Rejewvenate!

As you know I’ve been studying at the Hartman Institute for the past week, and I want to thank them publicly for the opportunity to study and reflect with so many notable scholars, teachers and participants. This post is among the fruits of this wonderful retreat.

The greatest transformation of the Jewish religion is usually credited to Rabbi Yochanan Ben-Zakai, who together with his colleagues at Yavneh, reinterpreted and reestablished Judaism as a religion based around law, and the house of study and prayer. But his was not the first transformation of Judaism, nor is it destined to be the last.

In sweeping terms, the great reformulations of Judaism responded to the greatest moments of crisis and redemption in Jewish history. Let’s explore them briefly.

The Judaism of the period of the Judges is really the first historical Judaism - a Judaism not based on the ongoing revelation of God to Moses, or even to Joshua. Instead, it was the religion of a people living in history, day by day and generation by generation.

We need not detain ourselves with precisely which texts and practices these Jews had. It is sufficient to consider that this was a time when Jews did not celebrate Rosh Hashana as we do today - as a day of judgment - nor did they celebrate or commemorate many other moments, including Purim, Chanukah, Tisha B’Av, Simchat Torah, and so forth. They did not pray in a minyan, or celebrate a Bar Mitzvah. They did not gather together in shul on Shabbat, and they did not study the Talmud or draw inspiration from Isaiah. Nobody sat around a Shabbat table and explained what was bothering Rashi, or told over a vort from the Rebbe. Truly these were very different Jews!

Their religion was not centralized. A tabernacle existed, but Jews continued to worship, through sacrifice, in many places, including their own homes, as the Tanach attests. There were no kings, but there were many prophets, local potentates, and family worship rituals. Whatever texts were possessed were not studied by the general populace, and literacy was limited to a very few people. Religious worship was also closely tied to agrarian and pastoral cycles.

David, Solomon, and the First Temple changed all that. Central governance and worship created a state religion, and an attendant bureaucracy. Sacrificial worship was restricted to the Temple, even if unsuccessfully, and the king and High Priest joined the prophet as the means through which the nation and God advanced their relationship. The construction of the Temple encouraged pilgrimage as a more significant aspect of worship.

The destruction of the First Temple led to even more significant reforms. Ezra the Scribe redacted a Torah text that became standard, and other books, such as those recorded by the prophets, began to appeat. The institution of prayer began to emerge, even as prophecy declined. The notion of a Diaspora community took hold, as most of the exiled community in Babylon did not return with Ezra and Nehemia. In this Diaspora, Jews did not perform sacrificial worship, nor did they make pilgrimage. New modes of organization and communal life began to emerge.

The Second Temple period within the land of Israel was marked by even greater centralization of worship in Jerusalem, and during the Hasmonean dynasty, a merging of the offices of king and High Priest. Judaism had largely shifted from a rural religion to an urban one, complete with a central High Court - the Sanhedrin -  but around the edges, the seeds of a backlash began to sprout. Synagogues, houses of gathering, Batei Midrash (houses of study), sectarian communities, prophets in the hinterland and scholars in the villages all flourished outside of the sphere of influence of the Temple.

When the Great Rebellion led to the destruction of the Temple and the second great exile in 70 CE, there already existed the beginnings of institutions that would reshape Judaism for the next two thousand years. They turned Judaism into a religion of text study and interpretation, prayer and community. The primary institutions were the aforementioned synagogue and Beit Midrash, with their attendant practices of prayer and study. Without an investment in schools, this highly literate mode of religious life could not have emerged.

The Holocaust (and the destruction of many other Diaspora communities, especially in the Sephardi world), and the birth of the State of Israel, along with the rise of another great Diaspora community in the United States has reshaped our religion once again - and we’re just at the beginning. Judaism changes in response to challenges, not in some sort of vacuum. Reform Judaism and Zionism were only the first responses to a world changed by the social and political values of the French Revolution and the economic values of the Industrial Revolution. It is impossible to understate the impact of these twin forces, and nobody, including Jews and the entire world, is done responding and adjusting to these changes.

I believe that the most important changes for their impact on Jewish practice are gender and racial equality, the ease and speed of travel and communication, and the transformation of societies away from traditionally mandated groups and associations towards wholly voluntary participation.

We’ve already seen how some of these changes impacted Judaism, but we have not yet reformulated our institutions around them. On any given Shabbat, our synagogues are populated only by whomever is celebrating a lifecycle event. Our students fill prep schools and universities, not Batei Midrash. We deconstruct our texts and often eviscerate them, and our new texts go unread except by a cloistered few.

