Korbanos (Sacrifices) are More Relevant Than Ever and We Should Pray for their Return

In a recent, highly controversial blog post, “Please G-d, Help me to understand why we must pray for a Third Temple!” the author offers arguments in the form of a prayer to God against the reinstatement of animal sacrifices and bluntly asks, “Is the rebuilding of the Holy Temple in Jerusalem what is best for us?” As a basis for his position and plea, the rabbi contends that both the Rambam and Rav Kook believed that the third Temple will not include korbanos (animal sacrifices).

In his usual scholarly and compelling fashion, Rabbi Dr. Ari Zivotofsky already rebuffed such an assertion in a compelling and conclusive way. He concludes his article by saying, “So will there be sacrifices in the Third Temple? The overwhelming majority opinion is that there will be. Rambam and Rav Kook seem to share this view.”

Many responses to the blog post correctly point out how absurd such a personal “prayer” is, given the centrality of longing for the third Temple in general, and pining for the return of sacrifices in particular, are to our liturgy, observances, and Jewish consciousness. They bring countless sources from Tanach, our siddur, and ma’amarei chazal (statements of our sages) that see redemption and the eschatological era as synonymous with the building of a third Temple and the return of the system of sacrifices.

Rather than seek to contribute to the conversation from the perspective of scholarship or theology, I would like to offer a thought from the perspective of symbolism and meaning. The author of the controversial post argues, in the form of a letter to God:

While livestock was once our primary resource and a meaningful sacrifice, today Your world operates in a different model of commerce. We would have new and more powerful contributions to sacrifice. Your people must be a light to the nations, not a source of darkness by returning to a practice once deemed honorable but now perceived by the global masses as barbaric. The Jewish people have transitioned in our own existential consciousness and our spiritual relationship to our animal’s slaughter has been altered irrevocably.

There is no question that the notion of animal sacrifice seems bizarre and inexplicable to us. Indeed, as the author suggests, offering sacrifices seems to modern man barbaric, archaic and brutal. However, it seems to me the discomfort we have with offering sacrifices is not so much an expression of moral opposition or protest, but rather a direct result of our unfamiliarity and inexperience with them.

Why do I say that? Because we bind ourselves with animal parts every morning when we don our tefillin, we kiss animal skin hanging from our doorposts when we reach for our mezuzas, and we have regular public readings from our Torah scrolls made of animal skin and tied together with animal sinews and veins, all of which we feel is normal and mainstream. Observant Jews recognize these mitzvos as non-negotiables: obligations that are incumbent upon us. Though we may find them strange or peculiar, our devotion to them leads us to study their symbolism, meaning, and purpose and thereby to seek inspiration and fulfillment through their mandated performance.

Animal sacrifices seem strange or even offensive because we have never performed them or even observed them. For the last two thousand years, since the destruction of the second Temple, not only are we not commanded in sacrifices, but we are prohibited from offering them.

While we don’t offer actual sacrifices today, our prophets ensured that their theme and purpose would not be forgotten or neglected in the absence of the Beis Ha’Mikdash. “U’neshalma parim sefaseinu,” said the prophet Hoshea (14:3). “And let our lips replace the (sacrificial) bulls.” The Midrash (Shir HaShirim Rabbah 4:3) teaches that when we are precluded from offering physical sacrifices, Hashem considers our recitation of the sections that describe them as a substitute. Though, sadly, few are there in time or pay it the proper attention, in fulfillment of the prophet’s charge, our davening each and every day begins with a reading of the korbanos.

Why do korbanos play such a central role, even today, when we can only speak of them, in achieving atonement, personal growth, and closeness to Hashem? In his commentary on the Siddur, Rabbi Samson Raphael Hirsch offers a magnificent insight into the symbolism and purpose of korbanos. We offer animals not as an act of barbarism or to satisfy carnivorous cravings. Rather, says Rav Hirsch, we purchase an animal, bring it to the Temple, and have it sacrificed, to make the statement to the Almighty and to ourselves that we are eager and willing to sacrifice the animal inside us.

In Jewish thought, man lives in two dimensions simultaneously. On the one hand, the Talmud observes, we are members of the animal kingdom who share in common the three basic physical activities of animals: eating, elimination, and reproduction. On the other hand, we have been endowed with a tzelem Elokim, a Godly soul, providing us the capacity to be disciplined, exhibit self-control, and reign sovereign over our instincts and impulses. Life is a perpetual battle between our animal urges that draw us to worldly pleasures and our Godly soul that yearns for higher purpose and satisfaction. A korban, ritual animal slaughter, is a pledge to suppress and control the animal in us and do more to have our tzelem Elokim triumph in its battle.

Rav Hirsch continues by explaining that the practice of sprinkling the blood of the sacrifice corresponds with our commitment to direct our passions to Hashem. The burning of the fats represents our efforts to eliminate gratuitous indulgences. The offering of soles (flour) and shemen (oil) remind us that all our sustenance and wealth are granted only with the consent of the Divine, and therefore must be directed to Him in the form of an allegiance-gift (mincha).

Herein lies the great irony in the controversial blog post. The author essentially argues that we have progressed, become more advanced, sophisticated, and cultured, and therefore sacrifices are not only irrelevant to us but they should be repulsive to us. In light of Rav Hirsch’s insights, I would suggest the exact opposite. Yes, we have progressed in so many meaningful ways.

However, in the area of the battle between the animal and the Godly soul, the temptations of the physical world versus the quest for spirituality, we not only have not progressed, but a survey of advertisements, websites, themes of movies and TV, and behavior of politicians and celebrities shows that we have regressed. The world of marketing seeks to exploit the animal impulse inside us all with messages like “Obey your thirst” and “Just do it.” Look at the infidelity rates and the obesity statistics and you cannot help but conclude that for many modern people, the animal instinct is defeating the Godly, disciplined soul.

And it is not just in the “outside” world that the battle is being lost. Within our own community and if we are to be honest, within ourselves, the battle is raging and victory for the tzelem Elokim is far from a foregone conclusion. Challenges with ostentatiousness, excess, modesty in all forms, food indulgence, unhealthy competitiveness and the race to keep up with others is evidence that while we the Orthodox community have made progress in so many remarkable ways, we too have regressed when it comes to the pursuit of the piety that results in the defeat of the animal instinct to the will of the Godly spirit.

The message and symbolism of animal sacrifices are in fact more relevant than ever for our generation and our culture, not less. Our prayers and pleas should not be in protest of a third Temple or in opposition to the notion of sacrifices but in desperation for them and their assistance in helping us realize our potential as Godly souls over our endless animal temptations.

My prayer is not that God nullify sacrifices, but that we, His people, renew our efforts to study them, to recite them with deep kavannah (intent), and to find in them the strength to begin each day with a pledge to slaughter the animal inside us so that all of our behavior and actions be at the direction solely of our sacred tzelem Elokim.

The Question We Desperately Need an Answer To

“Intermarriage is a fact of life and we should be more welcoming when it happens.” That was part of the reaction of the chief executive officer of The United Synagogue of Conservative Judaism to a recent controversial decision made by the leadership of the youth wing of the movement, United Synagogue Youth. At the annual international convention of USY last week, the board voted to relax its rules barring teenage board members from dating non-Jews.

The decision drew strong reactions with some suggesting that the media exaggerated the significance of the vote for sensationalism on the one hand, and on other, one young man authoring an article entitled, “Why I’m now a former Conservative Jew.” In it, he argues, “The addition of Hebrew words in the language which adopts the permissibility of interdating is truly laughable. Saying that recognition of all humans being created betzelem elohim serves as a justification for interdating and eventually intermarriage, makes about as much sense as me arguing I should be eating delicious bacon in my Sukkah because the Torah says v’samachta b’chageicha, v’hayita ach sameach (we should rejoice in our holiday and we should feel nothing but total happiness).”

