Jewish Life May-June 1968 by Jewish Action

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JU D A ISM A N D A R T ---- F O R C E S IN C O N FL IC T ? C H A S S ID IS M ’S G R E A T E ST IS S U E S

VS.

STO RY -TELLER

S ID E S

O N D U T Y TO C O N SC IE N C E A N D D U T M T O G O V E R N M E N T

SIYAN-TAMMUZ 572 8 MAY-JUNE 1 9 6 8

Announcement

70th Anniversary N ational Biennial Convention OF T H E

Union of Orthodox Jewish Congregations of America will be held at the W ASHINGTON H IL TO N in W A SH IN G T O N , D.C. W ednesday, November 27—Sunday, December 1, 1968 Kislev 6 to Kislev 10, 5729 • PLEASE RESERVE THESE DATES

Thanksgiving Week . . . in the Nation's Capital

Vol. XXXV, No. 5/May-June 1968/Sivan-Tammuz 5728

THE EDITOR’S VIEW S aul B e rn ste in , Editor R abbi S. J. Sharem an L ibby K laperman P aul H. B aris

Editorial Associates E lkanah S chwartz

Assistant Editor JEWISH LIFE is published bi-monthly. Subscription two years $4.50, three years $6.00, four years $7.50. Foreign: Add 40 cents per year. Editorial and Publication Office: 84 Fifth Avenue New York 10011, N. Y. A l gonquin 5-4100 Published by U n io n of O rthodox J e w ish C ongregations of A merica J oseph K arasick

President

TH E RISHON LE-ZIO N ’S V I S I T ....................................................

AMERICAN DILEM M A, JEWISH R E S P O N S E ......................

ARTICLES ON DUTY TO CONSCIENCE AN D DUTY TO GOVERNMENT/lsrael Bornstein ........................................

ISSUES VERSUS SIDES/Abraham C oh e n ............................

JUDAISM AN D A R T -F O R C E S IN CONFLICT?/ Michael Kaufm an..............................................................................

CHASSIDISM’S GREATEST S TO RY-TELLER / H . Rabinow icz.................................................................................

BOOK REVIEWS IN AGUDIST PER S PEC TIV E/0 . Asher Reichel ..............

DEPARTMENTS CASES FROM T H E RESPONSA LIT ER A TU R E/ David S. Shapiro ...........................................................................

H arold M . J acobs

Chairman of the Board B e n ja m in K o e n ig s b e r g , Nathan K. Gross, David Politi, Dr. Bernard Lander, Harold H. Boxer, Vice Presi d e n t s ; M o r r is L. G reen , Treasurer; Dr. A. Abba Walker, Secretary; Michael Kaufman, Financial Secretary.

AM ONG OUR C O N T R IB U T O R S ................. Inside back cover LETTERS TO T H E EDITOR ...........................................................I

Cover and drawings on pages 14 and 17 by Naama Kitov

Dr. Samson R. Weiss Executive Vice President Saul Bernstein, Administrator Second Class Postage paid at New York, N. Y.

May-June 1968

Drawings on pages 46, 50, and 64 by David Adler

the EDITOR'S V IEW The Rishon Le-Zion9s Visit H P HE visit to the United States and Canada of Israel’s Chief l Rabbi Yitzchak Nissim, Rishon Le-Zion, has brought North American Jewry invigorating contact with one who joins to the aura of his high office rare spiritual depth, clarity of vision, and strength of character. The purpose of the revered leader’s visit, as he made clear throughout, went beyond the strengthening of bonds between the communities. His message, reiterated again and again, was plain-spoken and compelling: “The Land of Israel awaits you. Come.” In choosing the Union of Orthodox Jewish Congregations of America as his host on his first Western Hemisphere visit, the Rishon Le-Zion signalled his awareness of where the center of gravity in North American Jewish life is to be found. Therein too lies a message upon which the American Jewish community, and especially traditional Jewry, would do well to ponder. The timing of the Rav Rashi’s visit was singularly rich in meaning. It fell in the season which bridges Pesach with Shovuoth, and in the days joining the twentieth anniversary of the establishment of Medinath Israel with the first anniversary of the freeing and unification of Jerusalem. His presence among us then brought home anew the miracles of Divine intervention vouchsafed to this generation and their relation to those wit nessed by our fathers before us. It is in this relationship of miracle to miracle, of re-establishment on the Holy Land and recovery of the Holy City with the Redemption from Bondage and the Giving of the Torah, that the House of Israel finds its being, its purpose, and its eternity.

American Dilemma ,Jewish Response ' T 1OSSED and battered in the throes of great change, today’s A America is unsure of itself as rarely before. The successive shocks of the past weeks have awakened even the most slum berous to volcanic eruptions at home and abroad. With its world position endangered and its society in upheaval, America is propelled along an uncharted path. Only those who know well the matchless resources of the American spirit can dare to view the course with neither illusion nor despair. Among these should be counted American Jews. With the feeling for the American essence that comes from

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unique historical experience, Jews can contribute a full share of the balanced perception for which the times cry. Were there a tendency to be hesitant in this regard, the personalized impact of the multi-faceted dilemma would prove a sufficient spur. Yet if current approaches to the aspects which press most in sistently across the Jewish threshold are to be taken as index, we have fallen short of the need. The problems of race tensions and student disorientation are the cases in point. Both these ‘‘all-American” problems affect Jews in ways different from, and in addition to, their general impact. They accordingly invite more intensive and particularized Jewish at tention. But while much Jewish effort is expended in both areas, very little of it, if any, is keyed to factors basically differentiat ing Jewish-Negro relations from the wider race relations issue and the Jewish campus problem from the campus problem in general. The assumption prevails that once the keys are found to these issues in the all-American dimension, their Jewish as pects will thereupon disappear. This is no less fatuous and dangerous than the reverse philosophy would be. T TIEWING the situation of Jewish students on the fermenting ▼ campus scene, we must recognize that Jewish disorienta tion compounds the social disorientation they share with the rest. We can be thankful that most Jewish students have recog nized for what it is and spurned the communo-fascist movement that has engineered the current wave of campus rapine. Still, we cannot ignore the fact that Jewish students are among its ranks and that others have been taken in tow. This, despite to talitarianism’s mortal enmity towards the Jewish people through fifty years to this very day. Nor can we any longer evade the fact that this is but the latest and most grotesque symptom of campus-nurtured flight from self. A great proportion of Jewish students are catastrophically unequipped to meet the campus challenge to Jewishness. Jewish students, as distinguished from others, have a twofold disorientation, and the Jewish program must be governed and geared accordingly. So too must Jewish thinking and action on the race issue be geared to the distinctive realities of Negro-Jewish relations. Better than most, the Jew can understand the black man’s triple quest for equality, opportunity, and identity. He should then be capable of relating to the strivings of black Americans with special effectiveness. It is indeed a fact that Jews have been among the foremost to respond to the call for justice to the Negro and in practical support for his cause. Yet, far from close rapport, there prevails today a tension between the Jewish and Negro communities which was never known before.

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If there remains a doubt as to the anti-Jewish accent of the looting and burning of Jewish-owned stores in repeated waves of convulsive black insurrection, or of the drives to supplant Jewish personnel in schools and other public employment, there can be no such doubt about the expressions and actions of black militant groups. Jewish community relations organizations, much at a loss, have hastened to the conclusion that Jewish effort for black progress has been insufficient and must now be intensified at all costs. None can take exception to the call for all Americans to join in far-reaching action to enable the black populace to achieve a full role in American society and to share equally in its benefits. But in view of plain indications that it is precisely the sense of “beholdenness” to disproportionate Jewish aid that fuels Negro antisemitism, it is an illusion to suppose that in crease of the one will diminish the other. N this era of basic change, not just a new page of history but a new volume is being written. America’s ethnic and religi ous communities share in its writing, each making its particular contribution. They will do well to join in the task in a spirit of equal cooperation and mutual respect and reciprocity. Then, and only then, will the problems prove soluble.

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On Duty to Conscience A n d Duty to Government by ISRAEL BORNSTEIN

HE question of the position one should take in a conflict of one’s duty to his government, and to G-d and higher principles is as old as man kind. There was never a simple an swer. If the government is involved in what our conscience tells us is basically immoral, our loyalty to the government cannot absolve us from the higher duty that dictates us to re frain. But otherwise, we are not com pelled to investigate every minute act we perform in its behalf. If each and every order had to be subjected to scrupulous evaluation and analysis, anarchy and total paralyzation would ensue. However, where the issue we have before us clearly is against the moral and ethical principles we pro fess, there is a serious question whe ther we ought not to refuse participa tion. In Germany in the Nazi period the populace at every turn faced this ag onizing conflict and yielded the obli gation to conscience by participating directly and indirectly in the immoral and heinous extermination of the lews at the behest of their leaders.

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Today in the military encounter in Vietnam, growing defections from the Communist forces and also the cases of some American soldiers may be attributed to doubt as to the justifica tion for their participation in the bloodshed. If a man is convinced he has no right to lend himself to a mili tary undertaking, how should he act? HE specific laws related to the soldier are treated in the Bible and in the Talmud. Here in this essay only the basic conflict of conscience can be considered. It is well known that in expansionary wars (Milchemeth Reshuth), men could obtain ex emptions for various reasons and cer tainly for pangs of conscience (Sotah 43b). If the war was Milchemeth Mitzvah, a war forced upon the nation in its self-defense, the citizens would be under obligation to serve re gardless of their personal scruples. However, the very question could arise as to whether a given war is absolutely necessary and a Milchemeth Mitzvah, i.e., to protect the na tion against aggression, or whether it

is justified in order to safeguard an other nation which is threatened by an imperialistic aggressor. There is also the question of what would be the consequences for a re fusal to participate in a govern ment-ordered action. In a war of na tional defense it could mean death to an objector. Would participation then be justified to save one’s own life? In Germany one of the crucial questions asked those who helped ex ecute Jews, among many others, was: “Why did you not refuse, or ask for a transfer to other, less repugnant, duties?” Some of these basic questions be setting our contemporaries are treated in the Talmud. The sources quoted are not for purpose of Halachic decisions. For this it would be necessary to draw on Halachic response and to obtain the opinions of the leading Torah authorities of our era. The ob jective of this essay is to expose some of the many moral and ethical impli cations inherent in a Talmudic narra tive where the crux is a conflict of conscience with government directive; a narrative which suggests in signifi cant respects analoguous to situations in our time. N Bova Metziah (83b) a strange and puzzling story is related about a teacher and rabbi who became a government sleuth: Rabbi El’ozor, son of Rabbi Shim’on, once met an officer of the (Roman) Government who had been sent to arrest thieves. “How can you detect them?” he said. “Are they not com pared to wild beasts, of whom it is written, ‘Therein (in the darkness) all the beasts of the forest creep forth?” ’ (Others say, he referred him to the verse: “He lieth in wait se cretly as a lion in his den.”) “May

be,” (he continued,) “you take the innocent and allow the guilty to es cape?” The officer answered: “What shall I do? It is the King’s com» mand.” Said the Rabbi: “Let me tell you what to do. Go into a tavern at the fourth hour of the day. If you see a man dozing with a cup of wine in his hand, ask what he is. If he is a learned man (you may as sume that) he has risen early to pursue his studies; if he is a day laborer he must have been up early to do his work; if his work is of the kind that is done at night, he might have been rolling thin metal. If he is none of these, he is a thief; arrest him.” The report (of this con versation) was brought to the Court and the order was given: “Let the reader of the letter become the mes senger.” Rabbi El’ozor, son of Rabbi Shim’on, was accordingly sent for, and he proceeded to arrest the thieves. Thereupon Rabbi Yehoshua, son of Karchah, sent word to him: “Vinegar, son of wine! How long will you de liver up the people of our G-d for slaughter!” Back came the reply: “I weed out the thorns from the vine yard.” Whereupon Rabbi Yehoshua retorted: “Let the owner of the vine yard himself (G-d) cojne and weed out the thorns.” An appendix to the story indicates that those who were apprehended through Rabbi El’ozor were subse quently hanged. For his questionable exploits Rabbi El’ozor was ingloriously nicknamed “Vinegar, Son of Wine” to express the contempt he was held in as the unworthy son of an illustrious father. Despite the disapproval of his colleagues and fellow Jews, Rabbi El’ozor continued to hold the loyalty of his pupils who revered him and shared his distress at having served as the instrument of the Roman police. When the heartbroken Rabbi El’ozor wept at the execution of one of the JEWISH LIFE

culprits he had apprehended, he was comforted by his disciples: “Master do not grieve, the man was guilty of another crime for which he truly de served death.” In conjunction with Rabbi El’ozor’s story, a similar incident is related which introduces additional arguments for and against people caught in his di lemma. A similar thing befell Rabbi Yishmoel son of Rabbi Yose. (One day) Eliyahu met him and remonstrated with him: “How long will you de liver the people of our G-d to execu tion!”—“What can I do,” he replied, “it is the royal decree.” “Your father fled to Asia,” he retorted, “do you flee to Laodicea!” In this second incident the Talmud expresses its unequivocal disapproval of the activities in which Rabbi El’ozor and Rabbi Yishmoel were en gaged. This we are emphatically made to understand through the mouth of Eliyahu. Since the pupils of Rabbi El’ozor did not condemn their teacher but on the contrary evidenced toward him understanding and sympathy, and an other teacher Rabbi Yishmoel also acted similarly under duress, there seems to be here a genuine difference of opinion on how to act under the circumstances. HOUGH there is of course a vast and decisive difference between Rabbi El’ozor and Rabbi Yishmoel 'apprehending criminals and recent German war criminals guilty of caus ing the death of untold numbers of innocent Jews, there seems a familiar ring to the argument: “What could I d o . .. it was the royal decree,” “I was a soldier under orders.” Eichman used the same argument. He main-