What we need to do is to reshape Judaism around these realities. The Orthodox will not lead this change, as they feel the need less sharply. Their isolationism buffers them to a greater extent from the new reality, but this too is a matter of time. For the non-Orthodox the time need is hard upon us.

The new Judaism will not be about sacrificial worship, or about the synagogue in its current form. It will be about travel, including pilgrimage to Israel and travel to communities in need. It will be about leadership in non-profit organizations and social change ventures. And it must be about education, including mandatory high-school-level Jewish education and high-level continuing adult education. Not service learning. Not one-off lectures. Not the rabbi’s speech. We need more intensive learning, perhaps structured around our holidays, to connect our ideologically rooted think-tanks and institutes to the laypeople. We must realign our laity and our clergy once again. The task is before us, let’s get to it!

In the previous post, I spoke in passing about the tangential, rather than causal relationship between the Written and Oral Torah. In this post, I want to clarify and expand upon this idea.

In traditional Jewish learning, the divinity of the Torah leads to a fundamental axiom that the Torah text is entirely intentional. There are no extra words, letters, or even decorations of letters, and there are no accidental or meaningless omissions either. In Midrash Halacha, the Tannaic-era works of halachic scholarship that adduce laws from the Torah text, this relationship is foundational. Hence, over and over again in Midrash Halacha there is an exegetical structure in which laws or aspects of laws are connected to seemingly “extra” words in a verse.

The above seems to contradict my opening statement – it appears that laws are directly connected to the verses! A closer examination of the exegetical structure is called for. Generally, the Midrash will quote a verse, and then state that based on the plain reading of the verse, we can only deduce some aspect of the halacha. The Midrash will then ask from where we can learn the other aspects of the halacha which we know to be the complete halacha. It will then identify some extra word or phrase in the verse to attach the additional aspects of the halacha to.

Let’s take an example from the giving of the Torah. The verse in question states “ko tomar l’veit Yakov v’taged l’bnei Yisrael.” – “So shall you say to the House of Jacob, and tell to the Children of Israel.” The Midrash then says that based on the above verse, we can infer only that the men received the Torah, and goes on to ask from where can we learn that the women received it as well. The Midrash then says that the Torah’s use of the phrase ‘Beit Yakov’ comes to include the women. In other words, without that phrase, we would have understood that the men received the Torah, so its inclusion must mean that some other group aside from the men also received the Torah – namely, the women.

There’s nothing about the phrase Beit Yakov that forces us to understand it in this manner. The interpretation is entirely local, and includes no claim that Beit Yakov always refers to the women, nor does it bring any proof that this, rather than some alternative explanation is intended (for example, that Beit Yakov refers to the converts, and Bnei Yisrael refers to the direct descendants of Jacob).

What this means is that the knowledge of the dimensions of the halcha, the Oral Torah, inform the interpretation of the Written Torah. We know the halacha, so all we seek to do is find a plausible phrase on which to hang our hats. This mode of interpretation is quite free – the words barely have to suggest the meaning we wish to attribute to them. In the Talmud, we see many examples where the additional of a single letter comes to include a whole new category of subject for a ruling, even though the letter itself suggests no such textual meaning.

This illustrates exactly what I meant when I said the relationship between the Oral and Written Torah is non-contingent. On a deeper level, what it suggests is that the underlying issues in Jewish theology is not whether the Written Torah is divine, but whether, how, and to what extent the Oral Torah is divine. This is a subject we will return to again and again.

Part of the hostility of Orthodox Jews towards Biblical criticism is that by taking the text as a human artifact rather than a Divine revelation, you find yourself in diametric opposition to the fundamental assumptions held by Masoretic sages over thousands of years of Biblical interpretation. Usually, this discomfort is expressed in the halachic sphere, which, at first glance, appears to require a Divine text in order to be comprehensible and meaningful.

I would argue that this is a relatively minor aspect of the difficulties of a human Biblical text for religious life and thinking. Traditional Judaism embraces two sources of revelation, one the Written Law, and the other the Oral Law. The extensive effort of the Talmudic sages to relate, connect, and reconcile these two sources speaks volumes for the non-contingent nature of these sources. Put simply, the laws of the Oral Torah proceed only tangentially from the text of the Written Torah, so rejecting Divine authorship of the Written Torah need not lead to rejection of halacha.