One article on the issue declared that, “The [Conservative] movement is in the midst of a major identity crisis.” I don’t know enough to know if that is true. My interest is not in commenting on another denomination or their youth. Indeed, if anything, the passion and dedication of the USY youth leaders is commendable and hopeful though it does compound the concern that even affiliated youth can come to such a decision. My concern is for the attitude and trends towards intermarriage in orthodoxy.

It is not only the CEO of United Synagogue who sees intermarriage as a fact of life. Though the orthodox community may not be seeing more intermarriage in their nuclear families, there is hardly a family not exposed to or affected by intermarriage in their extended family in some way. Getting that call and being informed that a loved one is engaged to, or married to, someone outside our faith is incredibly painful. Trying to strike the delicate balance of communicating displeasure and terrible disappointment with their decision while maintaining love for them as a person is tremendously complicated and difficult to achieve.

While for centuries the response of Torah Jews to intermarriage was to sit shiva, disassociate, and ostracize those who married outside the faith, today not only is there no rejection, but there is often too much tolerance towards the intermarried and even gestures of welcoming, in an effort to maintain a connection and an avenue of Jewish influence.

Many poskim, understanding that intermarriage is becoming a fact of life, recognize that rejection will alienate and erase any possibility of interest in authentic conversion. Besides, in half the circumstances of intermarriage, the grandchildren will be Jewish and will benefit much more from the Torah influence and love of their family, rather than denunciation and estrangement.

A few years ago, I was standing with a friend who had recently moved from South Africa when we met someone who shared in passing that his wife was not Jewish. I vividly remember that when the person walked away, my friend was visibly shaken. When I asked him what was wrong he told me that coming from South Africa he had never actually met someone who married outside of Judaism and he was overwhelmed with sadness. At that moment, I too became terribly sad not because of having met someone who was intermarried, but rather because of the realization of just how numb and desensitized to intermarriage I had become.

One result of the growing number of intermarriage is a more casual attitude towards the phenomenon from our orthodox youth. When informally polled, most wouldn’t even consider distancing themselves from a friend who was dating a non-Jew and many don’t hesitate to say yes when asked if they would attend an intermarriage of a close friend. The more intermarriage grows and the closer it chas v’shalom hits to our homes, inevitably the more casual an attitude towards it we and our children will have.

I taught a class of high school boys this week and asked them for their reaction to the USY decision. While most were bothered by it, they struggled to articulate exactly why. I then challenged them with the following question: Why be Jewish at all? Why not just identify as a person, a kind human, a good American? Why differentiate ourselves? Why does being Jewish matter?

For the believer, the answer is obvious and simple. God created the world, He charged the Jewish people with a mission and mandate, and we entered a covenant in perpetuity to fulfill His commands and vision for our role in society. That answer is absolutely true and halevai it would satisfy all who ask. But what is the answer for those who waver and who are unsure? Why should a young Jewish man or woman who is unconvinced about either God’s existence or the divinity of His Torah, or who is confident in both but disaffected by the way religious Jews behave, continue to be Jewish?

For millennia, Jews didn’t have the luxury of asking why be Jewish. We had no other choice as our hostile host countries, through persecution and oppression, reminded us we were different. When we tried to retreat and segregate they didn’t leave us alone. When we tried to assimilate and integrate, they isolated us nonetheless. The United States, the great melting pot, has provided an opportunity heretofore thought impossible. A Jew in America can wake up one day, simply shed his or her Jewish identity, and society will welcome them with open arms, with no discrimination, and with no reminders of their roots and origins.

It would be easy, I explained to the teenage boys, to argue that we owe it to our grandparents who suffered through the Holocaust and lost so much in the name of Judaism to remain Jewish. But, as Rabbi Korobkin demonstrated so importantly in a recent article, teenagers and millenials are not moved, convinced or inspired by what they perceive as clichéd answers. Anti-Semitism as a motivating factor for Judaism is simply not compelling today and perhaps never was.

Which brings us back to the question, why be Jewish? Why does the world need the Jewish people? Why should young Jews feel a responsibility to continue, promote and drive Judaism forward? If you were in the room for that USY vote, what would you say?

If our goals are to both change the statistics of intermarriage and the growing comfort level we seem to be having towards it, we need to formulate compelling, meaningful and convincing answers to precisely this question. Our answers cannot be clichéd, judgmental, or trite. This question needs to be addressed at our Shabbos tables, in our children’s classrooms and from the pulpit. While I have thoughts on this issue, I prefer hearing your answers before suggesting my own. Together, we can make a difference by simply generating this critical conversation.

Being Comfortable Admitting “I Don’t Know Enough to Have an Opinion”

Do you think normalizing relations with Cuba is a good idea or a poor one? Will it support and help the people of Cuba while strengthening America’s interests? Or does negotiating embolden a dictator and endanger the lives of Americans abroad? What is your position on the lack of indictments in the two recent cases of unarmed black men who were killed by police officers? Is it an indication of systemic racism in America, or do you believe our judicial system did its job and a just conclusion was reached? Did the CIA’s advanced interrogation techniques cross the line of torture or did they keep our country safe? What is your opinion on the President’s recent executive action on immigration?

In my experience, the response of most people to these questions is somewhat predictable. Know just a few variables about a person – his or her political orientation, age, race, gender, religious background, socio-economic status – and you can guess with a high probability of success what position he or she will take on any given issue, be it political, social, or religious. It feels like we are becoming increasingly polarized in our thinking, partisan in our positions and therefore predictable in what we believe on any given issue. Being predictable and parochial is not just boring, though. It is inauthentic, superficial and most of all, a cop-out from substantive research, intellectual honesty, individualism, and objective thinking.

Too often, conversations consist of regurgitating talking points rather than thoughtful, nuanced dialogue, genuine discussion, critical thinking, and open debate. We are usually talking at one another instead of talking to or with one another. Too many aren’t open to influence or even to the possibility of being persuaded by another. Instead, we presume to know exactly why others believe what they do and we are prepared to refute their positions even before we have given them the courtesy of truly hearing them out in an open way. The Talmud (Eruvin 13) tells us that even though Beis Shammai was sharper in its thinking than Beis Hillel, we follow the opinions of Beis Hillel because only Beis Hillel exhibited the capacity to listen and consider other points of view before forming their own.

In many cases, we are so polarized religiously and politically that we don’t even engage people of differing opinions and instead seclude ourselves in echo chambers among others who align with our beliefs, reinforcing our already-entrenched positions instead of challenging them. A recent New York Times article describes:

Social media like Twitter and Facebook can create an echo chamber in which people are exposed only to opinions in line with their own, according to the study, which analyzed Twitter usage during the 2012 election. Both conservatives and liberals were disproportionately exposed to like-minded information, and like-minded tweets reached them much more quickly than those from people who disagreed with them. This effect matters because people increasingly rely on social media as a main source of news, and services like Twitter and Facebook are more aggressively filtering and shaping what people see based on their interests.

What is perhaps most damaging about the pressure to have a position on any given issue is the growing discomfort with giving what is often the most honest answer – “I don’t know. I simply don’t know enough about the issue.”

Do we really know enough information, data and research to form opinions on the issues I raised above? Can you have an opinion about relations with Cuba without knowing basic information like the impact of the embargo these last decades, what the Cuban people want, and what risk normalization poses to security? Is it fair to have an opinion on the lack of indictments and racism without knowing statistics about black crime, rates of indictments of law enforcement, legal takedown techniques, or without even knowing the basic facts of a case? Is it meaningful to have a position on the use of torture without access to unbiased information on what we learned as a result of advanced interrogation techniques and could we have learned it any other way?