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tained he was only a petty official, a cog in a vast governmental machinery, a mere tool of his superiors who were issuing the directives. His was the duty to obey orders; he had no al ternative. Refusal would have endan gered his own life. Blame, he asserted, must be placed at the door of those legal authorities above him who had the power to issue orders and the free dom to countermand them. Eichman was condemned and ulti mately executed for his monstrous war crimes. The court which found him guilty did not accept his defense pleas. In his duties he had been far more than merely zealous. Millions could have been saved were it not for his horrifying, inhuman purpose, his unslakable zest for Jewish blood. Also, some Germans who had had qualms of conscience had asked for transfer to less infamous and heinous duties with no dire consequences for them selves. Thus a refusal on his part would not have jeopardized his life. In addition it should be emphatically pointed out that there was no doubt in the mind of anyone, including the perpetrators, that the German system atic extermination of the Jewish peo ple was a sinister scheme of the most sardonic criminal nature. Total geno cide was attempted against people who were not guilty of any wrong doing. Arbitrarily and maliciously they were marked for death at the mere whim and discretion of evil madmen who, following a perverted superman doctrine, arrogated to them selves the right to kill and to annihi late human lives at will and random. In the story of Rabbi El’ozor and Rabbi Yishmoel we are dealing with a situation not to be thought of in the same terms, one which was also much more complex and subtle. 7

HE people they brought to justice were freebooters, highwaymen, or robbers among whom were Jews who made the cities unsafe for the popu lace. These were beyond any doubt criminals of the lowest order. To fer ret them out, apprehend them, and render them harmless was a meritori ous undertaking. What could reflect unfavorably on their captors was the fact that these criminals by Roman harsh decree would be mercilessly hanged. There was a serious question as to whether causing their death was not a mis deed. According to Jewish law, robbers may be killed during the robbery since in their desperation and excite ment they are ready to kill at the slightest resistance or provocation (Sandhedrin 72a). However, their ac tual punishment by court is not death but the restoration of the stolen prop erty (ibid). We can therefore well understand Rabbi Yehoshua’s agoniz ing question to Rabbi EFozor: “How long will you deliver up the people of our G-d for slaughter?” Several subordinate points must be elucidated, however, for a deeper un derstanding of the fundamental dif ferences in the views of Rabbi EFozor and Rabbi Yehoshua.

T IS true that robbery is not punish able by death by Jewish law. Jew ish law is very humane. Yet it is not more interested in protecting the rights of the criminals than in pro tecting the lives of their victims. So much has been said about the leniency of Jewish law that many are led to believe it is wholly unrealistic and a completely ineffectual body of laws incapable of governing the lives of people as human nature is generally

constituted. For our purpose and gen eral ones, a quotation from the Maharal’s B’er Hagolah should place the matter in the proper perspective: The objection may be raised: This [non-imposition of the death penalty] will increase the shedding of blood, for they [the criminals] will rely on these [requirements] and increase their bloodshedding. This is not the case, for all this is stipulated when there is no exigency and all Jews are as righteous and just as they are ex pected to be. If then one man sins, no one will follow his example. But if the generation is lawless and it is to be feared that sinners increase in Israel, then our Sages have already stated that beatings, punishment, and death are inflicted, not according to the terms of the law, but according to the needs of the times. (B’er Sheni) Jewish law was not so idealistic as to become unrealistic and ineffective. Under ideal conditions ideal law can prevail and should prevail. Under other conditions Jewish criminal law contains the necessary provisions to cope with the circumstances. From the aforementioned Maharal it is then evident that when certain conditions warrant it, the death pen alty may be imposed temporarily to check violent outbreaks of crime. Since this is the case, the criminals Rabbi El’ozor brought to justice may have deserved their fate and he was then not as culpable as it appears on the surface. A NOTHER question to be resolved

is to what extent Rabbi EFozor as sleuth can be said to be guilty of the death of those he apprehended. His part was an important one but the actual verdict was given by a court JEWISH LIFE

and the death sentence carried out by others. Thus Maimonides writes: “The one who hires a killer to kill his neighbor or sent his servant and he killed him; or he tied him [his neighbor] and left him before a lion, [everyone of these] is shedding blood and the sin of murder is on his hand, and he de serves death by Heaven (The Court On High) but there is no death by a (terrestial) court.” (Yad, Rotzeach II, 2) Technically Rabbi El’ozor is not directly blameable by surrendering the criminals into the hands of other people who execute them. He did not kill the criminals. His role is com parable to the one who hires a killer or sends his servant. Had he even acted voluntarily Rabbi EFozor did not deserve death by a human court. However, his causation of the death of others made him ethically guilty of a capital crime. It is only the len iency and humaneness of Jewish legal law that permits the one who hires a killer and others who indirectly cause the death of others to escape capital punishment themselves. Should spe cial conditions necessitate it, they may be put to death. And all these murderers and their like that do not deserve death by court, if the King of Israel wishes to kill them through government ordinance and for the sake of the welfare of the world, he has the per mission. And similarly if the court sees fit to kill them by a special tem porary decree and the time requires it, they have permission to do it ac cording to what they understand, (ibid).

We can, however, only infer that where the crime is murder and where for technical reasons the murderer is escaping punishment he may, if time and circumstance demand it, be put to death since morally, ethically and in a legal sense too, he is fully respon sible for his crime. However, in Rabbi El’ozor’s case, the criminals were guilty of robbery, not murder. Does their guilt for this lesser crime ab solve Rabbi El’ozor of his involve ment? It could be argued that some of the highwaymen or freebooters were actual killers in previous hold-ups and forays. But it is unlikely that all rob bers were guilty of murder. It could also be maintained that since freebootery was widespread and these criminals were professional and habit ual robbers, they were potential killers against whom the community should be protected. Nevertheless, incarcera tion could remove the threat to the community as effectively as capital punishment. In addition, as previously stated, a potential killer in that re mote a sense may not be killed. We would have to assume that the rob bers during hold-ups would threaten people with death and that some peo ple resisting them would get killed. This would only justify killing the robber during the actual holdup. “Likewise the thief who stole and left, or who did not steal and was found leaving after a break-in, since he has turned about and is not pursuing a victim, there is blood-guilt for killing him.” (Maimonides, Yad, Genevah IX, 11)

Rabbi El’ozor’s role as captor of criminals is then sufficiently significant to make him an accomplice in the death of the criminals.

%W7HILE regular Jewish courts opJ l erate under stringent restric tions, a Jewish king could impose the death penalty if his orders were dis-

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obeyed. “The king has permission to kill whosoever disobeys him. Even if he ordered one of the people to go to a certain place and he did not go or that he should not leave his house and he left, he deserves death.” (Maimonides, Yad, Melochim III, 4) If then, in order to stem crime a Jewish king issues a decree imposing the death penalty for robbery, it would be jus* tified. The Jewish criminal law also con tains additional provisions to deal with habitual criminals, including measures to bring about their death though their crimes were not those for which capital punishment is norm ally imposed. “He who was twice flagellated (for two transgressions, and then sinned again) is placed by Beth Din in a cell and fed with barley bread until he expires.” (Sanhedrin 81b) Again we see that sometimes a death penalty is applied for less than a capital crime. Thus technically the robbers may have deserved death. The death penalty might have been necessary to check a crime wave. NE of the crucial points in ques O tion in the Eichman case was the claim that the Israeli law under which Eichman was indicted was not in force at the time Eichman com mitted his crimes. Israel upon its establishment in 1948 passed a law making it a capital crime to have been directly involved in the genocide of Jews. In order for this law to include the European Holocaust it must be made retroac tive. It is assumed in jurisprudence that a man cannot be made retroac tively responsible for a crime. When a man knows in advance the possible consequences of his actions and still 10

persists in perpetrating them he has jeopardized his own life. Eichman, it was claimed, did not accept this plea. The reason we require the law passed before a misdeed is committed is in order to forewarn the criminal of his punishment for this particular crime and to impress upon him the moral wrong he is committing. For a wanton and gross mass murderer on the scale of Eichman, penal law is not neces sary to stress the gravity of his mis deeds or the dire consequences of them. The law against murder and its punishment is a law written into the hearts and minds of all men. It is always in existence and always in force. It is G-d’s higher moral law. Eichman knew both the law and the consequences. By transgressing it he forfeited his own life. Rabbi El’ozor’s robbers were well aware in advance of the fate that awaited them if they engaged in their nefarious activities. By persisting in disregard of the penalty, they jeopard ized their own lives. This same argument is advanced by Maimonides in another connec tion. If an informer makes a definite and explicit threat to inform on a Jew to idol worshippers so that his money or property will be confiscated we may, if necessary, stop the in former by killing him. (Yad, Chovel VIII, 10) The argument here is that since the victim has no recourse for preventing malicious informing to idol worshippers and cannot obtain re dress in any form under their arbi trary rules, the threat of death to silence informers is necessary under circumstances to stop them. By disre garding this accepted rule the in former lays himself open to death. Similarly one who unintentionally kills a person is protected inside the JEWISH LIFE

city limits of the Cities of Refuge. However, “if he went outside he made it permissible for himself to be killed.” (Maimonides, Yad, Rotzeach VII, 8) T should be pointed out that ac cording to Jewish law, govern Iments may have the power to impose capital punishment for lesser crimes. This, however, is only permissible if it is absolutely necessary. The reason that under normal circumstances se vere restrictions are placed upon courts, and elaborate and difficult terms are stipulated and must be met before capital punishment may be meted out, is to safeguard that human lives may be taken only if no other avenue seems possible.* In Rabbi El’ozor’s case, one would have to be certain that the capital punishment for robbery was impera tive to protect the citizenry. If not, the hanging of the robbers by the Roman authorities would be unjusti fied. This is an important question and very pertinent to the story, for death by hanging of thieves was the common Roman punishment under all circumstances at the time. Undoubtedly, Rabbi El’ozor was pressed into the service of the gov ernment under threat of death. This is taken for granted, although it is only mentioned in Rabbi YishmoePs * See Maimonides, Guide for the Perplexed, Part III, Ch. XLI; The punishment for mur der is not mainly considered a deterrent for the protection of society though this may vary with circumstances. The murderer forfeits his right to his own life by his heinous deed and we have no right to pardon him. “Hence even if the. murdered person continued to live after the attack for an hour or for days, was able to speak and possessed complete con sciousness, and if he himself said, ‘Pardon my murderer, I have pardoned and forgiven him,’ he must not be obeyed.” However, many sages of the Talmud were opposed to capital pun ishment (Makoth 7 a ).