The larger problem with human authorship is that it calls into question the legitimacy of interpretations based upon close readings of the Biblical text. So long as the text is Divine, we can believe that many layers of meaning wait to be uncovered by the patient scholar, and that all of these meanings are authentic and authoritative – as authoritative as the Author Himself. But if we remove an Author who is master of all His intentions, we are left with the mundane yet vexing problem of all literary interpretation: how to discern what an author truly meant.

While this problem has been addressed, to no final conclusion but nonetheless to a wealth of powerful ideas about the human endeavor of literature, there are at least two additional dimensions to the problem for the religious reader of the Bible.

The first is that the Bible is a composite document with many authors and editors, which means that there are many writers, and these writers surely did not share identical intentions for the text, and who could not possibly even know all the intentions of all prior or future parties to the final text. The second is that, as every writer knows, the text takes on a life of its own, and embodies meanings that were never intended by the author, or in the case of the Bible, any author or redactor.

The doctrine of Divine inspiration may successfully address these issues. If you believe that the text itself, in whatever form it takes or has taken over the years, is always precisely what God intended it to be, and only those meanings that God intends us to have at any given point are revealed, even through all-too-human means, you can resolve the dilemma presented by a human text. This positivist view strikes many as a bit pat, much in the way that the argument that God’s foreknowledge of human choices does not contradict human free will does. Perhaps this is a problem without resolution, as it depends upon our ability to decipher the unknowable Divine mind.

Yet that is the very task set before us! We are commanded to do God’s will, yet we remain forever uncertain as to what God’s will is. I’m reminded of the “What would Jesus do?” bracelets that are meant to remind Christians to imitate Jesus in their own lives. To me, the question sounds rhetorical, and the mutability of the answers is reflected by the variations on that question in modern life, from the earnest environmentalist’s formulation ‘What would Jesus drive?’ to the pacifist’s rhetorical declaration ‘Who would Jesus bomb?’ to the hipster’s ironic dissociative ‘Who would Jesus do?’

Claiming knowledge of God’s mind or will is a dangerous game, and it is made even more dangerous when that claim is buttressed by the positivist argument that those interpretations that we make are those that are authorized and intended by God by virtue of our ability to make them. Left unresolved in this is the problem of mutually exclusive interpretations, or interpretations that proceed from different assumptions about the text.

As Jews we interpret the Biblical text charitably, seeking to resolve its contradictions and gloss over its lacunae in service of an interpretation that matches our theology. Gnostic Christians, on the other hand, took a radically opposite approach to the text, with Muslims and traditional Christians falling out in other places along the spectrum. What’s to say that the Muslim interpretation of the Binding of Isaac as actually referring to the Binding of Ishmael is incorrect? Or that the Christian interpretations of various prophecies in Isaiah are misguided?

In the end it’s a matter of authority. Which interpreters, ancient, modern, and contemporary, do we acknowledge as having authority to ‘uncover’ meanings in the text? And what do we truly mean by this grant of authority?

At least part of this answer can be found in the Rabbinic dictum from Pirkei Avot to make a rabbi for oneself. Though it may be tempting for some (even as it is terrifying for others) to undertake the responsibility for sorting through all this alone, and to vest authority in the individual, this is not truly an answer to the questions of to whom authority is granted and what is the nature of that authority. It is a negation of the possibility of authority, because it fails to separate the responsibility for the decision from the accountability for its execution.

Only God can perfectly merge action and intention in all ways. For us humans, we strive to vivify our will by following through on our intentions with actions. The process of decision-making is an entirely human endeavor, through which we attempt to both clarify and give weight to our intentions and thereby bind ourselves to act upon them. In the religious sphere, introducing a rabbi to the equation automatically means that there will always be a gap between what our theology might demand of us and what our rabbi would command us to do, but that’s a good thing. The nature of authority, as we discussed is that we must submit to it, and the purpose of submission to authority is to expand the circle of people and ideas that define our religious expression. It is a necessary prerequisite to community formation.

To return to our original issue, I would say that it is less important what position you take on the question of Biblical authorship and interpretation than it is to attach yourself to an interpretive tradition, and to submit to its authority in practical terms. The friction generated between that and your personal theology is itself an expression of that age-old dilemma that we are commanded to do God’s will, even as His nature and will are unknowable.

In my last post I discussed how shul as an institution has not yet adapted to the lifestyle of the progressive observant family. Here now are some concrete suggestions for making that shift.