Those who have researched these questions and studied the issues in real and meaningful ways beyond headlines, tweets and Facebook posts are most certainly entitled to their opinions. But for those who haven’t, why is it so difficult to say, “I don’t know?” Why do we feel compelled to have strong opinions and to even communicate them as convictions when they are often nothing more than parroting shallow talking points?

Admitting “I don’t know” doesn’t diminish us, make us inferior, or less smart. Indeed, in our Torah tradition, it does exactly the opposite. The Talmud (Berachos 4a) states, “Teach your tongue to say ‘I do not know.'” Pirkei Avos (2:6) encourages us that “ein ha’bayshan lomeid,” loosely translated as “someone who is embarrassed to admit they don’t know will never learn.”

Our greatest scholars didn’t hesitate to say “I don’t know” causing us to think more, rather than less of them, and to place greater confidence in when they did purport to know. Rashi, without whom the Talmud would be a closed book, one of our greatest and most authoritative scholars who wrote commentary on all of Tanach and Shas, is famous for the several places in which he writes, “eini yodei’ah, I don’t know” regarding the meaning, interpretation or relevance of a particular verse or statement.

I had the incredible privilege of being in Rav Schachter Shlit”a shiur at Yeshiva University. Each day he took us on a two-hour journey through the depth and breadth of Shas, Rishonim and Achronim as we explored the given sugya (topic) at hand. When Rav Schachter delivered his prepared shiur he cited dozens and dozens of opinions and sources in an amazingly organized and structured fashion. His true genius, however, shone when he occasionally opened the floor to questions on any topic in Torah or any area of Jewish law. I vividly remember getting literal goose bumps when Rav Schachter unpretentiously revealed his encyclopedic knowledge and grasp of Torah by quoting off the cuff from diverse, random, and often obscure sources. And yet, with all of the learning Rav Schachter imparted to us, perhaps his most powerful lessons were not the times he articulated clear answers to our questions, but rather the many occasions when he didn’t hesitate to simply say, “I don’t know.”

Each day seems to bring with it new complex and complicated issues. Rather than feeling obligated to espouse an opinion along particular religious or political party lines, let’s pledge to do our own research and investigation, to expose ourselves to diverse views with an open mind and to come to as objective a conclusion as possible.

And when we don’t or can’t, let’s be comfortable enough in our own skin to be able to simply say, “I don’t know enough, I don’t have an opinion on that.”

Seeing with 20/20 Vision – the Essence of Chanuka

A husband and wife are getting ready to go to sleep. The wife is ready to close her eyes and her husband stands staring at himself in the full-length mirror. “What’s the matter with you?” she says. Come to sleep already.” He turns to her and says, “Look at this, I am so depressed. All I see is a receding hairline, a growing gut, and wrinkles under my eyes and what hair I have left is grey. Tell me something positive, something uplifting so I can go to sleep.” She thinks for a moment and says, “Well the good news is your vision is still 20/20.”

There is a very high association between Chanuka and the sense of sight. “HaNeiros halalu kodesh heim, v’ein lanu reshus l’hishtameish bahem elah lirosam bilvad.” As we will begin to sing next week on each night of Chanuka, the candles are sacred, we don’t have permission to benefit from their light but their purpose is simply to be looked at. Moreover, we have a unique halacha on Chanuka. The Talmud tells us and the Shulchan Aruch records – ha’roeh mevareich, one who can’t light for himself or herself and sees the candles of someone else – nevertheless makes the second beracha, she’asah nissim la’avosainu. When I see someone put on tefillin, take a lulav, or blow shofar, I don’t make a beracha. Only on Chanuka do I make a beracha on seeing someone else do the mitzvah.

The Kedushas Levi, Rav Levi Yitzchak of Berdichev, tells us that Chanuka is the holiday of seeing. The different moadim correspond with our different senses. On Purim our hearing is heightened as we listen to the megilla. On Pesach our sense of taste is sharpened when we eat matzah and marror and on Chanuka, he says, we evaluate our sense of sight, how well do we see.

What kind of seeing are we honing? It is not our physical sense of sight. Indeed, in a sort of paradoxical way, our eyes are a liability. You see, we often feel that “seeing is believing.” If I can perceive and observe it, it is true. If I can’t, it is not real. Following this rule, we have dismissed and disregarded many of the most precious truths and realities in our lives. There are ideas, feelings, thoughts and dreams that are authentic and genuine, despite the fact that they can’t be seen or observed.

Our Rabbis describe the Greek empire and Hellenist influence as choshech, darkness. In expounding on the opening verses of the creation story, the Midrash Rabbah says choshech al p’nei sehom – zu galus yavan, darkness on the vastness, that is the exile of Greece. Moreover, our Rabbis taught that darkening our eyes was the goal of our Greek oppressors – shehechshichu einehem shel yisroel.

What is the difference between a room that is filled with darkness or with light? Is there any actual change to the room itself? Whether the light is on or off in the room, the furniture remains the same, the layout of the room, the placement of the door and the height of the ceiling are a constant. What, then, is the difference whether the light in my room is on or off? The answer is just my perception. The only difference is my ability to identify and see the reality, the truth and that which was right before me all along. Chanuka is about seeing things, people, ideas, and miracles that are really right in front of me, even though I may not be able to visibly see them.

George Orwell once wrote: “To see what is in front of one’s nose needs a constant struggle.” One can live with his eyes open, perfect vision, and the light on and still be cloaked in darkness. On the other hand it can be pitch black all around and yet a person can see absolutely clearly. The Chashmonaim didn’t see their few numbers, weak army, and impossible task. They saw the mighty hand of Hashem, they saw the obligation to fight, and they saw Divine protection that would accompany them.

Chanuka is about lighting the candles and using them to harness our sight, not opthalmologically speaking, but our deep vision of what is true, precious, and dear. When we look at our spouses and children, do we see the amazing blessing of their presence in our lives or do we hear lots of noise, see rooms that need to be cleaned up, and a messy house? When we face a challenge do we see no way out or an opportunity to further lean on our Creator? There are truths all around us; it is up to us to decide what to look at and how to see.

In her “Hasidic Tales of the Holocaust,” Professor Yaffa Eliach shared the incredible story of Chanuka in Bergen Belsen:

It was time to kindle the Chanuka lights. A jug of oil was not to be found, no candle was in sight, and a Chanukia belonged to the distant past. Instead, a wooden clog, the shoe of one of the inmates, became a Chanukia, strings pulled from a concentration camp uniform, a wick, and the black camp shoe polish, pure oil.

Not far from the heaps of bodies, the living skeletons assembled to participate in the kindling of the Chanuka lights. The Rabbi of Bluzhov lit the first light and chanted the first two blessings in his pleasant voice, and the festive melody was filled with sorrow and pain. When he was about to recite the third blessing, he stopped, turned his head, and looked around as if he were searching for something.

But immediately, he turned his face back to the quivering small lights and in a strong, reassuring, comforting voice, chanted the third blessing: “Blessed are Thou, O Lord, our God, King of the Universe, who has kept us alive, and has preserved us, and enabled us to reach this season.”