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incident. We are thus mainly con cerned with a delicate ethical issue, since the prisoners taken were rob bers transgressing government regula tions and deserving death. Still what precisely is the moral role and re sponsibility of Rabbi El’ozor accord ing to the spirit of Jewish law? To what extent, if any, does the duress he is under absolve him from his guilt? Maimonides in his code, basing his decision on the Talmud Yerushalmi writes: “And likewise if idol worship pers say ‘give us one of you so that we may kill him, otherwise we shall kill all of you,’ all must let them selves be killed and should not sur render a Jewish person. (Yad, Yesodey Hatorah V, 5) Even if a person is threatened with certain extinction he must then refuse to surrender an other person for execution to save his own life.” There are, however, circumstances when this may be done. “If they (the idol-worshippers) specified by saying, ‘give us so-and-so or we shall kill all of you,V and if he (the specified per son) deserves death as [the rebel] Shevah Ben Bichri, they may deliver him. If he does not deserve death as Shevah Ben Bichri, they must all let themselves be killed and should not deliver a Jewish person.” (ibid) Rabbi El’ozor’s case seems quite parallel to this latter law. The robbers were under death sentence by the government. As such they represented a special group of culprits whose sur render is permissible if the demand made is accompanied by a death threat. one respect Rabbi El’ozor’s case IforNdiffers. The criminals demanded delivery were not already with II

him in his care or on the same loca ‘Let the owner of the vineyard himself tion, so that they could be considered (G-d) come and weed out the thorns.’ ” specified and definitely pointed out Who has the right to inhabit the and marked. Rabbi El’ozor was given ♦world and who not is a decision to be the general assignment of apprehend made by G-d only. G-d tolerates ing robbers. The exact names of these many unworthy and many criminal robbers or their exact number were elements in the world. Life is sacred, unknown to the Romans as well as to even the life of a criminal. You have him. This makes Rabbi El’ozor’s as no right arbitrarily to be legislator, signment a rather indefinite one. He policeman, judge, and jury of any was compelled to apprehend some man. robbers to avoid being killed himself. In the instance of Rabbi Yishmoel, On the other hand, it was quite pos Eliyahu must have been aware that sible that without apprehending addi Rabbi Yishmoel only delivered the tional ones beyond a certain minimum absolute minimum of prisoners to number, he might have escaped avoid being killed himself. He there blame, and was thus unnecessarily in fore told Rabbi Yishmoel to flee and volved in getting Jews killed. The avoid the terrible dilemma he had only precisely known factors were that been forced into by the Romans. Even crimes were committed by perpetra if a flight attempt was fraught with tors whom the Romans sought. Some danger it was still preferable to being of these Rabbi El’ozor might be able a possible deliverer of “the people of to find. But some, even the Romans our G-d for execution.” would understand were not detect able. There was therefore a very moot ROM this Talmudic narrative we question in respect to at least some then see how infinitely great is of those apprehended as to whether the responsibility of people who are they could be considered definitely compelled to act in behalf of a gov on demand for delivery or not. ernment in issues pregnant with moral Rabbi El’ozor in his own opinion, and ethical questions and how much was exerting his best efforts to cap effort they must exert to extricate ture only sufficient robbers to silence themselves even at the price of con the Romans and save his life. In the siderable risk to their own lives and opinion of others he was too zealous. sometimes at the price of life. He took too little risk with his own From the historic point of view it safety and was far too generous with is quite possible that there was dis the lives of others even if they were agreement among the Sages as to the culprits. Hence Rabbi Yehoshua asked status of the Roman government. him: “How long will you deliver up Some probably at all times considered the people of our G-d for slaughter?” them invaders, unrightfully occupy And back came the reply: “I weed ing the Land of Israel, unjustly op out thorns from the vineyard.”—If I pressive and thus not a government err in my judgment, my error is on that Jews were under any national or the side of people who do not deserve ethical obligation to be co-operative to live. I am only helping G-d main with. Other Sages may have considered taining a better and cleaner world. some type of co-operation adviseable “Whereupon Rabbi Yehoshua retorted: in order to win the Romans’ confi-

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dence and favor and influence them to make the occupation less oppress sive and more tolerable. If was then a question of adopting a policy of allout non-participation, non-coopera tion, and non-recognition, or a policy of partial cooperation and temporary recognition. A similar situation ex isted in Denmark during the Nazi occupation in the second World War. After a brief and futile battle Den mark had negotiated a surrender on honorable terms. Sabotage in the early stages of the occupation was generally considered contrary to national Dan ish interest. Later when the Germans greedily began to strip Denmark of its machinery, merchandise, and food by forcible requisition and steadily increased their rapacious demands, the Danes slowly changed to a policy of non-cooperation, passive resistance, and sporadic sabotage. When the Ger mans demanded that the Danish Gov ernment punish saboteurs with death, they refused. Unable to find a traitor to take the helm in Denmark, the Germans dealt until the very end of the war with a Danish caretaker gov ernment that only cooperated to the extent it considered necessary and justified in the Danish national in terest. Many times circumstances were so complex that it was difficult to decide exactly whether it was more patriotic to cooperate with the Ger mans, or refuse, or to sabotage them. It often became a matter of interpre tation, analysis, or emphasis of one point of view among many to be con sidered.

superior attacking Roman force di ametrically opposed to any peace ne gotiations, while the Sages considered further resistance suicidal and some type of settlement preferable. Here, too, it was a question of interpreta tion of the prevailing circumstances. To the Baryonah, even the remotest possibility of a victory was worthy of a gamble, even with odds thousand fold against them, to the safer course of a negotiated surrender and a com promise of their national pride and patriotism. To the Sages, national and religious survival was more important than national pride. To take hopeless chances was to them sheer irresponsi bility. Rabbi El’ozor considered some cooperation with the Romans adviseable. Hence their laws had some bind ing force on Jews and should be ad hered to and the robbers were thus guilty of transgressing government regulations. Rabbi Yehoshua disap proved of any cooperation with the Romans, either because he con sidered them imperialistic invaders, or unduly harsh and oppressive. To him they should be opposed at every turn and offered no comfort. Con cessions to them, in his view, would not lead to the hoped-for relief for the populace. In addition, a policy of appeasement might condition the Jews to a gradual acceptance of Roman occupation as something tolerable and perhaps even normal and extinguish the last sparks of patriotism and yearning for independence still burn ing in the heart of the people.

URING the Roman siege of Je rusalem, nationally oriented rebels, or “Baryonim,” as they are designated in the Talmud (Gittin 56a), were even in the face of a far

T IS also possible that some of the robbers apprehended by Rabbi El’ozor were potential or actual na tional rebels whose activities often were of the Robin Hood type, some-

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times championing the cause of the socially oppressed and underprivileged and sometimes the national liberation interests. Who really was a weed in the vineyard of G-d could only truly be decided by G-d. Often robbers in those times, at odds with , society in peacetime, would in national emer gencies employ their dexterity in vio lence and warfare in the service of their oppressed people against alien outside aggressors. Some criminals of today were the potential national heroes of tomorrow. Other approaches to Rabbi El’ozor’s story are possible and will perhaps yield different conclusions. Those of fered afford the following thoughts de pending on the premise: If the Roman government were con sidered a legal one and only the par ticular death sentence they imposed upon thieves was unacceptable,^ we may then properly draw the conclu sion that government orders in them

selves do not absolve one from moral guilt if they are against the better con viction and conscience of the indi vidual. Even if one is commanded to take the life of others at the threat of forfeiture of one’s own, one must exert every effort to extricate oneself from involvement. If the Roman government as im perialistic invaders and oppressors was not considered a legal government, then Rabbi El’ozor’s case is applicable to a foreign invasionary force or to, for instance, Nazi Germany where the government was criminal. In any event, Rabbi El’ozor’s story in itself contains the significant lesson that political facts and issues rarely stand out in bold relief or are clear, unequivocal, and self-explanatory. They are often complex and lend themselves to many interpretations which render them an area where even the wise may be liable to err and an gels should tread with caution.

(

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Issues Versus Sides by ABRAHAM COHEN

EVENTEEN men sat around a but only parroting the ideas promul long conference table, exchanging gated by the policy-makers of his S ideas. On the surface, we were en “camp.” Actual pro’s and con’s of the gaged in an intelligent, dispassionate discussion. Although I, too, had thoughts on the subject, I felt oddly restrained, as if I must not speak. Try ing to analyze my reluctance, I sur veyed my colleagues. It was an im portant meeting, self-styled as dealing with matters “berumo shel olom,” matters of great urgency. All the par ticipants in the debate were sincere, dedicated men, deeply involved in making a decision which would have far-reaching implications for orthodox Jewry in America. But now, observing them, I realized that, perhaps unconsciously, the pro ponents of one point of view were sitting along one side of the table, facing those with diametrically oppo site opinions; moreover, thinking back I was aware that our group seemed to split this way on almost all ques tions. It struck me that we were not really discussing the problem at hand; rather each man was frozen into a mold predetermined by his “side.” No one was speaking as an individual May-June 1968

issue were not being considered ser iously. And herein lay my hesitation to speak. For no matter how cautious ly I might choose my words, how seriously I would ponder and weigh my thoughts, they would only have been received and interpreted in the spirit of “my side of the table.” This is a situation which, unfor tunately, is far too common. On the national scene, the country is divided for and against the war in Viet Nam and correspondingly for and against President Johnson. Did it never occur to anyone to maintain a high regard for the President while disagreeing with his conduct of the war? Is it not possible to respect some aspects of Chasidism while remaining an ardent admirer of the Vilna Gaon, its major antagonist? Must one deny the great ness of Maimonides if one feels that his “Guide to the Perplexed” was illadvised? Why is it that an issue is not judged on its merits but becomes rather a doctrinal question of “party” or “allegiance?” 15

N YESHIVAH, students are taught to question a Talmudic debate with “Mahi nafka miney?” What would be the difference if we accept one ap proach or the other? We may also ask, what does it matter if a man lets his party make the decisions or if he makes them himself? If he is a sincere “party member,” will it not amount to the same thing? Of course it will not. Studying American history, for example, we may note that the naive immigrants were generally the main stay of this or that party. But by the next generation, their children had generally developed enough sophisti cation to be able to distinguish the relative merits of an issue and vote in accordance with their convictions. Hence the phenomenon of split-ticket voting, which has made a great dif ference indeed in the American politi cal picture. It would be facile— and incorrect— to liken Jewish problems to political ones; accepting the opinions of Torah leaders on a religious problem is a religious obligation. But just because Organization X has the approval of eminent religious leaders for some of its actions is no reason for one to assume that every position or stand of Organization X must be accepted de rigeur. To cite a case in point, many or thodox Jews sincerely felt that the proposed New York State Constitu tion, which would have permitted State aid to parochial schools, was an ill-advised measure. But the proposed constitution (regardless of the fact that it contained many other contro versial sections) had become a religi ous question. The Agudah campaigned strongly for its passage; fuel was added to the fire when speakers for the Re form movement lobbied actively

against the measure. Imagine, if you will, the dilemma of the orthodox Jew who sincerely felt that the constitu tion would destroy a vital ChurchState barrier. His opposition to the proposed constitution would have been considered, by some, as tanta mount to heresy. Obviously—or at least to me it seems obvious—this is a foolish approach to solving the problems of orthodox Jews in Ame rica. A responsible person should be able to make a decision based on his honest convictions. Let me be clear: each individual is raised within a sys tem of values. As he matures, he de velops his own scale of values within this framework. All devout Jews do not necessarily have to agree on all points of Jewish policy. Outside those questions which deal with Halochah, an orthodox Jew should feel free to either agree or disagree with the so cial, political, or economic views of any other individual, and not feel he has to apologize for this attitude. We have become all too accus tomed to automatic acceptance of the “official” point of view. It was there fore heartening to see, last June, that the Kapizhnitzer Rebbe, zal, vigorous ly raised money for the UJA Emer gency Fund, albeit the “Orthodox Right” opposes the UJA. His actions were a recognition—this is the way it seems to me—of the need for action to meet an overriding problem—and he chose to solve that problem in the best way available to him, regardless of previous party commitments. UT there is a further pitfall in herent in dogmatic adherence to the “party line.” That is, not only do we not judge an issue as an isolated problem, but we will soon come to

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judge an entire Weltanschauung by the behavior of the people who es pouse it. In other words, if John Doe, the great exponent of “X,” behaves rudely or boorishly, if he is loud and aggressive in expressing his views, we may easily come to believe that there fore the views themselves are as odi ous as he. We are thereby judging personalities and not problems. That this is not an empty fear will be evident to even an unperceptive student of the American Jewish scene. Much as Lot abandoned Abraham say ing, “I desire neither Abraham nor his G-d,” many of us reject out of hand the spoken or written opinions

May-June 1968

of one who is not in the same “camp.” Likewise, if a person is distasteful to us, we end by finding the group to which he belongs also objectionable. This is a childish and irrational way to approach a problem, and because of it (at least in part) orthodox Jewry is so splintered that it has not attained the force in public or political opinion to which its numbers entitle it. If a man has a worthwhile suggestion, should we not give it our thoughtful consideration? Perhaps if we did, both in our immediate social environment of the synagogue as well as in the larger sphere of Jewish national and world problems, we might achieve worthwhile results.

