakhic problem with abortion within these forty days.
Various teachings discuss the status of a fetus after the first forty days. Shemot (Chapter 21) states that if a person causes a woman to have a miscarriage, the punishment is a fine, based on damages. Only if the woman herself is killed does the death penalty for murder apply. One can conclude from this pasuk that a fetus is not considered a human being, and that abortion is not analogous to murder. Similarly, there are other statements of the Talmud that seem to convey that the sanctity of life begins once the fetus has emerged from the birth canal (or is in the process of emerging). Mishnah Oholot 7:6 states:
If a woman is having difficulties giving birth, the fetus is cut up and taken out of her womb limb by limb, because her life comes before the life of [the child]. However, if the greater part of the fetus has emerged, this procedure may not be carried out, because that would be declaring one life more precious than another.
In fact, two sources addressing separate issues support the notion that up until active labor a fetus is not considered life, and that causing its death is not considered murder. One is Mishnah Arakhin 1:4, which teaches that when a pregnant woman is sentenced to death, the court does not wait for her to give birth before she is executed. Rather, the woman is executed along with her fetus (except if she is in active labor). In a more complicated example, the Gemara (Sotah 26a) states that a pregnant sotah may drink the bitter waters, despite the risk that the fetus may die along with her (if she is indeed an adulteress). The implication throughout all these examples is that the fetus can only be considered a life once it has left the birth canal. At that point, the life of the baby is considered equal to the life of the mother. What is clear is that abortion can be performed in a case where the mother’s life is threatened by the fetus. However, it must be done in such a way that the fetus remains in the womb. The Gemara (Sanhedrin 72b) as well as the Rambam (Mishneh Torah, Laws of Murder) support this conclusion, analogizing the fetus to a ףֵדָוֹרָ - a pursuer, so an abortion in this case would be considered an act of self-defense, justifying the killing of a human. Note, however, that this analogy is not exact, because the fetus does not possess any intent to kill. The Rambam uses this analogy to teach that just as one has an affirmative obligation to kill a rodef, there is also an affirmative obligation to abort a fetus that is endangering the life of the mother. Thus, if the fetus is threatening the mother’s life, it may be aborted, even up until the minute it emerges.
Clearly, the mother’s life takes precedence over the fetus. However, the question still remains: when the mother’s life is not directly being threatened, what is the halakhic stance on abortion? Over the centuries, many rabbis have argued over what constitutes a direct threat to the mother. Some, such as Rabbi Moshe Feinstein, take a stringent view that abortion is only justified when the mother’s life is directly threatened, and an abortion is not permissible in any other circumstance (despite the fact that abortion is not actually murder). Others have taken a much broader view of what constitutes a threat to the mother. Rabbi Eliezer Waldenberg permits abortion in cases that would provide great physical, psychological, or emotional harm to the mother if she were to carry the baby to full term. For this reason, he allows for abortion in cases where the baby would have severe abnormalities or where pregnancies resulted from illicit relationships, such that continued pregnancies would cause emotional/psychological harm to the mother. Unsurprisingly, there are many different nuances to this issue, and many differing opinions regarding this matter. One clear thread is that the mother’s life is valued more than the fetus’s, and that abortion is not considered murder.
There is thus no consensus on when exactly abortion is permitted. The discussions regarding the permissibility of abortion focus on the value of the mother’s life in cases of physical danger and emotional or psychological harm. In practical terms, this issue should be approached on a case-by-case basis, with decisions being made primarily by the mother, with the advice of her doctor and her rabbi.
Bibliography: Shmot 21:22-25, Vayikra 18:5, Yoma 85b, Sanhedrin 72b, 74a, Yevamot 69b, Eirukhin 7a, Sotah 26a, Mishnah Ohalot 7:6, Mishneh Torah, Murder and Preservation of Life 1:9, Mishneh Torah, Foundation of the Torah 5:1, Tzitz Eliezer 13:102, 14:102, Igrot Moshe, Chosen Mishpat 2:69, https://www.focusonthefamily. com/pro-life/the-history-of-christianity-and-abortion/
The Halakhah of Lab-Grown Meat
Elliott
Weiss ’26
The Torah gives the Jewish people six hundred and thirteen mitzvot that we must follow. Among these, the laws of kashrut are undoubtedly some of the most impactful in our daily lives. As much as I would like to, I can’t eat a cheeseburger or bacon. However, this fact of life may be about to change. In recent years, there has been huge innovation in the area of lab-grown meat. Lab-grown meat is meat that is physically identical to what you would get from an animal, but rather than being the product of a slaughtered animal, it is grown inside a lab. There are potentially massive halakhic questions that need to be answered about this new type of food. These questions are of course not obvious since the laws of kashrut are mostly grounded in the natural production of meat and it is not at all clear to what extent lab-grown meat is considered meat under Jewish law. There are different opinions on the degree to which artificial meat is related to the original animal. Labgrown meat is made by extracting stem cells from an animal and putting them into an artificial environment where they can grow into animal tissue. In this essay, sources will be presented to show how the emergence of lab-grown meat might affect the laws of kashrut. It will be discussed whether lab-grown meat needs to fulfill the same kashrut requirements for consumption, whether lab-grown meat of a treif animal, such as a pig, can be eaten, and whether lab-grown meat can be eaten with dairy products.