Among the people present at the kindling of the light was a Mr. Zamietchkowski, one of the leaders of the Warsaw Bund. He was a clever, sincere person with a passion for discussing matters of religion, faith and truth. As soon as the Rabbi of Bluzhov had finished the ceremony of kindling the lights, Zamiechkowski elbowed his way to the Rabbi and said, “Spira, you are a clever and honest person. I can understand your need to light Chanuka candles in these wretched times. I can even understand the historical note of the second blessing, “Who wrought miracles for our Fathers in days of old, at this season.” But the fact that you recited the third blessing is beyond me. How could you thank God and say “Blessed art Thou, O Lord, our G-d, King of the Universe, who has kept us alive, and hast preserved us, and enabled us to reach this season”? How could you say it when hundreds of dead Jewish bodies are literally lying within the shadows of the Chanuka lights, when thousands of living Jewish skeletons are walking around in camp, and millions more are being massacred? For this you are thankful to God? For this you praise the Lord? This you call “keeping us alive?”

“Zamietchkowski, you are a hundred percent right,” answered the Rabbi. “When I reached the third blessing, I also hesitated and asked myself, what should I do with this blessing? I turned my head in order to ask the Rabbi of Zaner and other distinguished Rabbis who were standing near me if indeed I might recite the blessing. But just as I was turning my head, I noticed that behind me a throng was standing, a large crowd of living Jews, their faces expressing faith, devotion, and deliberation as they were listening to the rite of the kindling of the Chanuka lights.

I said to myself, if G-d has such a nation that at times like these, when during the lighting of the Chanuka lights they see in front of them the heaps of bodies of their beloved fathers, brothers, and sons, and death is looking from every corner, if despite all that, they stand in throngs and with devotion listening to the Chanuka blessing “Who performed miracles for our Fathers in days of old, at this season”; indeed I was blessed to see such a people with so much faith and fervor, then I am under a special obligation to recite the third blessing.”

You see, that night in Bergen Belson, Mr. Zamietchkowski only saw what lay before him, dead bodies and terrible suffering. The Rebbe also looked, but he saw another layer of truth that was equally accurate – that there was a gathering of people who maintained incredible faith despite the most horrific circumstances.

As we celebrate Chanuka next week, let us remember that there are truths all around us not visible to the naked eye. Let us use the light of the Chanuka candles to inspire us to see the truth with clarity and 20/20 vision.

Persuade, Don’t Preach

Earlier, this week, Rabbi Lord Jonathan Sacks addressed an assembly of the high schools of our community. He was introduced beautifully by ninth grader Jonah Tripp who said, “To me, Rabbi Sacks is known as a permanent fixture in my home. His books line our shelves and our family so often quotes him at our table; his perspectives, Divrei Torah and thoughts are so pervasive throughout my home that it seems as though Rabbi Sacks spends every Shabbos meal with us.” Jonah went on to articulate the excitement and enthusiasm that not only he, but also his classmates and friends, felt in anticipation of hearing Rabbi Sacks. “I want to thank my Bubbies and my Zaidies and my parents for showing me that it is not a sports star nor a political leader, but rather the meeting of a Torah scholar of our generation that ignites such excitement.”

Last year I spoke with a young man who proudly identifies as a Jew and a staunch Zionist but has abandoned most of an observant lifestyle, despite having completed twelve years of Jewish education and having been raised in an observant home. During our fascinating exchange I asked him what, if anything, would change his mind about the direction of his life. He answered, “The only person in the universe who I think could inspire me to keep Shabbos once again is Rabbi Sacks. After a meeting with him, I would likely return to an observant life.”

There is no question that Rabbi Sacks is brilliant. He has written twenty-five books, holds sixteen honorary degrees, has a seat in the House of Lords, was knighted by the Queen, is a regular on the BBC, and his thoughts on the Parsha are quoted at Shabbos tables and from pulpits in shuls around the world every single Shabbos. Rabbi Sacks is not only revered in the Jewish world, he is highly acclaimed and admired in the United Kingdom and around the world.

At a gala dinner marking his retirement from serving as Chief Rabbi, Tony Blair described him as “an intellectual giant … He is somebody who … has made an extraordinary, outstanding contribution, not just to British and International Jewry, but to British and International public life.” Gordon Brown asked, “How do you sum up someone who is the greatest scholar you know, the greatest philosopher, the greatest writer you know, one of the greatest thinkers in the world?”

What is so special about Rabbi Lord Jonathan Sacks that inspires incredible excitement from a ninth grader and his classmates? What is it about the former Chief Rabbi of the United Kingdom that makes a young man confident that after one interaction he would be motivated to transform his lifestyle and to grow spiritually? Why do so many in the Jewish and non-Jewish world alike find him so intriguing, compelling, and inspiring?

In September of 1991, at his Installation address as Chief Rabbi, Rabbi Sacks called for a decade of renewal based on five central values: “love of every Jew, love of learning, love of God, a profound contribution to British society, and an unequivocal attachment to Israel. Indeed, looking back over twenty years later, these are exactly the themes that have permeated Rabbi Sacks’s writings and have attracted so many to follow him.

I submit to you that Rabbi Sacks’s great impact and influence are not the result of his profundity, perspicacity and scholarship alone, but as or more importantly, result from his consistently positive messaging, optimistic outlook, and highly attractive vision.

Our rabbis have taught, divrei Chachamim, b’nachas nishma’im, the words of the scholars are embraced when delivered softly and gently. Additionally, they taught, Chachamim hizharu b’divreichem, scholars must be exceedingly measured with their words. Rabbi Sacks is an outstanding role model in heeding this wise advice and as a result, his messages are consistently heard.

Chazal understood that people are never motivated to change their minds or behaviors because of rhetoric, name-calling, vitriol, condemnations, or sweeping generalizations. When that language is employed, nobody is swayed. Those who were previously in agreement with the position being presented are already on board. Those that don’t agree, upon hearing the manner in which the idea is presented, simply disengage and stop listening, thereby precluding any possibility of being persuaded.

Communicating effectively and meaningfully requires dignity, nuance, refinement and words that are both measured and delicately scripted. Rabbi Sacks has mastered this style and the results are astounding. When we have the privilege of hearing him speak in our Shul this Shabbos, I urge you to not only listen to the content of his talks, but to pay close attention to the manner in which he delivers them..

Each week brings with it unfolding events that draw strong feelings and thoughts from us all. Who doesn’t have opinions about issues ranging from the announcement of executive action on immigration, the recent horrific terrorist attack in Israel, the events in Ferguson, the failed negotiations with Iran, to the setting of the thermostat in Shul.

If we want to not only talk, but to be persuasive and have our words considered in shaping others opinions, we would do well to follow the advice of chazal and the example of Rabbi Sacks and be thoughtful, careful, measured, and dignified when sharing all of our opinions.

Infertility Etiquette

Many of our young men and women of marriageable age assume that when a couple decides it is time to start a family, it is simple to conceive and bring a healthy baby into the world. In fairness, they have good reason for making that assumption. Growing up they often hear “mazel tov”s and see birth announcements, they attend brises and baby namings and they witness the growing families around them. Children are a central focus of Jewish life and living, and our young people understandably assume that having them is fairly easy and straightforward.

But they are wrong. What they don’t hear about, because we don’t talk about it, are those suffering and struggling in silence and privacy, desperate to bring a baby into the world and eager to become a mother and father for the first time, or once again. There are more than seven million people of childbearing age in the United States currently struggling with infertility. Up to twenty percent of those who do become pregnant experience a miscarriage. Eighty percent of those miscarriages occur within the first trimester, when the couple is unlikely to have told anyone they were expecting and before the woman begins to show.

Infertility and the pain associated with it are unfortunately nothing new. The Gemara (Yevamos 64a) teaches that our matriarchs and patriarchs struggled with barrenness. The Seforno on our parsha points out that Yitzchak was forty when he got married and the Torah says he was sixty when Yaakov and Esav were born. Together, Yitchak and Rivkah suffered with infertility for twenty long years, praying, longing, and waiting to see the fulfillment of God’s promise to build a nation.