Shul has got to be shorter. A typical Young Israel starts at 9 AM and gets to kiddush at about noon, or even later. For many people, coming late is simply a way of managing the amount of time you’re will to spend in shul. I would argue that for most people, three plus hours is well past the point of diminishing spiritual returns.

To make shul shorter, I say we do a ‘heicha’ kedushah (that’s where instead of doing all of Chazarat HaShatz after the silent recitation of the Amidah, the Chazan says the first part of Chazart HaShatz, through the kedushah, aloud, prior to the silent recitation of the Amidah by the congregation) for all of the Amidot.

Chazarat HaShatz served two halachic purposes. The first was to provide those who did not know the davening by heart and either could not read or had no access to a siddur a means to fulfill their obligation to pray. The second was to bind the congregation together into a tzibbur - a communal prayer group. With the advent of Gutenberg, Artscroll, and Amazon.com, there is no lack in our Jewish community for printed siddurim, and the heicha kedushah would serve the latter purpose as well, and more quickly, than the full version. Have you looked around recently during Chazarat HaShatz? It feels like a Victorian drawing room - a bunch of people are reading books, there are some not-so-hushed conversations, lots of people mill around, and lost in all this is the drone of a Chazan reciting a prayer that everyone in the room has jsut gotten through reciting themselves.

Taking off Chazarat HaShatz would easily cut at least twenty to thirty minutes off of the shul experience. Let’s go one further - let’s also return to the triennial Torah-reading cycle. There’s no chiyuv to read the Torah in one year. In fact, the obligation to read Torah on Shabbat is to read seven aliyot. You could read the first column of the Torah every Shabbat and fulfill your obligation. You could easily save twenty minutes, and even more on those weeks that have very long parshas.

There’s also room to trim the beginning. Davening in shul should start from Baruch She’amar. People should recite Brikot Hashachar and Korbanot at home, as the Shulchan Aruch sets down.

Finally, shuls must be strict about liming Hosafot, mishebeirachs, announcements, mazel tovs, speeches, appeals, and so forth. Isn’t it more natural for most of the administrative stuff to happen at kiddush, rather than while everyone is still in their talleisim? As important, shul must be quiet - conversations cannot be tolerated. If you want a davening that is both dignified and well-paced, you have to shut up!

If you adopt all of these changes, you can get through Shabbat morning davening in no more than two hours, and I’ll bet that yours will be the most popular shul in town.

I recently attended a lecture by Dr. James Kugel, who was recently in New York for a series of speaking engagements, along with other members of my weekly Kugel with Kugel learning group. The lecture itself focused on letters sent to Dr. Kugel in response to his recent book How to Read the Bible: A Guide to Scripture Then and Now. I was a bit disappointed; though the content was good, Dr. Kugle spent his time on a letter from a reader that Dr. Kugel had already published on his website.

Many readers have hoped that Dr. Kugel would have some new answers to the questions posed by Biblical scholarship to traditional modes of thought. To date, those readers have been disappointed. Like many Jews of his generation, be they scholars, rabbis, or laypeople, Dr. Kugel is basically a compartmentalist. Though he has some non-traditional ideas about the origins of the Biblical text - ideas that are largely consonant with modern scholarship - he does subscribe to the historicity of the Torah, and especially the Exodus. For many Jews of my generation, compartmentalizing the teachings of our faith separately from the results of scientific study is no longer satisfactory.

One question that must come up whenever Dr. Kugel speaks is the challenge posed by an evolving Biblical text to the assumptions of a static, perfect text that undergird the entire tradition of the Oral Torah, from  the Mishnah to the Talmud to the latest works by contemporary Orthodox rabbis. It is disturbing to think that the great Jewish sages produced Rabbinical Judaism on the basis of a false assumption! For many, this is a fatal flaw that collapses the entire edifice of Rabbinical Judaism.

But why is that so? The rabbis of the first half of the first millennium BCE had many basic misconceptions about the nature of the world around them. These included a belief in geocentricism, spontaneous generation, and the many ahistorical stories of the Bible. Modern Orthodoxy has already chipped away at some of these notions by finding or originating interpretations that allow its adherents to affirm their scientific beliefs that evolution occurred, that the Earth is billions of years old, and so forth. One might argue that this simply adds a new challenge to belief - why accept that these rabbis had any special access to Divine knowledge if they were mistaken on so many things?