Judaism and A r t Forces in Conflict? By MICHAEL KAUFMAN “ W ORSHip the Lord in the the Deity only in His visible manifes ▼▼ Beauty of Holiness,”*» sings tations, natural phenomena. This was King David. (Psalms 29:2). And reflected in the paths taken by artistic Jews indeed have ever tried to com development in these societies, since ply, among other ways by erecting the art of ancient cultures, including synagogues they considered beautiful, such advanced civilizations as those of and installing in them Jewish objects Egypt, Babylonia, India, Rome, and of artistic craftsmanship. Greece, was closely bound up with But do Judaism and art really go religion. The sun, the moon, the stars, together? Is it not true that the Bibli endowed with a grandeur and beauty cal Second Commandment which pro evident to all, were extolled and worhibits the creation of “images” and shipped-and the elemental powers of “likenesses” has inhibited the develop nature were deemed holy even by ment of art among the Jews? What such Greeks as Sophocles. They thus has been the traditional attitude of could not conceive of the sun existing Judaism towards art? What—if any without a sun-god, or thunder, light thing—is Jewish art? ning, the moon, the planets, and the In seeking answers to these ques stars, rain and fertility, birth and tions, a proper beginning would be death, without each having a god of with the distinctive approach of the its own. The very highest level of Jews towards G-d. Primarily, this is understanding reached by the most because many of the earliest exam “civilized” of these civilizations was ples of what we call “art” were the the concept of a god-in-chief, super idolatrous images created for wor vising a flock of very anthropomorph ship by artistically inclined craftsmen ic gods. It took Rome and Greece, of early civilizations. Since the unique the most advanced of these civiliza Jewish concept of G-d differed radic tions, some 1,500 years after Sinai to ally from the polytheistic concepts rise to the monotheistic conceptual shared by other people of their con level. temporaneous worlds, artistic develop But it was neither on the earth or ment among Jews had to follow a on the waters, nor in the skies, that basically separate course. G-d revealed Himself to— and was simultaneously experienced by—the S with primitive peoples, so too Jewish people. With Israel’s Covenant all civilizations prior to the with the Divine source of all came spread of monotheism could discover the awareness that all these natural

The author acknowledges his grateful appreciation to Rabbi Nathan Bulman who was consulted on Halachic aspects of this article and who read the manuscript and made valuable suggestions to the author. 18

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phenomena are but outer manifesta tions of G-d’s glory and greatness. In the words of King David: “The heav ens declare the glory of G-d and the firmament shows His handiwork.” (ibid., 19:2) Conveyed to Israel by G-d Himself through the patriarchs, in cosmic climax through Moses, then continuing on through all the Prophets—this concept of the one G-d, the Being undefinable by finite mind and manifest in His Creation and through His Divine will, reduced to absurdity the adoration of nature and the worship of the work of men’s hands.

As one contemporary thinker points out, while two or more gods not only allow for images and likenesses but actually demanded them—“for how could man distinguish between the one and the other except by making likenesses for himself”—the converse also holds true, that the farther re moved we are from the making of likenesses and images and from a con ception of corporeality of the deity, the nearer we are to the lofty and pure conception of the “One.” (Aron Barth, “The Modern Jew Faces Eter nal Problems,” p. 31)

F R O M THE Q U A G M IR E O F ID O L A T R Y

HE Sinaitic First Commandment “I am the Lord your G -d.. . . You shall have no other gods before Me” was thus immediately followed by a second Commandment basic to the understanding of the first: “You shall not make unto you any graven image, or any likeness of anything that is in heaven above or that is in the waters underneath the earth; You shall not bow down to them, nor shall you serve them.” Judaism taught a G-d-idea which was devoid of all corporeal limita tions. The reduction of the Onochi of the First Commandment to an exter nal form fashioned by human hands and worshipped, was thus an unpar donable transgression. When one real izes that idol worship together with the shedding of blood and sexual im morality are the three cardinal sins in the eyes of Judaism— and all three were intertwined and commonly prac ticed by virtually all pagan, idol-wor shipping peoples— and the Jews were enjoined to accept martyrdom before transgressing any of these, we under-

May-June 1968

stand better the Jewish emphasis on ethics over the idolatrous worship pf beauty. Certainly the Second Command ment did inhibit the development of the arts in ancient Israel. However, its significance in maintaining the purity of the Jewish concept of G-d was incalculable. “And the Lord spoke unto you out of the midst of the fire. You heard the voice of words, but you saw no form; only a voice . . . , ” Moses told the Israelites, (D’vorim 4:12) And again, for em phasis: “For you saw no manner of form on the day that the Lord spoke unto you in Horeb (Sinai) out of the midst of the fire.” (ibid, 15) the polytheistic civilizations of InoNsuch Egypt, Greece, and Rome, where restricting inhibitions entered into the thinking of the populace, ar tistic development was relatively ad vanced. Where art did not originally take the form of plastic depictions of idols, art itself was venerated as a human achievement of the divine 19

principle and thus, in effect, became

idolatrous. History, however, has long since rendered its judgment on the worth and continuity of civilizations governed by the libertinistic and he donistic values under which the plas tic arts flourished, where magnificent pyramids and elaborate temples con taining idolatrous god-sculptures abounded. Constructed as these were on the backs of enslaved humans—according to Herodotus, one Egyptian project alone cost 120,000 lives—the very heights of the artistic achievements of these civilizations remained perpetual monuments to the low value of hu man life and the debased level of morals and ethics in their societies. Within their temples all ethical val ues were sacrificed to the gratifica tion of man’s basest lusts and instincts in service to their god-idols. Infanti cide, public sexual lewdness, perver sion, and harlotry formed vital parts of the “religious” service to these

gods, underscoring the fact that the artisans and craftsmen of these so cieties fashioned their gods in their own corrupt images. “Works of artabounded among them, almost always as objects of worship. The emphasis on aesthetics in the world of paganism thus resulted in the sacrifice of human rights and val ues for the sake of art, a situation which could never have arisen in Jud aism to which interest in aesthetics is subordinate to considerations deemed far more important by the Source of all knowledge and wisdom. Is it any wonder, therefore, that the Jewish Prophets were to denounce time and again the corruption, op pression, and debasement which ac companied the creation and worship of graven images? . . . that succeed ing generations of Jews were to re volt against the temporal rule of pa gan empires bent upon the extirpa tion of the faith of the Jew and the imposition of idolatry?

IN T A L M U D IC TIM ES

HAT has been the traditional interpretation of the Second Commandment by our Sages? Al though modern scholars have been slow to realize this, it appears that there has been a general consistency on the part of the rabbis throughout all the ages in the over-all interpreta tion of the general restriction, while there have been some variances in their promulgation of the relevant Halachic detail. Such differences of opinion are not uncommon. While pe culiar conditions relating to many as pects of Jewish life in differing com munities and eras helped to determine the particular nuances and emphases

stressed, and affected some of the de tails of the applicable Halochah (Jew ish law) in certain communities, there remained throughout the ages a gen erally uniform non-literal rabbinic in terpretation of the Second Command ment. The Talmud contains a number of references suggesting that reading the first part of the Second Command ment—“You shall not create graven images”—without the second part— “You shall not bow to them nor shall you serve them”—is, in effect, quot ing the Torah out of context; and that the former prohibition is directly JEWISH LIFE

linked to the accompanying one pro hibiting fealty to the plastic creations of man. Certainly, the very commandment to make the cherubim on the Ark of the Covenant (Shemoth 25:18-20; 37:7-9) and the twelve bronze oxen under the basin of the molten sea in the Temple (I Kings 7:25) would seem a blatant contradiction if the first part of the Second Command ment were read without regard to the whole. The same can be said as well for the sculptures in relief on the walls of the Temple and in the Tem ple’s Holy of Holies. (II Chronicles 3:6-13). (Interestingly, however, when Ezra and Nehemiah built the Second Temple they did not install cherubim—precisely because upon the destruction of the First Temple by Nebuchadnezzar, his soldiers carried out the cherubim and exhibited them as the Jewish G-d.) NE such Talmudic interpretation is dramatically illustrated by Rabbi Gam’liel in the 1st Century C.E. who, while bathing in the bath of Aphrodite in Acre, was queried by a Greek philosopher regarding the great sage’s use of the bath of Aph rodite contrary to the law proscribing any benefit from idols. Rabbi Gam’ liel replied (Talmud, Avodah Zarah 44b): “I did not come into her do main, she came into mine (i.e., the bathhouse preceded the placement in it of the idols to the goddess of love, and this subsequently installed idol should not be permitted to thus de prive Jews of the use of the bath house). In addition, the behavior prev alent in a bathhouse could hardly be logically interpreted as constituting veneration of a deity. Finally, it is

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not the bath which was made to beau tify Aphrodite—Aphrodite was in stalled to beautify the bath.” Rabbi Gam’liel not only tolerated, but may have also owned, works of art; he used representations of the heavenly bodies in astronomical cal culations for a lunar calendar (Tal mud, Rosh Hashonah 25a) and fre quently expressed an interpretation of the Biblical restriction, which, while generally not inconsistent with that of his Talmudic contemporaries and pre cursors, was non-literal. Similar non-literal interpretations were rendered by Rabbi Yehudah the Prince, redactor of the Mishnah, in the second century of the Common Era—who was known to have used a signet ring with art work on it (ibid. 24b)—and in the Third Century by Rav, founder of the historic academy at Sura in Babylonia. Rav seems to have been artistically inclined, if not actually an accomplished artist, and he was known to have painted wall fres coes of birds and animals. (Talmud, Bova Bathra 54a). During the same period, Sh’muel, head of the similar ly historic academy at Nehardea, prayed together with Rav in a syna gogue in Nehardea in which there stood a royal Roman statue (Rosh Ha shonah 24b). In the third century also, Rabbi Yochanan bar Napacha, found er of the Tiberius academy, allowed the painting of decorative figures on walls. (Jerusalem Talmud, Avodah Zorah 42b). In the fourth century, Rabbi Abbun, another Talmudic sage, is quoted as approving of representational art in the synagogue, specifically men tioning “painted” figures on pave ments (ibid., 41a). Also in the 4th Century, Abbaye states categorically 21

Bronze Seal, Featuring 7-branched Menorah, flanked by Ethrog and Lulov — Ancient Israel, 1st-2nd Century

that the Torah meant to forbid only a depiction of the “Four Faces”—the likenesses of an ox, a man, a lion, and an eagle adjacent and attached to each other, corresponding to Yechezkiel’s vision (Ezekiel 1:10) arid the complete face of a man alone (Avodah Zorah 43b). Speculating on possible designs for coins featuring the city of Jerusalem, the Talmud (Bova Kama 97b) sug gests “David and Shelomoh on one side and Yerusholayim the Holy City on the other,” and, for a coin honor ing Avrohom, “an old man and wom an (Abraham and Sarah) on one side, and a young man and woman (Isaac and Rebecca) on the other.” ERHAPS the general Halachic view was most succinctly expressed in Talmudic times by the Targum Yonathan ben Uziel, the first century Aramaic paraphrase of the Chumosh attributed to Hillel’s most distin guished disciple, in a free rendering of the passage in Vayikra 26:1 which prohibits the creation of idols and graven images: “A figured stone shall you not place on the ground to wor ship unto, but a collonade engraved with pictures and likenesses you may have in your synagogues, but not to worship u n to .. * . ” This interpretation, deemed an ac curate presentation of the Halochah, was reflected in many of the syna gogues built in Talmudic times, of which the remnants of all too few re main today. As few of these syna gogues of late antiquity as there may be, however, they testify to both a high appreciation of art and a gen eral non-literal understanding by Jews of the Second Commandment. Indeed, examples abound which indi-

Silver, Ivory, and Coral Spice Container— Poland, 18th Century

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cate that Christian-Byzantine archi tecture was strongly influenced by the early synagogues, and that the art of the Christian church was originally patterned after early Jewish pictorial synagogue art. (See A. Reifenberg, “Ancient Hebrew Arts,” N.Y. 1950, p. 11 and p. 97.) The primitive mosaics of Biblical scenes of the 5th-6th century syna gogue discovered at Beth Alpha in Israel, for example, although primitive in conception and poorly executed, manifest both deep religious feeling and colorful, artistic form. Centering on the theme of the Akedath Yitzchok, the Binding of Isaac, a concept symbolizing to Jews both the cove nant between G-d and the children of Abraham, and the perpetual readiness of Jews for self-sacrifice unto martyr dom for their essential religious be liefs, the scene, presented in a narra tive-streak technique, contains all of the human and animal figures of the Biblical story—although only a hand extending from a cloud represents the restraining angel. A second scene is dominated by the sun, the moon, the signs of the Zodiac, and symbols for the seasons. A third, scene contains as Oron Ha-Kodesh—a Torah Ark— flanked by two birds and a pair of rampant lions, and depicts various ceremonial objects used in the Tem ple in Jerusalem. A 4th-5th century Diaspora syna gogue in Naro (Hammam Lif) outside Tunis contains a rich, finely executed and, fortunately, well-preserved mo saic pavement. The main inscription of the “Sancta Synagoga Naronensis” is flanked by two Menoroth, a Shofor and an Ethrog, and the most promi nent features of the decorated floor include two peacocks drinking water May-June 1968

Silver Filligree Megillah Case With Esther Scroll— Turkey, 18th Century

Unearthed by archaeologists in 1932, and reconstructed in the Syrian National Museum in Damascus, evi dence points to the original construc tion of the Duros Europos synagogue at the end of the 2nd century, its rec onstruction in the year 245 C.E., and its destruction by the Persians in 260 C.E. All the walls of the synagogue were decorated in three levels with stories from the Bible, about half of which have been preserved. They were colorfully executed by a skilled and imaginative artist who saw the synagogue-goer as a participant in a continuous, living religious drama. The episodes graphically depicted are from the most dramatic moments in the lives of Avrohom, Yitzchok, Yaakov, Yoseph, Mosheh, Aharon, Yehoshua, Sh’muel, Dovid, Shelomoh, Eliyohu, Yechezkiel, Esther, Mordechai, and Ezra, with great emphasis on the story detail. They thus tell a great deal about the closeness these Jews felt toward the Bible and the major episodes with in it, and about the attitude of the ARTICULARLY important are Jews of the mid-Talmudic period to the magnificent and incomparably wards art in general, towards syna beautiful frescoes of Biblical scenes gogue art in particular, and, more of the third century Babylonian Dias particularly, towards figurative art in pora synagogue at Duros Europos in light of the Second Commandment. Syria, situated not too distant from It must be presumed that all of the famed Babylonian centers of Rab these synagogues of late antiquity binic scholarship of Sura and Nehar- which have been preserved in part to dea of the Talmudic period. These our own day are normative rather we can well study for an understand than exceptional examples, and are ing of the nature of early Jewish ar graphic reflections of the true, his tistic development and from them we torical Jewish understanding of the can learn much about the true tradi Second Commandment, especially in tional Jewish attitude towards art and light of the corroborative evidence of the Halochah. the Second Commandment.

beside two palm trees, with birds, fish, and foliage in abundance. In the floor of the 5th century sy nagogue found at Gerasa on the oth er side of the Jordan, we see a mo saic of Noah’s Ark with depictions of many of the animals; while Daniel in the Lion’s Den and a zodiacal wheel are featured in a 5th century syna gogue at N a’aran. In the pavements of the 6th century synagogues at Nirim and Hulda appear a variety of scenes of Temple ritual implements and figures of birds and animals; and a 7th century synagogue at Jericho reveals a mosaic floor depicting a Shofor, a Menorah, and a Lulov. Similarly, an earlier synagogue mo saic at Jefiya on Mount Carmel fea tures a fnosaic including a sevenbranched Menorah with a Shofor and a Lulov and Ethrog as well as the signs of the Zodiac. Essentially the same symbols appear in a marble screen separating the Torah Shrine from the rest of the Sanctuary in a synagogue at Ashkelon.