Rachel, too, knew the pain of childlessness. She screamed out in pain, “im ayin, meisa anochi, if I don’t have a child I am already dead,” from which the Gemara (Nedarim 64b) teaches that to live without children is to experience a form of death.

Resolve, the National Infertility Association, writes on its website:

Infertility can feel like a death, like a prolonged mourning process as dreams die and hopes are dashed… The pain is similar to the grief over losing a loved one, but it is unique because it is a recurring grief. When a loved one dies, he isn’t coming back. There is no hope that he will come back from the dead. You must work through the stages of grief, accept that you will never see this person again, and move on with your life.

The grief of infertility is not so cut and dry. Infertile people grieve the loss of the baby that they may never know. They grieve the loss of that baby who would have had mommy’s nose and daddy’s eyes. But, each month, there is the hope that maybe that baby will be conceived after all. No matter how hard they try to prepare themselves for bad news, they still hope that this month will be different. Then, the bad news comes again, and the grief washes over the infertile couple anew. This process happens month after month, year after year. It is like having a deep cut that keeps getting opened right when it starts to heal.

This week, I met with three women whom I don’t know and who themselves only know each other from attending an infertility support group in Boynton Beach. They came with difficult and complex halachic questions about IVF, surrogacy, the use of gestational hosts, and Jewish status. I explained to them that I am far from an expert in these areas, but I am absolutely committed to researching their questions and helping them in every way that I can.

We then got into a discussion of the challenges of struggling with infertility and the acute pain, financial hardship, and intense loneliness that they have each felt. The women shared the often-prohibitive cost of treatments, with one of them having spent over half a million dollars and the others depleting their savings to cover bills totaling a quarter of a million dollars. Two of the women have babies as a result and I pray that the third will have her dreams of being a mother realized in the near future.

A common theme of the agony they described was the loneliness of going through this hardship without the explicit knowledge, awareness, support, love, or assistance of others. Those with infertility or who have suffered a miscarriage are grieving without anyone even knowing. They are forced to spend their days interacting with others as if all is well, when in fact it isn’t.

Worse than the indifference of friends and acquaintances, these women described, is the unintentional insensitivity of so many who have been blessed with healthy children and who make comments, tell stories, share pictures, or complain about their kids.

I walked away from the conversation pledging to myself and committed to encourage others to be better, more sensitive, and more aware of the comments and passing remarks we make at Shabbos tables, in shul, and on Facebook. If it were our son or daughter, or our brother or sister suffering with infertility, we would measure our words, think carefully about what we say, and anticipate the potential impact of all we do. When planning our simcha we would think about how we could be sensitive to our loved one who may never be in a position to make a bar or bat mitzvah or a wedding.

Well, those suffering are our loved ones. They are our brothers and sisters and we must bring that level of vigilance and mindfulness to our behavior to ensure that we don’t even unintentionally contribute or compound their already unbearable pain. When hosting a simcha or sharing about our children or grandchildren, minimally, we should always reference how fortunate and blessed we feel, that we don’t take it for granted and that we pray for those who don’t have children. We should mention the challenges of infertility in Chassan and Kallah classes, not to God forbid scare the young bride and groom, but to responsibly manage their expectations.

Resolve has a helpful page on its website called infertility etiquette in which they remind us not to be nosy, ask inappropriate questions, make assumptions, gossip, or minimize someone’s challenge. Instead, they say “The best thing you can do is let your infertile friends know that you care. Send them cards. Let them cry on your shoulder. If they are religious, let them know you are praying for them. Offer the same support you would offer a friend who has lost a loved one. Just knowing they can count on you to be there for them lightens the load and lets them know that they aren’t going through this alone.”

In the near future, we hope to start a support group for infertility and a support group for miscarriage and stillbirth. For more information or to share ideas of how we can be promote more sensitivity or be helpful, please contact me at reg@brsonline.org.

Our matriarchs and patriarchs ultimately saw their dreams fulfilled and we are here today as a result. May all those yearning for healthy children see their hopes and aspirations come true and may we all get only yiddishe nachas from the children whom we are so blessed and fortunate to have.

A Good Reason Not to Lose Faith in the Rabbinate – the Rebbetzins (Guest Post)

(Guest Post by Rebbetzin Yocheved Goldberg)

In the wake of the recent horrific rabbinic scandal there has been a loud call for the inclusion of more women’s voices in the administration of the Mikvah, involvement in conversion protocols, oversight of the rabbi, and leadership of the Jewish community. There is no doubt that women have a distinct perspective, great wisdom, and much to offer in these areas and many others, and their continued participation should be encouraged.

However, it should not go unsaid that in almost every single Jewish community, there already is a woman in a position of great leadership who helps shape the vision and agenda of the community, who has full access to the rabbi and is uninhibited to speak with him freely: the Rebbetzin. I recognize that not every rabbi’s wife has an interest in serving in the traditional role of rebbetzin, nor is she required to. However, the position of rebbetzin, while unofficial and unpaid, affords tremendous opportunity to impact the community with a woman’s perspective and priorities.

As rebbetzins, we learn with bat mitzvah girls, kallahs, and conversion candidates, we are often involved in the supervision and maintenance of the mikvah, we teach classes, field questions, host people at our Shabbos and Yom Tov tables and partner with our husbands in leading the community. Additionally, rebbetzins are charged with keeping their husbands humble, reminding them that at home they are not rabbi, but father and husband.

Rebbetzin is a role that I cherish and feel blessed to fill. It is not an easy job, and I’m sure there are times when I don’t do it well, but it is deeply rewarding and extremely meaningful. It impacts my children in a positive way and I feel enriched from my involvement in the community and from my interaction with its members.

Although there is no formal schooling or graduate program for this unique position, we are so fortunate that Yeshiva University, and Rebbetzin Meira Davis who runs the program each year, deeply value the role of the rebbetzin and find it necessary to nurture our growth and inspire us in our roles. It is for this reason that for the last number of years, they have organized a two-day conference for rebbetzins, the Rebbetzin Esther Rosenblatt Yarchei Kallah. Every year, I look forward with great anticipation to gathering with other rebbetzins from all over the world to study together, hear thought-provoking presentations, and enjoy the camaraderie of mentors, peers, and friends.

This year’s conference, which was held earlier this week, focused on the goal of “Nurturing Our Strengths and the Appreciation of our Role as Rebbetzin.” The themes and ideas that were presented were vast and touched upon many different aspects of our rebbetzin role. We started out with a session about how we can best attempt to inspire today’s youth and bring them closer to spirituality and a love of Hashem. We had a frank discussion with Rabbi Dr. Abraham Twerski on addiction and substance abuse in our communities. We learned from tremendous role models about resiliency and how to stay strong during the most difficult times.

Dr. David Pelcovitz taught us about the Jewish and psychological approach to happiness. He explained how there are three techniques to bring us Simcha. First, we need to count our blessings, because when you start to count them you realize that there are many. Second, we must set real and attainable goals for ourselves. Lastly, we should always attempt to savor every moment of our lives. He reminded us not to waste time on the phone and to always rush through our days, but to slow down and enjoy the little things in life and all that Hashem has given us. We were coached on how to help couples who are having a difficult time communicating with each other, and advised about the best methods for resolving conflicts in relationships.