The Torah itself contains the answer:

הַנִּסְתָּרֹת–לַיהוָה, אֱלֹהֵינוּ; וְהַנִּגְלֹת לָנוּ וּלְבָנֵינוּ, עַד-עוֹלָם–לַעֲשׂוֹת, אֶת-כָּל-דִּבְרֵי הַתּוֹרָה הַזֹּאת.

The secret things belong unto the LORD our God; but the things that are revealed belong unto us and to our children for ever, that we may do all the words of this law.

Explicitly, the Torah tells us that not everything is revealed to us, and that we are only responsible for that which we know. The implication, too often ignored, is that as more is revealed to us, our responsibilities change. Ignoring knowledge, no matter how disturbing to our traditional beliefs that knowledge may be, is ultimately a repudiation of our responsibilities to God, to ourselves, and to our children.

Scientific knowledge has enormous impact on our moral choices. Advances in communicating with the deaf, have changed the halachic status of deaf people from a non-obligated non-entity into full members of religious society. Insights into economics have brought innovations that allow Jews to lend money with interest. Revolutions in medicine have redefined the borders between life and death, and with that, the responsibilities due to those at that threshold.

I propose that the knowledge we have gained about the Biblical text in particular, but about the world and its inhabitants in general must inform our religious philosophy and our moral choices. The sages of our Mesorah certainly did, and we can do no less. We are in no way impugning their spiritual stature or relationship with God, nor are we repudiating their mission and goals. But we must accommodate our newfound knowledge, because all knowledge is ultimately a gift from God, and any new insight into the world is a new insight into Creation, and ultimately is itself a form of revelation that lets us better understand the mind of God.

In a move that brings Orthodox Judaism hurtling forward through time to the 1960s, the Shalom Hartman institute will ordain women to be Orthodox rabbis.

More accurately, the institute has opened a 4-year program to prepare people of any Jewish denomination to receive rabbinical ordinate.

More on this later, but I think this marks a major turning point in Jewish history, not so much for the content of the decision, but because the decision emerged from an Israeli institute. Is progressive Orthodoxy now an Israeli phenomenon, surpassing Yeshivat Chovevei Torah?

And from Israel, no less. I was recently emailed a responsum regarding what constitutes a reliable Hechsher from Rav Aviner, the Rosh Yeshiva of Yeshivat Ateret Cohanim in Jerusalem I am reproducing the responsum in part. If you would like the whole things, please email me at rejewvenator[at]gmail.com

Question: Is it acceptance to eat food under the kosher certification of the Chief Rabbinate of Israel or should I only eat from Badatz?

Answer: Quite simply, all kosher certification is acceptable, whether it is Mehadrin, Badatz, or the Chief Rabbinate. Any product with any kosher certification is presumed to be acceptable until proven otherwise. We rely on the principle of “chazakah – presumption” based on the Gemara in Niddah (15b) that a Torah scholar “does not allow food to leave his domain without its kashrut being ensured.”  [...] There is, however, a general principle: We must not doubt the kosher certification of Rabbis. It does not matter which Rabbi who gives certification – whether it a Rabbi with a knit-kippah or with a velvet kippah. If we say that it is not kosher, we are saying that this Rabbi is a sinner. He is feeding non-kosher food to the Jewish People! This is a serious accusation. This thought itself is the height of non-kosher thinking. Why would he do this? What is his motivation? He wants to make money? In order to make money he is willing to feed non-kosher food to people?! Making such an accusation against a Torah scholar is a serious transgression. One must be very careful about acting this way. [...] All kosher certifications of all Rabbis are therefore acceptable until proven otherwise. I am obviously only referring to Orthodox Rabbis who are particular about the laws of Kashrut.

This type of halachic reasoning affirms that principle of derech eretz kadma la-Torah. Rather than falling into a discussion of halachics, R. Aviner recognizes the underlying principles of respect due to one another, and particularly, respect due to Rabbis, who are themselves ‘certified’.  But wait, there’s more!

Question: Nonetheless, perhaps I should be strict and only eat food with the kosher certification of the Ultra-Orthodox?