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T H R O U G H THE CEN TU R IES

N the medieval period, although the basic Halachic interpretation remained constant as it had been since its Sinaitic promulgation, there were differences of opinion on some of the Halachic details. In the eleventh cen tury, for example, Rashi—Rabbi Shlomo Yitzhaki of Troyes, the great com mentator on the Bible and Talmud whose work is indispensable to the Jewish child-learner and the rabbinic scholar alike—understood the afore mentioned Talmudic discussion on designs for coins as meaning that the names but not the likenesses of the Jewish kings and patriarchs were to be impressed on the coins (Rashi—on Bova Kamma op cit. 97b). He did not seem to object to wall frescoes includ ing animals and human figures in Bib lical scenes—he specifically mentions the scene of David and Goliath—with written descriptions of the scenes. The context of this statement suggests that such frescoes were not uncommon in his area of experience (Rashi, on Shabboth 149a). Rabbi Eliachim ben Yoseph of Mainz, in the 12th century, success fully inveighed against the stainedglass windows of the Cologne syna gogue which featured pictures of var ious animals and had them removed. Also in Germany, Rabbi Eliachim’s rabbinic contemporaries were vocal in their opposition to animal decorations in synagogues in Bonn and Meissen. In these cases, the rabbis probably found good cause for their stand in the lack of “kavonah” or proper spir itual attention to and concentration on the prayers engendered in their congregants by the distracting decora tions.

May-June 1968

On the other hand, another Torah authority of that time, Rabbi Ephroyim ben Yitzchok of Regensburg, al lowed the painting of animal and bird decorations on synagogue walls, feel ing, as did others of his period and of earlier periods and different commu nities, that artistic decorations in sy nagogues did not unduly distract their synagogue-goers. Rabbi Meir of Rothenburg, the great teacher and leader who flour ished in the 13th century, expressed disapproval of illuminations of ani mal figures in Siddurim and Machzorim on the grounds that these col orful miniatures distracted from pray ers. Also in the 13th century, Rabbi Aharon Halevi of Barcelona, in his classic Sefer Ha-Chinuch, while pro hibiting artistic depictions of human beings, would not prohibit those which are technically “incomplete,” referring his readers to Talmudic sources. (Se fer Ha-Chinuch, Mitzvah 39) The sages of the Tosafoth commen taries of the Talmud of 12th and 13th century Northern France and South ern Germany criticized medieval Jew ish miniaturists for their work on prayer books on the grounds that the users of these prayer books cannot properly “turn their hearts to their Father in heaven.” However, they stated unequivocally that the practice could not be Halachically prohibited. Tosafoth added, that Jews were defi nitely allowed to paint pictures, and this could in no way be considered a violation of the Second Command ment, pointing to the afore-mentioned example of Rav, who painted pictures of birds and animals. In addition, quoting the above-mentioned views of 25

Abbaye, Tosafoth stated that all man ner of reliefs and sculptures were per missible save those of complete figures of human beings or depictions of the “Four Faces” of Yechezkiel’s vision. (Tosafoth, on Yoma 54a). AIMONIDES, (Rabbi Mosheh M ben Maimon, Rambam) the brilliant 12th century multi-faceted phi losopher* mathematician, astronomer, and physician, but above all who stands in Jewish history as the great est Torah scholar of the past millenium, best summarized the Halachic view in his monumental Code of Jew ish Law. He stated there that only complete sculptured works of human and heavenly forms in the round are forbidden (Rambam, Mishneh Torah I, Avodah Zorah 3:10-11). This rule accounts for the prevalence of slight mutilations on sculptures—to render them “incomplete”—in Jewish homes for many years. Rambam made it a point, however, to pray with his eyes closed, lest he be distracted by the synagogue tapestries, on which birds and animals were probably repre sented. Maimonides explains (ibid., 3:6) that one transgresses the laws of idolatry not when admiring beautiful images, but in endowing them with divine at tributes. He adds elsewhere (Sh’monah P’rokim, 1168:5): “Just as the mind becomes exhausted from hard labor, and then by rest and refreshment re covers, so the mind needs to relax by contemplating pictures and other beautiful objects . . . Therefore, the use of pictures and embroideries for beautifying the house, the furniture and the clothes is not to be consid ered immoral or unnecessary.”

N the 16th century, Rabbi Yoseph Karo of Safad, the great Sephard ic *codifier of the Halochah, whose Shulchon Oruch is today used as the mandatory Code of Jewish Law by observant Jews everywhere, together with the Ramah, the glosses of Rabbi Karo’s contemporary, Rabbi Mosheh Isserles of Cracow, which are man datory for Ashkenazic Jewry, de clared that sculptures which were un deniably created for beauty or dec oration are permissible, as are depic tions of “cattle, animals, birds, fish, trees and grass.” He adds that those who would prohibit creation of sculp tures of human beings in the round would permit these if they were in complete. Rabbi Isserles comments: “And this is our custom” (Shulchon Oruch, Yoreh Deah 141:1-8). The great Gaon of Vilna, Eliyohu ben Shelomoh, in the 18th century, stated that the Torah “did not distin guish at all” between sculptures, re liefs, and flat art work in what it per mitted and what it forbade. He de clares that “mi-d’rabbanan,” by rab binic ordinance, works in relief are Halachically forbidden because of the suspicion that they might have been made for idol worship. (See Biur Hagr’ah, Shulchon Oruch, Yoreh Deah 141, #21). It is of interest to note that the Baal Shem Tov, founder of modern Chassiduth, saw attributes of G-d in all of His creations, both animate and inanimate: “If the vision of a beauti ful woman, or of any lovely thing, comes suddenly to a man’s eyes, let him ask himself whence the beauty if not from the Divine Force which permeates the world? And why be attracted by the part? Better be drawn

JEWISH LIFE

Red Velvet Succah Decoration— India, 19th Century

Silver Ethrog Container— Augsburg, Germany, circa 1750

May-June 1968

after the all! . . . Such perception of beauty is an experience of the Eter nal.” (Tzavaath Ribash, 1797, 18) In the 19th century, the Chatham Sofer, Rabbi Moses Schreiber, of Pressburg, requested of his famed, talented Yeshiva-bahur-turned-sculptor, Joseph Engel, that he mutilate all the human faces he ever sculpted,

to render them incomplete and thus Halachically permissible. Also in the 19th century, the Yad Ephroyim, Rabbi Ephraim Zalman Margaliot of Brody, urged that relief figures of human beings on the rear walls of Hanukah menorot be re moved. (Yad Ephroyim, Yoreh Deah 141:4)

A EST H E T IC S IN J E W IS H LIFE

more in the purchase of ceremonial objects in order to properly fulfill the Mitzvah. (Tur Orach Chayim 656) The care that observant Jews have al ways attached to the selection of such ritual objects as the Ethrog and Lulov (in conformity with Vayikra 23:40), for example, are manifestations of their observance of Hiddur Mitzvah. Music, since Temple days, has played a vital role in the performance of many Mitzvoth and, of course, in the prayer services (See Psalm 106). A portion of a Talmudic tract is de voted to the song of the Levites in the Temple service, listing the instru ments used, the procedure, and even the training of the choir boys (Arachin 2). Delegations from far-flung Jewish communities travelled to Jeru salem and brought back to their con gregations the melodies of Jerusalem. (They incidentally were also unin tended sources for the modes of the Gregorian chants which, in turn, gave birth to the beginnings of modem music—Gold, op. cit., p. 264). The Torah itself is referred to by Moses as a song. (Devorim 21:19) No holi day, festival, or festive occasion could be properly observed with out music and song, and Talmudic scholars and students to this very day chant and sing when they study the Torah.

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UBORDINATE as aesthetics may be in Judaism when compared with other values deemed more im portant, the Halochah is nevertheless replete with instances which empha size the significance of aesthetics in Jewish life. The late Rabbi H. Raph ael Gold cited a number of these (“The Halakha and Aesthetics,” in “Israel of Tomorrow,” edited by Rabbi Leo Jung). The special bene dictions required to be pronounced upon beholding beauty is one exam ple—when seeing handsome people, a beautiful tree or animal, and even the first blossoms of spring, a bless ing is said (Tosefta-Berochoth 7:4). So important is this concept that it is reckoned the first of the seven Rab binic ordinances which are added to the 613 Biblical commandments bind ing upon the Jew. Conversely, there is the Halachic concept of g’nuth, revulsion from the ugly and profane. (Tosefta, Chulin 2:24) A man may not, for example, make a vow to deprive his wife of cosmetics for more than thirty days (Kethuboth 70a). A vital consideration in the proper observance of all the commandments was that of “Hiddur Mitzvah,” the embellishment of the commandment. One is obliged to pay up to one-third

to repose in the Tabernacle and, later, in the Temple in Jerusalem. A To rah so sparse in language, the Sages taught, that it contains not a single extra word or letter, devotes ten pas sages (Shemoth 25:31—40) to the me ticulous instructions to be followed in the Menorah’s creation. A symbol of light and of the spirit of G-d in the form of a seven-branched tree of knowledge which also symbolizes the seven days of creation, the Menorah became one of the most widely known religious motifs of the Jewish people. It is to the State of Israel’s credit that it has chosen the Menorah as its basic symbol. In the design and creation of the holy garments of the priesthood (She moth 28) the Torah emphasizes twice that they should be made “for honor and beauty”—to underscore both the fact that in Judaism, human clothing generally reflects the picture of hu man nature and character (Hirsch, op. cit.) and the importance of aesthetics in the service of the Lord—an impor tance Jews of all generations were to appreciate fully as they lovingly cre ated Jewish ritual and ceremonial ob jects of artistic beauty. “This is my G-d and I will adorn Him,” sings Moses on the banks of the Red Sea (Shemoth 5:2). How does one “adorn” G-d? asks the Talmud (Shabboth 133b). “Adorn Him with mitzvoth,” is the answer. Design, cre ate, and use beautiful and artistic ob jects in the active observance of His commandments. “Make a beautiful Succah in his honor, a beautiful Lulov, a beautiful Shofar, beautiful Tzitzith, and a beautiful Sefer Torah, HE Bible devotes considerable at and write it with fine ink, a fine reed, tention to one of these, the seven- and a skilled penman, and wrap it branched golden Menorah which was in beautiful silks.”

HE concept of “Derech Eretz” (decent conduct, respect for oth ers, proper etiquette, etc.) is also a reflection of Halachic emphasis on aesthetics in the fulfillment of a Jew ish way of life. The sensitivities of hu man beings were, at times, regarded as being of sufficient importance to set aside a Halachic prohibition. (Jerusalem Talmud, B’rochoth 6:7) “Derech Eretz precedes the Torah,” is a well-known Jewish quotation. And two special tracts, “Derech Eretz Rabba” and “Derech Eretz Zuta,” are devoted exclusively to this (Vayikra Rabbah 9). It would thus be certainly incor rect to assume that the Torah was opposed to art and artistic expres sion. The case is, in fact, quite dif ferent. The determinant of Judaism is a Torath Chayim—a Law of Life. It follows, that something which con cerns life as a whole, such as art, can hardly be relegated to a completely secondary role in Judaism. A sense of the importance the Torah places on aesthetics may be in dicated by the plans for the Taber nacle in the wilderness, which de scription the Torah gives in such exacting detail (Shemoth 25-40). G-d commanded that the ritual objects to repose therein were to be artistically fashioned in distinctive designs, and all of them were filled with signifi cant symbolism vital to an under standing of the peculiar relationship of the Jew to G-d. (For a detailed discussion of this, see Rabbi S. R. Hirsch, “Grundlinien Einer Judischen Symboliky” in “Gesamelten Schriften” Vol. 3 ).