One of the most important qualities of a successful rebbetzin is empathy and the capacity to feel the pain of others. Towards that end, we heard from a single woman about her experience in the singles scene. She explained in great detail about the hurtful things people said to her and the way she was treated and judged, and she gave us advice on how we can best help the singles in our communities. A very courageous and special woman who struggled with infertility explained her ordeal and the challenges she faced living in the Jewish community without children. In a timely session we had an open and frank discussion with a well-known therapist on what to do when confronted with crisis or scandal in general and we focused in particular on how we can best respond to the most recent scandals that have rocked the Jewish world. There were many other shiurim and sessions that were presented and each one gave me tremendous insight into who I am as a person first and foremost, and what I can accomplish as a leader within the community.

Each year I leave the conference with so much to think about and to incorporate into my life and role as rebbetzin. I return home with renewed excitement and enthusiasm to do more, be better, and serve you as best as I can.

Unfortunately, we have seen a crisis of faith in the rabbinate in the last few weeks and though the reason is understandable, the sweeping suspicion of all rabbis is unjust and undeserved. In fact, I left this conference feeling a strengthening of faith in our rabbis because I met and got to know many of their rebbetzins. The close to one hundred women who gathered together this past week are selfless, educated, spiritual, wise, nurturing, caring, remarkable people who voluntarily fill a role that is demanding, stressful, and often underappreciated. This conference reminded me that Jewish communities around the world are so fortunate to have exceptional women in the highly influential leadership position of rebbetzin and their husbands are lucky to have them at their sides, guiding them, advising them, and helping them reach their greatest potentials.

These outstanding women inspired me and spending time with them reminded me how fortunate and blessed my family and I are to be part of the Boca Raton Synagogue family. Being rebbetzin of a community filled with warmth, love, unity, gratitude and opportunity is something I will never take for granted. Though it is not always easy to balance communal responsibilities with family obligations, and I recognize that I cannot be both rebbetzin and mommy 24/7, I hope to continue to learn, grown and develop in this sacred role for years to come.

Women can be and should be in leadership positions. Thank God we are fortunate to have strong and committed women working hard for our communities each and every day, to insure a bright future for the Jewish people.

Baseball vs. Football – Helping the Homeless be Safe at Home

Comedian George Carlin had a fantastic routine called “Baseball vs. Football.”

Baseball is a 19th-century pastoral game. Football is a 20th-century technological struggle.

Baseball is played on a diamond, in a park. The baseball park! Football is played on a gridiron, in a stadium, sometimes called Soldier Field or War Memorial Stadium.

Baseball begins in the spring, the season of new life. Football begins in the fall, when everything is dying.

In football you wear a helmet. In baseball you wear a cap.

Football is concerned with downs. “What down is it?” Baseball is concerned with ups. “Who’s up? Are you up? I’m not up! He’s up!”

In football you receive a penalty. In baseball you make an error.

Football has clipping, spearing, piling on, personal fouls, late hitting, and unnecessary roughness. Baseball has the sacrifice.

Baseball has the seventh-inning stretch. Football has the two-minute warning.

Baseball has no time limit: “We don’t know when it’s gonna end!” Football is rigidly timed, and it will end, “even if we have to go to sudden death.”

In baseball, during the game, in the stands, there’s kind of a picnic feeling. Emotions may run high or low, but there’s not that much unpleasantness. In football, during the game in the stands, you can be sure that at least 27 times you were perfectly capable of taking the life of a fellow human being.

And finally, the objectives of the two games are completely different: In football, the object is for the quarterback, otherwise known as the field general, to be on target with his aerial assault, riddling the defense by hitting his receivers with deadly accuracy in spite of the blitz, even if he has to use the shotgun. With short bullet passes and long bombs, he marches his troops into enemy territory, balancing this aerial assault with a sustained ground attack that punches holes in the forward wall of the enemy’s defensive line. In baseball the object is to go home. And to be safe. “I’m going home! I hope I’ll be safe!”

While Carlin’s routine is witty and clever, the recent NFL scandals are no laughing matter. After serious allegations against star players, the NFL announced the appointment of one of its female executives to run a “social responsibility” team and hired three domestic violence and sex crimes experts as advisers.

The question of whether or not the violent and ferocious nature of football impacts players’ behavior off the field has been widely debated. Given the lack of statistical evidence, it is difficult, and perhaps unfair, to ascribe a causative relationship between playing football and ruthlessness off the field.

However, what is undeniably clear is that on the field football players are to show no mercy. The former pro football defensive tackle and current NFL Network announcer, Warren Sapp, was interviewed on a Tampa radio station a couple of weeks ago. He chose that platform to vent about the behavior of a member of his old Buccaneers team, the defensive tackle Gerald McCoy, who helped an opponent to his feet after a play was over. “To see him reach down and help the running back up and help the lineman up, I almost threw up,” Sapp said.

A few years ago, James Harrison of the Pittsburgh Steelers was fined $75,000 for using his helmet to knock not just one Cleveland Brown player out of the game, but two. After the game, he wasn’t shy to explain: “I don’t want to see anyone injured, but I’m not opposed to hurting anyone. There’s a difference. When you’re injured, you can’t play. But when you’re hurt, you can shake it off and come back, maybe a few plays later or the next game. I try to hurt people.”

“I try to hurt people” is the kind of thing we would expect to hear from the residents of Sedom, the wicked city whose destruction is described in our parsha. We are told that in Sedom women were routinely abused and men were sodomized (etymology from Sedom). And yet, it is not this abusive behavior but a different behavior, one that seems entirely reasonable, that our Rabbis criticize and label midas Sedom, the behavior of Sedom.

In civil law, there are circumstances where one person gains and the other does not lose – ze nehene, v’ze lo chaser. For example, if a person is driving to a wedding and someone asks for a ride, the passenger gains a ride and saves on the gas and tolls, while the driver loses nothing as he was going anyway. The Talmud gives the example of two brothers who inherit a field from their father. One of the brothers already owns the adjacent field and requests the portion of the inheritance that abuts his field. He stands to gain, while his brother will not lose by accommodating him.

In such situations of ze nehene v’ze lo chaser, if the one who does not stand to lose nevertheless denies the other person the benefit they seek, they are described by the Talmud and later the Shulchan Aruch as exhibiting middas Sedom, the character or quality of a member of Sedom. Why does refusing to be gracious qualify as Sedom behavior? How can it compare to abuse and sodomy to the extent that our Rabbis could associate it with Sedom?

I suggest that not accommodating someone when it costs you nothing is not in fact benign or pareve, but is in reality cruel and ruthless. If you have an opportunity to help someone and it will cost you time, money, energy, political capital, social standing or anything else, it is understandable to hesitate and perhaps to even say no. However, if all else is equal and you refuse to accommodate someone though it has zero impact on you, such behavior is downright cruel.

We listen to James Harrison say, “I try to hurt people,” or hear Warren Sapp say he almost threw up when he saw a player helping another and we think we have nothing in common with them or their attitude. When we learn of the behavior of the people of Sedom, we think we would never live in such a place or associate with such people. And yet, middas Sedom is not only exhibited when we do something actively cruel, but also when we are passively cruel and heartless by not doing something that could be helpful or beneficial, especially in circumstances where it would have absolutely no impact on us whatsoever.

Kindness, compassion, helping and supporting others should not be extraordinary or outstanding behavior. Rather, they should be our default reaction to a person in need, unless there is some major reason not to get involved.

Earlier this week, 90–year-old Arnold Abbott was cited by police for feeding the homeless on a beach in Ft. Lauderdale. In October, the City of Fort Lauderdale Commission passed an ordinance that banned organizations from distributing food outdoors in public spaces. Every Wednesday for the past 23 years, Abbott and his non-profit organization, Love Thy Neighbor, have been feeding the homeless on the same beach. This Wednesday was no different, except that this time he was approached by police officers. “One of the police officers said, ‘Drop that plate right now,’ as if I were carrying a weapon,” Abbott said. He will get his court subpoena in the mail and a judge will decide if he will spend up to sixty days in jail and be fined $500.