Answer: May a blessing come to anyone who is strict. The Talmud Yerushalami quoted by the Tosafot in Avodah Zarah (36a) says, however, that one of the conditions of one who is strict is that he does not shame other people and, all the more so, a Torah scholar. [...] Someone who wants to be strict can be strict about whatever he wants, not necessarily relating to the laws of kashrut. He can be strict about the laws of tzitzit or Shabbat or lashon ha-ra (evil speech) or the Land of Israel or loving other people. Each person can choose to be strict about whatever he wants, but a person must also know where he stands. The Book “Mesillat Yesharim” discusses being strict in “Sha’ar Ha-Perishut – The Gate of Abstinence”: A. To separate from any pleasure which in unnecessary in life. B. To act strictly regarding everything in the world. C. To dedicate all of one’s time to divine service. I do not know if we are at this level. I am not at this level. A person who wants can be strict, but he must remember the “Vidu’i” (confession) of Rav Nissim Gaon: “For that [on] which you were strict, we were lenient; for that [on] which you were lenient, we where [sic] strict.” You were strict in the laws of kashrut, but lenient in the laws of lashon ha-ra. If you want to be strict, you can be strict, but I say that it is more important to be strict in honoring Torah scholars.

Of course! A lesson we teach to Baalei Teshuva (Jews returning to or first taking on traditional observances) is to recognize where you are, and not take on too many commitments if you are not at the point where you can truly maintain them and feel authentic about that level of observance. It’s a lesson we are often not even taught when being raised inside the religious community. Better to observe at a level that is consistent and authentic with your heart, and to take on strictures that are personally meaningful, than to be herded by a community into a hypocritical lifestyle of strict piety that holds no personal meaning for you and misrepresents you before God and man. It is comforting to hear R. Aviner expressing these sentiments, and taking aim at a ritual that has spun out of control and threatens the very meaning of Kashrut.

I have come to believe that a new schism is coming to the Jewish world, a vast new reorganization that will supplant the current denominational divides. One of the new fault lines will split the Orthodox movement and pit Hareidim against Modern Orthodox Jews. Ahead is a guest post by my good friend and long-time reader MJFire surveying this split. The post comes in response to a post on Emes Ve-Emunah about R. Nachum Eisenstein’s pronouncement in R. Elyashiv’s name at the Eternal Jewish Family conference that it is heresy to believe that the world is older than 5768 years.

Without further ado, the guest post:

I think the MO have a dependency on the Charedim that is entirely one-sided, and this is at the root of the problem between the two camps. On the one hand, the MO are in awe of the emunah, lack of materialism, and rigorous observance of halakah of the Charedim.  Moreover — and more importantly – they depend on Charedi religious leaders ( e.g., R’ M. Feinstein, R’ A. Kaminetzky, and R’ S.Z. Auerbach, et al.) for piskei halakha on many practical issues, with the prominent exception of educational standards and tzniut/negiah.  This dependency puts them in the difficult position of kowtowing to the Charedi world’s norms and standards on a semi-regular basis.  On the other hand, I do think that the MO value their contact with the modern world, and recognize that for all the problems that such an interaction creates for a religious person, this contact is worthwhile.  In other words, they are unwilling to give up the “modern” aspect of their lives, and have therefore made the choice to accept, with some level of disappointment, the disdain in which they are held by the Charedi world, while at the same, secretly admiring many aspects of the Charedi world.

But the attitidue of the Charedim (which has never returned the MO’s secret admiration) has moved from disdain to condemnation — and as the Charedim grow more powerful in Israel and take better advantage of emerging tecnologies to broadcast this message, this attitude starts to define the relationship.  At core, the MO need to realize something that they have been loathe to recognize in the past: the Charedim just don’t need and don’t care about the MO.  The Charedi world views itself as Shevet Levi at the moment Moshe comes down from Sinai after having shattered the luchot.  They are perfectly willing to execute the family members who have strayed from the path, and they will burn down the village to save it. This attitude is anathema to the MO world, even in its interactions with the Conservative and Reform movements.

The response of the MO should not only be in denominational reorganization (which I think has as much if not more to do with the drift of the Conservative movement), but to break with the Charedim by actively cultivating poskim from within the MO community who are willing to publish an MO Mishna Berurah and an MO Igrot Moshe that is not only modern in a “scientific” outlook (there is really no great controversy over evolution among the MO), but that takes a modern approach to issues on which the MO world has been totally beholden to the Charedi community for halakhic guidance in the past, but where there is now a sense growing alienation from the Charedi camp, ( e.g., womens’ issues such agunah, kol isha, and kavod hatzibur, and even chumras related to shmirat shabbat and kashrut). Only then can they say to the Charedim — we don’t need you anymore.