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Jewish art requires artists and ar tisans in the design and creation of beautiful objects to “adorn” G-d, and the Torah provides us with a proto type of the ideal Jewish artist—-that is, an artist who subordinates his free artistic inclination to the will of G-d —Betzalel. He it was whom G-d filled with “the spirit of G-d, with wisdom, with insight, and with knowledge in every craft” (Shemoth 35:30-31), “And also the gift of teaching has He put in his heart, both he and Oholiov . . . them has He filled with the wisdom of heart to do all manner of work of the artist-engraver, of weaver and engraver.” (Shemoth 35:34-35) Similarly, Hiram (or Huram), of

Tyre who was Solomon’s “Betzalel” for the Temple in Jerusalem, was “filled with wisdom and understanding and skilL to work all works in brass, and he came to King Shelomoh and wrought all his work.” (I Kings 7:14) “A skillful and wise man, endowed with understanding . . . skillful to work in gold, and in sil ver, in brass, in iron, in stone, and in timber . . . in fine cloth . . . and also to engrave any manner of en graving and to devise and device; to do whatever may be set before h i m . . . ” (II Chronicles 2:12-13) Since Judaism considers all higher values as but attribues of G-d, and requires of man to strive to live and fulfill a way of life which will bring

Silver Hanukah Menorah— Persia, 17th-18th Century

JEWISH LIFE

Silver Pidyon Haben Tray— Galicia, Late 18th Century

him of his own free will to achieve a measure of godliness, it follows that the true Jewish artist who is endowed by his Creator with native artistic talents—whom “G-d filled with wis dom”—is thus, in a sense, predestined for his artistic mission. His task, in following the path laid out for him by his Biblical proto

types, is at once clear and manifest. “Betzalel and Ahaliav and every wisehearted man in whom G-d has put wisdom and understanding to know how to work shall carry out all the craftsmanship necessary for the holy service in accordance with all that G-d had commanded . . . ” (Shemoth 36:1-2)

RITUAL A R T A N D THE M IT ZV O T H A SEY

XVTITH the “Mitzvoth Maasiyoth,” TT the Torah commands requiring the performance of positive acts, serv ing as the very key to the fulfillment of the total Jewish life, the objects used in the performance of the Mitz voth thus take on a transcending sig nificance. These ceremonial objects, whose earliest prototypes were the appurtenances of the Tabernacle and the Temple, therefore became the means whereby Jews throughout their history lived those full* all-encom passing, G-d-fearing Jewish lives which brought them closer to their Creator. And those artists who creMay-June 1968

ated them thus occupied key roles in the development of that Jewish way of life, the principles of which were enunciated in the Bible. Ethics and morality have not been vague concepts to the Jewish people, but are basic aspects of their total Torah existence, which existence would have been meaningless were it not for the “Mitzvoth Asey,” the pos itive commandments, many of them requiring the exertion of physical ef fort—the “doing” of acts in order to achieve that special relationship with G-d. This “doing,” for example, involved 31

B’rith Milah, the Covenant of Cir cumcision, not as an act of health, or convenience, or social acceptance, but solely because the Jew was com manded by G-d to cause his son to be circumcized when he was eight days old. “And G-d said unto Abra ham, you keep My covenant and your seed after you throughout their gen erations. This is My covenant which ye shall keep, between Me and you and your seed after you, and you shall be circumcized in the flesh of your foreskin; and it shall be a token of a Covenant between Me and all of you. And he that is eight days old shall be circumcized among you, every male throughout your generations. . . ” (Bereshith 17:9-12) (Regarding the traditional Jewish attitude towards art and beauty, it may be pertinent to relate here of the confrontation between Rabbi Akiva and a Roman official in the first cen tury of the common era, when the Roman taunted Rabbi Akiva that cir cumcision is evidence of the imper fection in the creation of man. Rabbi Akiva readily conceded that to man, the work of man is more appealing than the work of G-d, and to em phasize the point, placed a sack of wheat and a row of pastry before the Roman official and asked him to make his choice—Midrash Tanhuma, Thazriah). The circumcision knife was to be used by a mohel and not by a sur geon, and the circumcision knife thus became far more than a surgical in strument. It became a work of “Jew ish ritual art.” In the hands of the in spired Jewish artisan who was the spiritual descendant of the Biblical Betzalel, it became that Jewish cere monial object, the use of which these 32

past 3,500 years has enabled each new generation of Jews to reaffirm and reconsecrate its Covenant with the G-d of Abraham. The significance, in the higher Jew ish concept of what is a creation of artistic merit, of articles of religious use, goes immeasurably beyond super ficial contemporaneous standards of beauty. For under the true Jewish concept, beauty lies infinitely deeper than in the superficial physical ap pearance of a work of art, although the appearance was indeed significant. (It is interesting to note that despite Shelomoh’s plaint that “Grace is de ceitful and beauty is vain, but a wom an that feareth the Lord—she shall be praised” (Proverbs 31— “A Woman of Valor”)—Israel’s Matriarchs were glorified for their beauty as well as for their virtue and piety (Bereshith 23:1; 24:16; 26:7; 29:17). Far more important, however, was that the work of art succeed in elevating man to achieve a greater measure of godli ness. A somewhat similar concept of art was expressed, lehavdil, by F. W. Watts, an eminent non-Jewish 19th century artist (quoted in the Soncino Pentateuch, 1938 edition, p. 375): “My intention has not been so much to paint pictures that will charm the eyes, as to suggest great thoughts that will appeal to the imagination and the heart, and kindle all that is best and noblest in humanity. I even think that in the future art may yet speak as great poetry itself, with the solemn, majestic ring in which the Hebrew prophets spoke to the Jews of old, de manding noble aspirations, condemn ing, in the most trenchant manner private vices, and warning us in deep JEWISH LIFE

Biblical blessing to one of Noah’s sons, Yopheth—the name means “beauty” —the progenitor of the Greek civili zation, and the cultural progenitor of aesthetics in the world. In defending the translation of the Bible into Greek, Rabbi Shimon ben Gam’liel interprets the blessing: “G-d enlarge Yopheth so that he may dwell in the tents of Shem” (Bereshith 9:27) to mean—“May the beauty of Yopheth be found within the tents of the Se mites.” (Talmud, Megillah 9b) So long as aesthetics is subordinated to ethics and morality it is to be wel comed as a guest—but it must be crys tal clear that ethics and morality are the indisputable hosts. Art is a Divine gift and must be Divinely used. As one commentator put it: “When the He brew spirit prevails over the Greek, he strips it of its pagan sensuality, so that its beauty stands revealed untar nished by barbaric or ungodly asso ciations.” (Solomon S. Solomon, quoted in the Soncino Pentateuch, ^ F H E master artist in the Jewish 1938 edition, p. 376) tradition is he who excels not in Confining though this principle of self-expression, but in self-control— choosing ethics over aesthetics might he who fashions himself into a sanc seem, it has been neither paralyzing tuary, is the way it was put. That nor totally constricting in the devel is to say, whereas the general approach opment of Jewish art. If there has towards art in the western world is been restriction in the development of to proceed to create no matter where art among Jews, it has stemmed more this creation may lead, true Jewish from the lack of a stable environ art involves moral discipline, the sub mental factor, which to an artist is as servience of sensual experience to mo vital as his sense of wonder. Rather, rality\ Generally speaking, the good the principle of choosing ethics over and the beautiful go together. But if aesthetics has helped result in the there should arise any conflict be finest—though by no means the only tween ethics and aesthetics, let there —examples of true Jewish art to find not be the slightest doubt that ethics expression in the loving creation of takes primacy. Jewish ritual and ceremonial art which Perhaps the attitude of Judaism to wards art might be best expressed by have as their objectives to provide the Talmudic interpretation of the means of spiritual elevation.

tones against lapses from morals and duties.” A statement which is in conformity with the true Jewish attitudes towards art, it stands in opposition, however, to some of the fundamental principles of art as they are generally under stood. Most modern artists take re fuge in the argument that the artist’s task is primarily one of expressing his concept of beauty rather than of com municating beauty, thus freeing them selves of any social obligation to up lift the observer. Traditionally, Jews have been unable to accept the obei sance to purely human values implied by the supposely pristine concept of art for art’s sake—for this is far too akin to idolatry. To the Jew, historically, art had to have moral content and had to con vey an elevating message. The high est goal of art, in the Jewish tradition, is nothing short of the elevation and ennoblement of man.

May-June 1968

THE "J E W IS H A R T IST ”

N some European countries, dis crimination against Jewish mem bership in most craft guilds over a period of centuries sharply curtailed the development and availability of Jewish craftsmen. A result was the more than occasional creation by nonJewish artisans of Jewish ceremonial art at the express request of—and, frequently, using designs provided by —their Jewish clients. If the artistic products resulted in the spiritual up lifting of user and beholder, the gen tile artist thus created true Jewish art. As a corollary, if the artist—-whether Jewish or non-Jewish—creates any work of art which communicates a message and is elevating, he has cre ated art in the true Jewish understand ing of the word. Conversely, of course, a Jewish-born artist whose creations do not fulfill the objective outlined, is not creating Jewish art. Whether or

not he is a “Jewish artist” is a moot question. Undoubtedly, during the nearly two millenia since the dispersion of the Jews from Israel, a wealth of mag nificent examples of Jewish ritual art was created and used by many gener ations of Jews in their loving fulfill ment of the commandments of the Torah. Unfortunately, the vicissitudes experienced by the Jewish people during these 1,900 years of forced exile, of constant and repeated mas sacres and pogroms, the frequent forced uprootings of entire Jewish communities, the wanton plunder, de struction, and melting down of objects of value belonging to Jews, left few Jewish art treasures for Jews or the world at large to appreciate. (Ironical ly, it was in the hands of an Arab that the author found an old brass Jewish festival tray recently. Dating

Silver Seder Tray— Venice, Italy, 19th Century

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from the 16th or 17th century, the elaborate scrollwork and engraved decorations neatly camouflage a sim ilarly decorated engraved Hebrew quotation artfully intertwined and al most invisible amidst the decorations, which illustrates the out-of-the-fryingpan-into-the-fire pattern of Jewish his tory: “And Yaakov fled before his brother Esov to Lovon . . ? ’) r p HOUGH beautiful examples of JL Jewish ritual art are to be found today in the display cases of several fine museums (notably, the Jewish Museum in New York, the Israel Na tional Museum and the much smaller Museum of Hechal Shlomo in Jeru salem, the Jewish Museum and the Victoria and Albert Museum in Lon don, the Musee’ Cluny in Paris, and the Jewish Museum in Prague which contains some of the Jewish art treasMay-June 1968

ures stolen by the Nazis), in a grow ing number of American synagoguemuseums, and in the homes of a bur geoning group of private collectors of “Judaica,” such examples do not abound, and really fine, distinctive old Jewish ceremonial objets d’art are quite rare. Indeed, very few authentic Jewish ceremonial objects are to be found anywhere which pre-date the 15th century, and even objects of the 17th and 18th centuries are relatively rare today, while good 19th century pieces, when available, are quickly acquired by museums and collectors. In studying the beautiful Jewish ritual objects of the past several cen turies, it is soon evident that no speci fically “Jewish” style of art can be gleaned from them, and that these Jewish objets d’art used in Jewish cer emonials tended to assume the gen35

eral coloration of their surroundings. history and Jewish art that innumer That is, Jews had the uncanny ability able Jewish communities removed for to readily adapt to their environment, »scores of generations from their co and with the diversity of the cultures religionists by distances which dwell of the peoples among whom they ers in a jet-age can only vaguely ap lived affecting the developing styles proximate in their minds, maintained of Jewish artistic creations, to absorb intact virtually all pf the vital Books, these environmental influences into Laws, and Traditions of Judaism over their own emerging art forms but, at centuries of separation without signifi the same time, to maintain whole the cant differences; and major deviations essential traditions and symbols which were rare, occasional exceptions and nowhere near the degree that one were specifically their own. (One may add, parenthetically, that would expect under the circumstances.) The physical appearances of Jewit is remarkable to students of Jewish

Silver Kiddush Beaker with texts for Kiddush for Shabbos, Sholosh Regolim, and Rosh Hashonah on 3-sided pyramid base, and spice container inside cover— East ern Europe, 16th-17th Century

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ish objets d’art thus underwent many changes and variations over the cen turies and through all the cultures and societies in which the widely dis persed Jews lived. These very same works of Jewish art, however, helped serve as a sustaining basis of an emo tional religious cohesion and common denominator between all Jews of all time, since the essential features of the objects maintained a basic unifor mity which served as a unifying fac tor linking Jews from widely separ ated lands and time periods in spir itual fellowship. RONZE Italian Chanukah menoroth of the 16th and 17th cen turies, for example, while designed in a distinctively Italian Renaissance flair and feeling, and thus virtually all re flective of a humanistic touch typical of much of the secular art of the coun try and period, contained the same eight branches and a Shamosh (service) light as Chanukioth in 14th century France, 3rd century Yemen, and 20th century America. They thus testify to the con stancy and indomitability of a faith and a people which no amount of vicissitudes and tribulations, in whatever place or circumstance, could shake.