Central to this discussion is the question of whether lab-grown meat is considered meat in the same way that natural meat is. To answer this, we can look to the Talmud. Sanhedrin 59b tells the story of Rabbi Shimon ben Chalafta, who obtained a piece of meat that had miraculously fallen from heaven. He asked the rabbis whether this meat was kosher, to which they responded that “an impure item does not fall from the heavens” and therefore the meat is kosher. Rabbi Abbuha then answers the hypothetical question concerning whether this meat would still have been kosher if it had been a donkey (a non-kosher animal) that had fallen from heaven, concluding that the answer is yes. Some contemporary rabbis have interpreted this gemara as saying that this donkey would have been kosher since it came from an unnatural source. The apparent implication of this is that any lab-grown meat would be considered kosher for all purposes since it came from an unnatural source. If this opinion is correct, then we would be able to eat meat from a pig or any other non-kosher animal produced in a lab. This, however, is not a consensus view, since many rabbis interpret the gemara as saying that this donkey is kosher because an impure object could not have come from heaven, specifically, since heaven is holy. According to this view, kashrut laws would, at least to some extent, still apply to lab-grown meat. This argument seems compelling to me, as it would be difficult to equate the human creation of meat to a piece of meat sent min hashamayim.
Another argument against the position that lab-grown pork is kosher is the principle of אָמִט
that which is derived from something impure is impure (Bechorot 5b). In the gemara, this principle prohibits milk that is milked from a non-kosher animal. Arguably, lab-grown meat is derived from the original animal, and therefore lab-grown pork is not kosher. It is also important to note that lab-grown meat does grow out of the cultivated cells of animals, so the meat is derived from the non-kosher cell in the same way that milk, in the gemara’s example, is derived from a non-kosher animal.
An important aspect of the status of lab-grown meat is how it is created. The first step to creating lab-grown meat is harvesting stem cells from an animal. These cells are put into an artificial environment where they can grow into parts of an animal without becoming a fully formed being. The process of cell extraction already complicates kashrut. Stem cells quickly decay once an animal dies, so they are usually extracted from a living animal. This of course violates basar min hachai, the prohibition of eating from a living animal. SuperMeat, the first lab-grown meat company to receive kashrut certification from the OU, avoids this prohibition by using stem cells from a chicken egg. According to the Gemara (Chullin 64b), an egg does not require a shechting-like ritual prior to being eaten. Therefore, cells taken from an egg do not violate basar min hachai.
The method of extracting stem cells from a fertilized egg or embryo presents another interesting halakhic possibility. It can be argued that lab-grown meat that is made in this way is permissible to be eaten with dairy products. This is actually the opinion of Israel’s Ashkenazi Chief Rabbi, David Lau. According to Rav Lau, since the source of this type of meat is an egg, and eggs are considered parve, such lab-grown meat is itself parve. According to this view, we may be on the path to halakhic cheeseburgers! The counterargument to this would be that once the stem cells from the egg or embryo form into meat, they take on the status of meat and cannot be mixed with dairy. This is the view of another prominent rabbi, Asher Weiss. Moreover, even if the meat is considered “parve” based on biblical law, it may be considered meat on a rabbinic level, since it resembles meat.
It also may be the case that mixing lab-grown meat with dairy is only asur derabanan (a rabbinic prohibition), having the same status as chicken. To understand why, we must look at the source in the Torah for the aveirah of mixing milk and meat. Shemot 23:19 states that you cannot cook a kid in its mother’s milk. Chazal created a siyag or fence around this law, extending it to chicken since one may confuse it with beef. This same logic could be extended to lab-grown meat, which appears identical to natural meat. One could accidentally use natural meat with dairy, believing that it is lab-grown.
As seen from these Judaic sources, there are many questions left unanswered. Lab-grown meat is still a niche field, and because of this, full attention has not yet been given by contemporary rabbis to the issues at hand. Were lab-grown meat to become more accessible in the future, rabbis might find relative consensus as they have done with other novel technologies. As it stands, rabbis agree that lab-grown meat cannot come from the stem cells of a live animal, and should rather come from fertilized eggs or embryos. Despite some dissenters, most believe that lab-grown meat can be non-kosher and that it cannot be compared to meat that fell from heaven. The question of whether lab-grown meat can be mixed with dairy products is still very much up for debate. Likewise, there is no consensus on whether lab-grown meat can be counted as meat for purposes of Jewish rituals such as eating meat on yom tov, or even if korbanot can be offered with lab-grown meat. Nonetheless, arguments surrounding lab-grown meat highlight a fascinating aspect of Jewish faith and tradition. For any sort of modern problem, we take knowledge from often-ancient sources and try our best to apply it to our lives. I don’t know how these halakhic debates will be resolved, but it is truly a beautiful thing that we can open a millennium-old Talmud and try to find answers.