Mayor Jack Seiler defended the ordinance. “It’s a public safety issue. It’s a public health issue. The experts have all said that if you’re going to feed them to get them from breakfast to lunch to dinner, all you’re doing is enabling that cycle of homelessness. They don’t interact with anyone; they don’t receive the aid that they need.”

Abbott insists he will not stop feeding the homeless. He says it is cruel to see hungry people with nothing to eat and not offer them something.

One cannot consider the ordinance middas Sedom, cruel and ruthless behavior, in light of the Mayor’s explanation that the law is designed for the benefit and long-term welfare of the homeless. Moreover, halacha teaches dina d’malchusa dina, the laws of the land when not in contradiction to Torah are binding and must be observed.

If Abbott and those who agree with him feel strongly that the homeless deserve immediate support and food and that Ft. Lauderdale should find another way of encouraging the homeless to seek a shelter or use government services, then they should work within the system to change the ordinance. Until then, they should invite the homeless to eat in locations and venues that are within the law.

Though perhaps executed in the wrong place, Arnold Abbott’s compassionate instinct is admirable and commendable. Not only would he never “try to hurt people,” his natural inclination is to intercede on behalf of those people who are hungry and hurting. We should be inspired by him to practice greater kindness, compassion and concern for others.

Our goal should be the same as in baseball – to make sure that everybody, especially the homeless, are simply safe at home.

Is Challahween the Sequel to Thanksgivukkah or Totally Different?

Last year, due to a very rare intersection of the Jewish and Gregorian calendars, Thanksgiving coincided with the first day of Chanukah resulting in a day that was popularly referred to as Thanksgivukkah. This week a different overlap which occurs much more often will take place as Halloween falls on Friday Night. While Thanksgivukkah was widely embraced and broadly celebrated by many in the observant community, Challahween will go by without recognition or fanfare for what we think are obvious reasons, obvious until we try to articulate them.

In contemporary times, Halloween seems to lack religious significance and serves only as a platform to have fun, dress up and collect candy. What is wrong with putting on a costume, being friendly with the neighbors and satisfying our sweet tooth?

Unlike Thanksgiving, whose origins are consistent with our religious beliefs, Halloween began as the pagan Celtic festival of Samhain, a day on which the devil was invoked for various divinations. Encyclopedia Britannica says, “The souls of the dead were supposed to revisit their homes on this day and the autumnal festival acquired sinister significance, with ghosts, witches, hobgoblins…and demons of all kinds said to be roaming about.”

Today, the overwhelming majority of those trick or treating and dressing up, not only have no pagan thoughts or intent, but don’t even know Halloween’s historical background. So again, if all my children or I want to do is put on a fun costume and knock on neighbors’ door to collect candy with no religious association, what is the problem?

The Torah (Vayikra 18:3) cautions us from imitating chukas ha’akum, foreign practices and customs, not because we discriminate against non-Jews, but rather in an effort to preserve and support Jewish values, ideals and a distinctly Jewish lifestyle with pride. The Rama, Rav Moshe Isserless, on his gloss on Shulchan Aruch (y.d. 178:1) rules that it is forbidden to observe a custom that has pagan origins, even in a secular context devoid of religious significance and meaning.

Dressing up for Halloween and trick or treating are a perfect example of the Rama’s ruling and perforce are forbidden. The issue is not judging or rejecting the practices of our non-Jewish neighbors as much as seeking to reinforce distinctly Jewish practices and Torah values in our families and communities.

Fascinatingly, despite Halloween’s designation as having pagan roots, several gedolim proudly distributed candy to those who knocked on their door trick or treating. The Artscroll biography of Rav Yaakov Kaminetsky describes how Rav Yaakov cheerfully handed out candy to all those who knocked on his door on Halloween.

Rabbi Akiva Males recounts his father- in- law’s memory of being in Rav Pam’s home on Halloween night.

“When my wife’s older sister became engaged in the 1990s, my in-laws took my (future) sister-in-law and my (future) brother-in-law over to meet Rav and Rebbitzen Pam and receive their bracha and good wishes. What’s the most vivid memory they all have of that evening? It was October 31st. In contrast to the many Jewish homes around the Pams who had turned off their lights to discourage trick-or-treaters, the Pams left their front light on. While they all chatted with Rav Pam in the dining room, his Rebbitzen was in the kitchen working the hot-air popcorn popper and preparing plastic baggies of popcorn to give out with a smile to all the local non-Jewish kids who knocked at their door.”

How do we reconcile the prohibition of observing Halloween with the stories of great rabbis responding so positively to trick or treaters?

Avraham Avinu, the founder of ethical monotheism and the father of our people, when purchasing a grave for his wife, described himself as “ger v’toshav anochi imachem, I am a stranger and a resident together with you.”

Rabbi Yosef Dov Soloveitchik zt”l explains that in this introduction Avraham captured the tension that every Jew is destined to live with forever. On the one hand, we are toshavim, residents and inhabitants of the great countries in which we live. We function as active citizens participating in the fullness of the society around us. And yet, at the same time, we must remain geirim, strangers: different, apart, distinct and dissimilar. Ger v’toshav – we are to simultaneously be part of, and apart from, the general world around us. Striking the proper balance and equilibrium between our dual identities and roles is the mission of the Jew at every time and in every place that he or she has ever lived.

There have been periods in our history in which we didn’t need to work hard to remember that we were different. Through their anti-Semitism, persecution and oppression, our hosts have often reminded us that we were geirim, we were not the same. As badly as we tried to blend in, as hard as we tried to assimilate and as much as we sought to merge with those around us, we were denied the opportunity to be toshavim, equal residents and citizens. Indeed, the imbalance which tilted towards being geirim, towards being different, was our default status for the bulk of our history.

And yet, at this moment in history, blessed to live in this great country, a truly exceptional place that has afforded us extraordinary opportunity, once again our balance is off, our equilibrium between ger v’toshav, stranger and resident, is out of alignment. This time, it is in the opposite direction with devastating results, as evidenced by the recent Pew study.

The observant community is not immune from the draw of assimilation and the temptation to do what everyone around us is doing, particularly when it seems as innocuous as dressing up and collecting candy. But it is specifically when things seem innocuous that in some ways they are the most threatening.

As part of a general movement in America away from particularism and towards universalism, there has been a shift in recent years from December greetings of Merry Christmas to a more generic Happy Holidays. At first blush, as Jews one might think we should be grateful for the nonspecific greeting which seems more sensitive to those who don’t practice Christmas.

However, I submit to you that, in fact, changing the greeting to Happy Holidays combined with the overall secularization and commercialization of much of Christmas doesn’t serve the Jewish people; it threatens to blur the lines that we rely on to distinguish us. The more secular Christmas becomes, the more accessible and inviting it will be to Jews who may someday have a tree and leave gifts under it, arguing that it has no religious significance to them. It is just fun, like Halloween.

All one has to do is survey the young people who are struggling mightily with the rigorous expectations of observant Judaism and the traditional viewpoints of Torah towards many social issues of the day to realize how threatening the allure of being a toshav is and its impact on our religious community. Our generation needs to place a greater emphasis on the ger aspect of our identity, not out of a sense of retreat, isolationism or defensiveness, but with pride, excitement and enthusiasm for our Jewish holidays, practices and customs.