E have seen, then, that in the W faith and life of the Jew, aesthe tics is the handmaiden of the Divine ethic. Although magnificent examples of Jewish plastic art were created in the last two millenia, the artistic legacy of the Jews has been less in the sub stance of canvas and clay than in the intangibles of majestic melodies, of the world’s greatest literature, of in comparable soaring poetry, of magnifi cent ceremonials and meaningful tra ditions of unparalleled beauty, all of which have contributed to that shining goal, the elevation and ennoblement of humanity. The Jewish concept of monotheism embodied in the Sinaitic Decalogue, immutably requires that man’s striving shall be expressed in fulfilling the Di vine Will and not in the physical rep resentation of G-d. While this su preme tenet certainly affected the de velopment of art among the Jews, Jewish art, ethical as it is, can surely not be termed ascetic. For Jewish art is filled with that joi de vivre that can only come from a people whose rule book of life is the Torath Chayim.

May-June 1968

Chassidism's Great Story-Teller by H. RABINOWICZ

1HE Holy One Blessed be He X sends the cure before the mala dy,” so says the Midrosh and this say ing comes to mind when one considers the life and works of Rabbi Nachman of Bratzlav. For Nachman was born in the year before the Maggid of Miedzyrzecze died, the year in which the Gaon of Vilna issued his Cherem against the Chassidim. Poet and seer, one of the most remarkable of all the Chassidic luminaries, the Bratzlavér Rebbe was also the greatest stèry-fellër in the annals of Chassidism. Nachman was born on the Sabbath, on Rosh Chodesh Nisan, 1772, in Miedzyborz. His mother Feige was the daughter of Udel, thé only daughter of the Besht, Yisroel “Baal Shem Tov,” fpunder of Chassidism. His father Simchah was the son of Rabbi Nachmain of Horodenka, a devoted follower of the Besht and a Baal Tefillah in the Besht’s synagogue. To gether with Meir of Przemysl, he emigrated to the Holy Land in 1761. His grandmother Udel was also the mother of two sons,: Boruch of Mie38

dzyborz (1757-1811) and Mosheh Chayyim of Sudlikov (1745-1800), author of Degel Machaney Ephroyim (“The Banner of the Camp of Ephra im” ). Nacham was brought up in condi tions of great poverty but the glory of the Besht had not departed from Miedzyborz. Everything there remind ed him of his great-grandfather and he spent many hours at the ancestral tomb seeking guidance and inspira tion. For little Nachman, the Besht lived on. An assiduous student, the lad learned fast. With increasing ar dor he studied Bible, Talmud, Zohar and the writings of the Kabbalist mys tics. Eagerly he devoted himself to Halochah, Torah law, but Aggodah, the inspirational and expository lore, was equally dear to him. Almost from the cradle he absorbed the legends and the wondertales of the Talmud and medieval literature as well as the sto ries of the Besht. Halochah sharpened his intellect. Aggodah fired his ima gination. When Nachman was but thirteen years old, his uncle, Rabbi Mosheh Chayyim Ephroyim, predJEWISH LIFE

icted that he would be “the greatest of all the Tzaddikim.” That year, he married Soshia, daughter of Ephroyim Ber of Zaslav, and, with his youthful bride, settled in Husiatyn, Podolia. ARRIAGE did not change his M way of life. Nothing could di vert him from his studies. “Great was his mastery,” records his disciple Nothon, “of the Bible, of En Yaacov (an annotated compilation of the Aggadic sections of the Palestinian and Babylonian Talmuds by Yaakov Ibn Haviv, 1460-1516), of the writings of the Ari and the Zohar literature.” Nachman did not believe in short cuts to Heaven. He chose the hard way, the ascetic way. “No limits are set to the ascent of man and to each the highest stands are open,” he believed. Heir of the Besht though he was, he adopted the austere practices of the Ari, Rabbi Yitzchok Luria, founder of the later school of Kabbolah. Though suffering from tuberculosis, the frail Kabbalist indulged in prolonged fasts. Often he abstained from food for days on end. In one twelve-month period he fasted “from Sabbath to Sabbath” on no fewer than eighteen occasions. And such periods of self-mortification would be followed by immersions in icy cold Mikvaoth. Often he wan dered alone for days in the fields and in the forests meditating on the mys teries of mortality, contemplating un disturbed the wonders of nature. Con trasting sharply with his indifference to his own health was the deep con cern he displayed for the physical as well as spiritual well-being of his dis ciples, his Chassidim. Premonitions of his short span of life were always with him. Not an hour was wasted, not a minute lost. He regarded every single day as it were his last. Nor he did May-June 1968

rest on the spiritual laurels of his dis tinguished ancestor. “The world imag ines,” he said, “that I have a high status because I am a descendant of the Besht. It is not so. I have suc ceeded because I have afflicted my body. Whatever I have achieved is due to my own endeavours.” To broaden his experience, Nach man tried many ventures, sought many new challenges. He knew nothing about boats but gladly stepped into one and for hours sailed down the river. And for miles he would ride his horses. By trial and error, he learn ed what other people learn from teachers. Thus it was from exper ience that he could say: “Everyone can reach the highest rung of the ladder, provided he strives and works.” King Solomon, according to legend, understood the language of flowers, birds, and animals. In a different way, nature spoke to Nachman and through nature spoke G-d. “When a man be comes worthy to hear the songs of the plants, how each plant speaks its song to G-d, how beautiful and sweet it is to hear their singing! And there for it is good indeed to serve G-d in their midst in solitary wanderings over the fields between the growing things and to pour out one’s speech before G-d in truthfulness. All the speech of the field enters into your own and intensifies its strength. With every breath you drink in the air of paradise and when you return home, the world is renewed in your eyes.” HE death of Ephroyim Ber, his T father-in-law, spelt the end of financial security for the young scholar and his family. He settled in Medevka near Uman and there at the age of eighteen, Nachman became the Rebbe of a Chassidic fraternity. But he 89

was in every way a nonconformist Rebbe. “I shall make a path through the desert/’ he proclaimed. “I shall hew down one by one the trees which have stood for thousands of years so that a path becomes clear and pass able. I am like one who wanders in a wilderness seeking out a path.” With an overwhelming passion, Rabbi Nachman yearned for the Land of Israel. “All holiness comes by the way of the Holy Land. Only there is it possible to ascend the ladder of holiness. The holiness of Eretz Yisroel aids in the attainment of faith and patience and it helps a man to subdue anger and to banish melancholy.” Ap horisms were no substitute for action. At the age of twenty-six, on the eve of Pesach, 1798, he decided to un dertake this momentous journey. “In this year,” he announced, “I shall cer tainly be in the Holy Land . . . I shall set forth immediately, whatever the conditions and even without money. Those who take pity on me will give me something.” This decision caused his family great distress. In vain his daughter pleaded with him: “Who will look after us while you are in the Land of Israel?” He was unswerving in his determination. So powerful was the call of the Holy Land that nothing could dissuade him and he steeled himself against the plaintive plea of his children. “Go to your parent-inlaw,” he replied. “Your elder sister will become a servant. People will have compassion on your younger sis ter. Your mother will become a cook. I must sell some household goods to provide the means for the journey. My heart is already there,” he stated. The Besht, too, had longed to visit the Land of the Fathers, but had not been able to do so. This knowledge 40

gave courage to the Besht’s forceful great-grandson. “I know that I will have to surmount innumerable ob stacles. As long as my soul is within me and the breath of life is in my nostrils, I am willing to give up my life in order to journey to the Land of Israel.” N frail health and almost penniless, ready to face the untold hazards that lay ahead, Rabbi Nachman set out on his journey on the eighteenth of Iyar (thirty-third day of the Om er). First he went to Kamieniec where he celebrated Shovuoth. He embarked at Odessa and four days later, after a stormy voyage, he reached Istanbul. Great were his sufferings in Istanbul. A plague was ravaging the community and it was with difficulty that Rabbi Nachman withstood these hardships. “Before one ascends to greatness,” he commented with resignation, “one must first descend to smallness. But in the Land of Israel one can rise to the highest level and that is why we must first go down into the smallest smallness.” He even had great difficul ty in obtaining a passage on a boat but, eventually, some four months after leaving home, he arrived in Haifa on the eve of Rosh Hashonah, 1799. Now the young mystic was in his element. After walking but four cubits on the hallowed soil he already felt that he had attained a high degree of spirituality. He produced many memorable aphorisms. Rabbi Nach man stayed in Haifa, in Tiberias, and in Safed. He visited the graves of his spiritual teachers the Kabbalists. Wherever he went the young Tzaddik was honored and he made many friends, among them Rabbi Avrohom of Kalisk. He even assumed the role

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of peacemaker and brought about a reconciliation between Rabbi Avrohom and Rabbi Yaakov Shimshon of Shepetovka. And, mindful of his family obligations, Nachman betrothed his daughter to the grandson of Rabbi Menachem Mendel of Vitebsk. Then reluctantly he returned home via Rhodes, where he spent Pesach. But always he spoke with love and with longing of the Holy Land. “My place,” he declared, “is only in the Land of Israel. If I travel anywhere I shall travel only to the Land of Is rael.” N an age of rationalism, the age which produced Moses Mendels sohn (1729-1786) and Solomon Maimon (1754-1800), Rabbi Nachman valued faith above philosophy, simpli city above sophistry. “Faith is im mensely strong; through faith and sim plicity, without subtlety, one becomes worthy of attaining the rung of grace which is higher than that of holy wis dom.” Nachman had little patience for subtle dialectics. “It is better to be a believer, although unlettered, than a scholar and a sceptic.” He despised philosophy. “Happy is he who knows nothing of their books, but who walks uprightly and fears retribution.” Even Maimonides, the greatest Jewish philo sopher of all time, did not escape cen sure. “He who looks into the Moreh Nevuchim (“Guide of the Perplexed”) of Rambam,” pronounced Rabbi Nach man severely, “loses the Divine Image of his being.” “There are some who, today, pass for great philosophers,” he added, “but in the World to Come it will be made known that they were in reality nothing more than heretics and unbelievers.” Confession occupied a significant place in Nachman’s world, and his

May-June 1968

followers held Rabbi Nachman as their Tzaddik, to be the intermediary with G-d. His Chassidim, who were called “Viduinicks” (“confessors”), would pray as follows: “In Thy mercy make me worthy to confess before the Tzaddik, in order that he may make atonement for me by means of his wisdom and humility.” In physicians, as in philosophers, Rabbi Nachman had little faith. Heal ing came from G-d. “Even in a place where there are distinguished doctors, one should neither rely on them nor put one’s life in their hands. They are liable to err and can easily do damage which can never be rectified. How much more so the majority of doctors that are to be found in our country, who cannot distinguish their right hand from their left and are veritable killers . . . It is well to avoid them.” And in a moment of jest he remark ed: “It is difficult for the Angel of Death to kill the whole world by him self so he appointed deputies—the doctors.” LTHOUGH he did not glorify poverty, Nachman disapproved of the acquisition of wealth and advo cated modesty. While in many ways he himself was modest and unassum ing yet, deeply convinced of his own special qualities and unique mission, he did not hesitate to proclaim them. “Since the Jews were dispersed from the Holy Land,” he declared, “there have been four great periods of learn ing and at the center of each epoch stood a chosen one. There are four chosen teachers, Rabbi Shimon bar Yochai, Rabbi Yitzchok Luria, the Besht, and myself.” “All Tzaddikim after reaching a certain degree of spirituality remain static; I, however,

with the help of G-d, become another person every day.” “In the world* to come,” he told his disciples, “you may be worthy to understand the hidden meaning that underlies my most ca sual remark.” He classed the Maskilim, the pro ponents of “cultural enlightenment,” with the heretics, condemning their ways with his customary forthright ness. “Heresies are spreading,” he said. “Happy is he who will strengthen himself by faith.” With particular force he opposed the new “ideas” that were infiltrating from Germany. “Mas ter of the Universe, make us worthy,” he prayed, “to refrain from occupying ourselves with the writings and lan guages of the gentiles . . . Annul the evil decrees, especially the decrees that compel our young people to study the writings and the languages of the gen tiles.” Rigorous indeed were the standards that Rabbi Nachman set for the Tzaddik, for the role of the Tzaddik was of transcendent importance. Rabbi Nachman believed that only through the Tzaddik could a man attain un derstanding of the Divine. The Tzad dik could perform miracles in heaven and on earth. His words were weighed more precious than the “words of the Torah and Prophets.” Thus for the Chossid to visit his Rebbe sporadical ly was not enough, for close commu nion between the two was essential. Not surprisingly, Nachman’s contem poraries did not measure up to his standards and his censures were harsh. “The evil spirit finds it hard to trouble himself with the whole world in order to lead mankind astray, therefore he appoints such men in various places to help him.” 42