I had the opportunity to pass through both Yeshiva University and the Jewish Theological seminary as the two institutions completed their respective Sukkahs.

At YU, the Sukkah is relatively small (though, to be fair, students are off for Sukkot) and awkward. Built on a wide portion of sidewalk outside of the Beit Midrash on Amsterdam Ave. and 186th street, it looks more like the plywood enclosures built around construction sites than a space for celebrating a holiday. And of course, since it’s built on the sidewalk, it interferes with regular pedestrian traffic. Basically, the Sukkah looks and feels like an afterthought.

JTS has a much nice physical plant than YU to begin with, so perhaps this comparison is doomed from the start, but it was not just the aesthetic appeal of the JTS Sukkah that was so impressive. For starters, JTS built two large Sukkot (no, not one for men and one for women!) in its central courtyard. Each of these is easily larger than the single YU Sukkah. Moreover, the Sukkahs were well-planned and executed. Each Sukkah was built on a large wooden platform, sure to provide a solid, level floor, as well as excellent drainage in case of rain.

Speaking of rain, these Sukkahs are well-prepared. Rising above the schach of each Sukkah is a series of triangular wooden frames, forming the skeleton of a roof. Perched at the peak of this roof, and bound up in rope, is a large, rolled tarp. It appeared that with a yank on the right cord, the trap would unroll down both sides of the frame-roof, quickly covering the Sukkah and protecting it from the rain. Ingenious!

Yet even this was not the most impressive thing about the Sukkahs. What struck me most was that at JTS, outside of each Sukkah was an industrial-size fire extinguisher. That touch spoke of foresight, planning, and concern for health, safety, and municipal codes. It spoke to me of what it means to be a a good host, and a mensch. For all the Orthodox tzaddikim who will spend hundreds on their etrogim, and will build Sukkot with windows, space-heaters, and plumbing, it’s worth remembering that a fire extinguisher is no less a religious duty, and no less a fulfillment of our responsibilities towards God and towards one another than arba minim or eating in the Sukkah.

Are fire extinguishers incompatible with Orthodoxy? Of course not. But when your focus on improving your service to God is expressed through the halachic lens of hiddur, beautification, it is easy to lose sight of concerns that are far more basic, and which go neglected far too often.

DovBear et al: Glatt kosher investments in the stock market?

A guest post on DovBear raises the issues of stock ownership and Jewish law. The gist of it is that since owning a share of stock is ownership (and usually voting rights) in a company, and since Jews are prohibited to benefit from a variety of behaviors, such as labor on the Sabbath, stock ownership is fraught with problems for the traditionally observant Jew.

To get around this problem, some Israeli hedge funds have created portfolios out of index funds, bonds, and stock options. In all three cases, the instruments owned do not represent an ownership stake directly in any business, nor are the instruments traded on Shabbat or holidays by the hedge  fund. However, the options purchased are options to buiy or sell stock of companies that do violate any of the variety of problematic prohibitions.

I wonder how many Jews are attuned to this issue. Most of the investors that I know invest in indexed mutual funds, not in individual stocks. However, I know lots of people who made money in the IT boom by buying individual stocks of companies whose employees were most certainly working on shabbat, and were most certainly Jewish. Is this something we should be paying attention to? The technical connection between business ownership as envisioned by the Talmud and stock ownership is quite solid. Owning stock gives the rights to a share of future earnings, and comes with voting rights to help set company policy. True, you can’t run the business from the floor of a shareholder’s meeting, but is your inability to make the company conform with Jewish law an excuse for not observing it yourself, or  is it an indication that you shuld not involve yourself with such a business?

If you want to be technical, then you must ban ownerhsip of those stocks, even as you embrace ownership of bonds and options in those same companies. On a technical level you’re free and clear - there’s no bar on lending money to someone who violates the Law (though priority should be given to “your nation, the poor who live among you”), and trading options carries no ownership stake whatsoever (unless you need to actually exercise the option rather than just trade it in, but even then your holding time is so short as to be de minims, imo).

If you prefer taking a broader, non-technical view, you wind up becoming a values-investor. Though the extent of ownership that stock confers may not rise to the level where you would avoid it because of halachic  concerns, investing in companies that clash with your values is a larger problem. It also stops mattering whether the investmen is stocks, bonds, options or more complex derivatives. Benefiting from a company’s performance when that performance runs contrary to your ethics is repugnant in any form. I suppose short-selling would be ok though…