Recognizing our role as geirim, different and distinct, Rav Yaakov and Rav Pam most certainly would never endorse or permit Jews to trick or treat or dress up for Halloween. Yet, they understood that, at the same time, our identity as toshavim demands that we not turn out the lights, literally or metaphorically, when our non-Jewish neighbors knock on our door, but instead we greet them with warmth and cheerfulness.

On Challahween this year, I suggest we follow the example of our great leaders. We should graciously give candy to those who knock on our doors, while abstaining from dressing up or trick or treating ourselves.

Let’s use this Friday night around our Shabbos tables for a meaningful dialogue about the challenges of being geirim and toshavim at the same time. Let’s share ideas and strategies about how we can best preserve our Jewish identity and practices with pride, without having to forfeit our participation in and concern for the society around us.

Responding to Scandal With Nuance

Shocked, devastated, pained, violated, outraged, and anxious are just some of the understandable reactions to the despicable scandal that broke last week. As has been pointed out, the mikvah is the most sacred space in a community: a place of purity, vulnerability, and exposure. If the allegations are true, the conduct of the rabbi who is alleged to have placed cameras in his community’s mikvah is not the result of illness, and must not be excused as a rabbi having human fallibility and temptation. Such egregious behavior, premeditated by definition, is evil and wicked, plain and simple, and he must be held accountable for his actions.

The list of those violated as a result of his behavior is long. Obviously, the people videoed are the greatest victims for whom our sympathy and support must know no bounds. The righteous converts who underwent a life transformation under his supervision have suffered unnecessary worry and angst about their status. The members of his Shul, who placed their trust and faith in their Rabbi, have been unfairly drawn into the spotlight and forced to confront an unimaginable, terrible and distasteful scandal concerning their rabbi. More broadly, among those suffering are women everywhere who use the mikvah, many of whom will now hesitate, pause or immerse anxiously and hurriedly and while distracted. And of course, we can’t imagine the pain of his innocent family.

It is incumbent on the Jewish community to use this scandal to motivate us to evaluate our policies and procedures as they relate to mivkah, to review how our mikvaos function, and to identify ways that we can do more to preserve modesty and integrity, and provide comfort and reassurance to those who rely on us. Undoubtedly, there are improvements that can be made and safeguards that can be put in place within our Jewish organizations and institutions and some of them are already being implemented.

As a Vice President of the Rabbinical Council of America, I am proud of our swift action to unanimously suspend the perpetrator from our organization and to state publicly that “conversions performed by the perpetrator prior to his arrest remain halachically valid and prior converts remain Jewish in all respects.” Moreover, the RCA announced that “every Beit Din assembled under their Geirus Protocol and Standards (GPS) will appoint a woman (or group of women) to serve as ombudsman to receive any concerns of female candidates to conversion.” Additionally, “This week, the RCA will appoint a commission composed of rabbis, lay leaders and mental health professionals (including men and women) to review the current GPS conversion process and suggest safeguards against possible abuses.”

But, there is one more group that has been violated by the unconscionable behavior of the accused rabbi: namely, we his colleagues. His behavior has placed a stain on the rabbinate and given rise to an atmosphere and mood of suspicion and distrust towards rabbis in general.

I understand the pain and I recognize the devastating hurt. I share it. While women are the primary victims, one does not have to be a woman to feel outrage. The suspicion and distrust of leaders, particularly of rabbis that has rapidly swelled is understandable. After all, the perpetrator was trusted, admired and respected. Who would have believed he was capable of what he allegedly did? And therefore, who knows what my rabbi or community leader might be doing as well?

A survey of articles, blog posts, and social media comments reveals an almost wholesale, sweeping condemnation of rabbis, members of rabbinical conversion courts, mikvah caretakers, and, in some cases, all men. The cynicism, skepticism and distrust are understandable. But are they healthy for the Jewish community? Are they fair to its leaders? And will these attitudes ultimately be helpful and productive in fostering the safe environment and positive changes that we all seek?

The Gemora tells us and the Shulchan Aruch quotes: “rov metzuyin eitzel shechita kesheirim heim.” There is a chazaka, an established assumption, that the majority of those that engage in shechita, ritual slaughter, are trustworthy, honorable and faithful. For centuries, the shochet of the community had the confidence of the community. The butcher shop didn’t have supervision or a mashgiach. The butcher unlocked and locked the shop. He wasn’t suspected and his integrity was not challenged.

But that changed. Enough scandals and too many violations caused the global Jewish community to require supervision, checks, balances and oversight. Did the butcher lose his chezkas kashrus, his assumption of trustworthiness? Do we now assume that all butchers are liars and thieves such that we must vigilantly supervise them? No. Their intrinsic and assumed trustworthiness remains, but circumstances require us to take precautions and institute reasonable safeguards in order to eliminate and protect the community from the rare individuals who seek to perpetrate fraud.

The behavior of one revealed to be corrupt and immoral, even if it is the exception, can and should motivate us to improve our systems and governance. This improvement does not represent a concession that corruption and immorality are the new status quo and therefore leave anyone justified in slandering and vilifying others.

Our reaction to this horrific revelation must be swift, strong and unwavering. But it also must be thoughtful and nuanced. In our pursuit of justice we must be just towards those whose presumption of innocence and whose integrity remain.

To be clear – this scandalous behavior did not happen because the perpetrator was a rabbi or a man. It happened because the perpetrator is an immoral, depraved pervert. This crime could have been committed by a female mikvah attendant, a corrupt rebbetzin, or a degenerate maintenance man. It could have happened in the women’s bathroom in shul, in the changing room at the “frum” women’s clothing store, or in the locker room at the women’s only gym.

Calls for safeguards, improved supervision, and greater input and leadership by women are important and welcomed. However, sweeping indictments of rabbis and promoting a culture of suspicion towards all leaders is an unfair and counterproductive injustice. Opportunistic calls promoting various agendas that in truth are totally disconnected from this scandal are distracting from the real changes and unifying efforts that we need to be working on together.

Rabbis are not perfect, not above the law, and in need of feedback, supervision, and accountability. But make no mistake, this scandal did not happen because rabbis form the batei din of conversion or because rabbis hold the “keys to the mikvah” or because rabbis don’t have annual reviews. It happened because a disturbed individual behaved in a deplorable and unforgivable manner. It is fair to explore what safeguards can prevent such behavior in the future. However, it is not fair to impugn the reputation of rabbis everywhere, many of whom work tirelessly, selflessly, and at great personal sacrifice with integrity, honesty and sensitivity.

In July, Johns Hopkins Hospital agreed to pay $190 million to 8,000 patients of a gynecologist who worked for them and was found to have been recording his patients with a spy pen. It was found that the doctor often did not have a nurse in the room during examinations, something that should be done consistently. Certainly, there are lessons to be learned for the medical community from this episode. But would it be reasonable or responsible to suggest that all male doctors are somehow suspect or that only women should be ob-gyns, with no men in that specialty at all?

Our tradition teaches us, hevei mesunim b’din, be cautious and careful when issuing judgments. Understand the ramifications and unintended consequences of how we react when a scandal breaks and the damage we may cause to those who don’t deserve it.

Above all, I pray that those victimized find healing, comfort, and the strength to maintain faith in leaders, and in the beauty of Judaism, Torah, community, and Mikvah.

I pray that my colleagues and I will all have the courage, commitment, integrity and conviction to evaluate how we can improve our institutions, organizations, Shuls, communities, and mikvaos, because we can always get better, without having to accept guilt for something we have not done.

And I pray that all of our responses and reactions, in print, on the internet and around our Shabbos tables, be nuanced, thoughtful, fair and just.

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