"VTACHMAN was not one to cry, J-1 “Peace! Peace!” when there is no peace. His criticism was scathing when he felt that criticism was called for and he cared nothing for consequences or repercussions. No one could ignore this dynamic non-conformist descend ant of the Besht. “Many call them selves Rebbe. They have no power to control themselves,” he said, “and yet they aspire to lead the world.” Although he was on cordial terms with a number of illustrious co-equals, inevitably this controversial personali ty had many adversaries too. Some eighteen months after his return from the Holy Land, Rabbi Nachman left Medidevk and, in Ellul, 1800, settled in Zlatupola which was near Shpola. Here his most powerful opponent was his neighbor Rabbi Ary eh Leib (17251812) who was known, affectionately, as the “Shpolar Zeide” (“The Grand father of Shpola”). To the “Grand father” the Besht attributed the lofty soul of Rabbi Yehudah Low ben Betzalel of Prague and solemnly declared: “Not for the bodies but for the souls you were sent. There are many out casts in this world. It rests with you to strive for them and to save them.” A popular Tzaddik, reputed to have performed many miracles, the Shpolar Zeide lived to the age of eighty-seven and was well advanced in years by the time Rabbi Nachman came to live nearby. Having known the Besht, Rabbi Phinchas of Korzec, and the Maggid, Rabbi Aryeh Leib regarded himself as the “lion of the Tzaddikim.” Yet, a friendly unpretentious man, the Shpolar Zeide travelled from vil lage to village, bringing a message of hope to the people. Rabbi Nachman’s way was not his way. Repeatedly, the older Tzaddik and the turbulent newcomer, contrastJEWISH LIFE

ing personalities, clashed with each other. Rabbi Aryeh Leib regarded Rabbi Nachman as irresponsible and presumptuous, a man who sought to destroy from within what the Gaon of Vilna failed to destroy from with out. “This is not the way a Tzaddik should conduct himself these days,” he remarked, “nor is this the manner in which a Tzaddik should converse.” The struggle between the Mithnag’dim and the Chassidim was over, but now “civil war” broke out within the Chassidic movement itself. Its aim had been the “close fellowship” of Chossid with Chossid, but now it was torn by petty jealousies and causeless hat reds. The accusations once levelled at the founder of the Chabad school of Chassidism were now hurled at Rabbi Nachman. He was even accused of being an adherent of Shabbethai Tz’vi and Jacob Frank. “Curse Nach man,” urged the sage of Shpola, los ing much of the serene benevolence that had characterized his life, “and I will assure you a portion in the world to come.” “My name is Aryeh (“Lion” ),” he asserted, and again such hauteur was not in character, “and to the lion all animals do obeisance.” Rabbi Levi Yitzchok of Berdychev intervened in the cause of peace but without suc cess. For, having antagonized his con temporaries, Rabbi Nachman made no attempt to conciliate them. He ac cepted such persecution and vilifica tion as almost inevitable. “How is it possible,” he asked, “that they should not quarrel with me? For I walk a path that no one has ever travelled. I am not really of this world and there fore the world cannot understand me . . . All that has been before is as the life within the fruit before it is ripe . . . There has never been one May-June 1968

like myself in the world . . . I am like unto a fruitful tree whose branches and foliage are fresh and green . . . I pray that in the world to come you will be granted understanding of the meaning of my day-to-day speech . . . I have kindled a torch that will never be put o u t . . . The righteous redeemer will be of my descendants . . . In the world to come everyone will be Chas sidim of Bratzlav.” UCH sentiments were hardly con S ciliatory. Clearly he was not des tined to live a peaceful life, nor did he seek it. “I assure you,” he said, however, “I could live at peace with everybody but I am not fated to do so. There are certain steps that one can attain only by causing dissension.” Rabbi Nachman did not stand com pletely alone. A number of notable Chassidic leaders supported him, among them Boruch of Miedzyborz, Avrohom of Kalisk, and Chayyim of Krasni. “If only I knew that the world would listen to me,” declared Rabbi Levi Yitzchok of Berdychev, “I would cry aloud in a voice that could be heard from one end of the world to the other that whosoever wishes to be upright and serve the Lord in truth should attach himself to Rabbi Nach man.” In 1802, in the month of Ellul, Nachman settled in Bratzlav, Podolia, on the river Bug. There he met Rabbi Nothon ben Naphtoli Hirz of Nemirov (died in 1830) who became the recorder of his words. “Had I come to Bratzlav merely to find you, that in itself would be reward enough,” he once remarked. “Nothon, Nothon,” he exclaimed, “you have the power to make my Torah live for ever.” It was Rabbi Nathan who faithfully and meticulously recorded the apho43

risms, the discourses, and the tales of his master. “Great mysteries are con tained in these fables,” maintained the scholar-scribe for whom every word was sacred. Intimate was the relationship be tween Rabbi Nachman and his fol lowers. The Chassidim needed a charismatic leader and he needed them. “How can I ever forget you,” he writes. “Every one of you has a place in my heart. Every one of you has a share in my Torah.” “Eat or do not eat, sleep or do not sleep, pray or do not pray, one thing you must do,” he told his followers, “and that is to come to me.” For mysterious reasons that he hinted at but did not divulge, Rabbi Nachman travelled from place to place. He visited Lvov, Ostrau, and Zaslav. “If only the peo ple knew the purpose of my journeys, they would kiss the very steps of my feet,” he confided to his followers. N 1808, Nachman’s health deteri orated even further and he began to suffer from tuberculosis. The fol lowing year, when his house in Bratzlav was burnt down, he settled in Uman. Several notable Maskilim lived in Uman and Nachman became acqu ainted with Hirsch Baer Hurwitzer (Herman Bernard), (1785-1857), who emigrated to England in 1827 and, five years later, was appointed Praeceptor Linguae Sacrae in the Univer sity of Cambridge. Rabbi Nachman’s days were numbered now and for three years he lived in the shadow of death. But for him death was merely a change of activity. “After my de mise,” he told his Chassidim, “any man may come to my grave and recite ten chapters from the Book of Psalms and contribute to charity on my be half. Then, even if his sins are many,

I will do my utmost to intercede for him.” With deep sorrow, the faithful Nothon watched his beloved mentor fading. “Rebbe, Rebbe, with whom are you leaving us?” he asked in an guish. Then the master comforted his Chassidim. “I am not, G-d forbid, leaving you. I will be with you al ways.” He died on the third day of Choi Hamoed Succoth (Tishri 18), 1810, and was buried in Uman. Seven children were born to Rabbi Nachman, two boys and five daughters. His elder son, Sh’lomo Ephroyim, died in infancy. “My heart is broken,” wept the bereaved father. His younger son, Yaakov, born in 1796, died at a very early age. Thus, there was no son to succeed Nachman. And he had no successor. To his fol lowers, there was no one worthy to take his place. His devoted disciples became known as the “Toite (dead) Chassidim” because they remained so faithful to the living memory of their departed Rebbe. ET the inter-movement feud did not die with the death of Rabbi Y Nachman and for some time his leaderless Chassidim were subjected to vindictive persecution. Rabbi Mosheh Tz‘vi of Savran, leader of the opposi tion, stigmatised the Chassidim of Bratzlav as “sinners who caused others to sin” and warned his followers not to intermarry with them. “Moreover a Chossid of Bratzlav should not in struct your children . . . A shochet of Bratzlav is disqualified from Shechitah.” Rabbi Nothon of Nemirov pleaded with him, but he pleaded in vain, “Do not shed innocent blood.” “Bratzlaver” Chassidim scattered far and wide but they made it a practice to gather together once a year to re call in fellowship the days and the JEWISH LIFE

ways of their remarkable Tzaddik, “Before the New Year, each Chossid lays aside his business and, at a great sacrifice, comes to Uman where he worships, weeps, and remembers. The extent of the joy, weeping, and danc ing in the holy chapel cannot be de scribed. Each received enlightenment and inspiration from one another.” With the Russian Revolution of 1917, the gatherings at Uman came to an end. “The dead Chassidim,” until the outbreak of the Second World War, met regularly at Lublin.

began to tell his stories. An original and gifted story-teller, he spoke in Yiddish and in Yiddish the stories were faithfully recorded by Nothon of Nemirov. “Every word written in this holy book is sacred,” wrote Rabbi Nothon. “The stories inscribed here emanated from the mouth of the great Tzaddik himself.” Undoubtedly Rabbi Nachman gathered source material from far-flung sources but his crea tions were always fresh and lively, stamped with his own remarkable per sonality. Far-ranging was his knowl edge. He seems to have been acqu ABBI NACHMAN was a prolific ainted with animal life, with marine author. Few of his books were life, and with many branches of na published in his lifetime. Most ap tural science. Some tales were quite peared posthumously, lovingly edited brief, but others were virtually nove and transcribed by Rabbi Nothon who, lettes. The story “The Seven Beggars,” on Shevat 21, 1821, opened a print which he began to compose on Adar ing press especially for this purpose. 25, 1810, took him over two weeks One of the exceptions was Likuttey to relate. Maharan, which appeared in Ostrau Some thirteen stories and twentyin 1808, in the lifetime of the author. one short parables have been pre Among the works of the Bratzlaver served. Among the most famous are: Rebbe are Likuttey Tephiloth (“A “The Lost Princess,” “The Broken Collection of Prayers”), Likuttey Ha- Betrothal,” “The Cripple,” “The lochoth (“A Collection of Legal Rul King’s Son and the Servant’s Son,” ings” ) on the Shulchon Oruch; Sepher “The Wind that Overturned the Hamidoth (“A Treatise on Morals”), World,” “The Bull and the Ram,” arranged alphabetically and printed in “The Prince,” “The Spider and the Mogilev in 1811, and Sippurey Ma’- Fly,” “The Rabbi’s Son,” and the asiyoth (“Stories”) first printed in aforementioned “The Seven Beggars.” 1815. Although the stories were told in It is only recently that Rabbi Nach haste, just as and when inspiration man’s place in Yiddish literature has came, it was important that “not one been fittingly acknowledged, particu iota be changed.” For these, for his larly with regard to his contribution Chassidim, were not mere fairy tales. to folklore, for he has been described “The Tzaddik is sometimes obliged to as “the greatest story-teller of the Jew weave stories of worldly life around ish people” and the “classical story his doctrine because he cannot al teller of all times not only in Chassidism but in the whole range of Jew ways proclaim them openly. The To ish lore with few, if any, equals in rah itself is wrapped around with sto ries and fables without which it could other literature.” It was in Bratzlav that Nachman not survive.” May-June 1968

Often Rabbi Nothon describes the their idols of gold and silver and occasion that inspired a particular learned to serve G-d?” Probably the story of the “Lost story, the rise of Napoleon for in stance. “We were astonished by the Princess” developed from the death exalted position to which that one of his own child Sorah. Mysterious, (Napoleon) had been raised, so that perplexing, and thought-provoking from a lowly man (literally, “servant”) are many of these allegorical narra he had become an Emperor. And we tions. “Each tale,” comments the spoke with our Master about it. And writer Meyer Levin, “is an intricate he said: ‘Who knows whose soul is maze; the reader follows seven dif his for it may be that it was exchanged. ferent paths, only to find himself sud For in the castle of transformations, denly standing still, bewildered and souls are at times exchanged.’ And triumphant, at their common cross he began to tell the tale of the king’s roads. The meaning is hidden, yet son and the maid’s son whose souls shining clear, for each person in each tale is a symbol, as abstract as a nu were exchanged*’’ On another occasion he saw the meral, and, in the end, the symbols Cantor of a synagogue wearing torn seem miraculously to have taken their garments. “Are you not a Master of places in the pure formula of a given Prayer through whom the blessings theorem.” The Stories of Nachman of Bratzare brought downwards?” he asked. He then told the story of the Ba’al Te- lav have been published in innumera philah. The stories reveal much of ble editions in both Hebrew and in Rabbi Nachman’s own views and at Yiddish. Martin Buber, the first to titudes. From the story, “The Sage introduce Nachman to the Western and the Simpleton,” we have a very World, translated the stories into Ger clear indication of his attitude towards man. These were translated into En the Maskilim. In this story he main glish by Maurice Friedmann. “I have not translated these stories,” Buber tains that money leads to idolatry and confesses, “but have retold them in that the truly pious man takes no part all freedom yet out of his spirit to in the chase for riches. For those me.” A number of Nachman’s stories who pursue wealth are always in debt, are to be found in Meyer Levin’s “slaves to their desires and ambitions ^‘Golden Mountain.” However, no and the slaves of others. Would it not verbatim translation of the Stories has be better if they turned away from as yet appeared.

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ct4£& ¿tom t6e

teàputm iitenatune By DAVID S. SHAPIRO

A Victim of Credulity (Based upon the Responsa Binyan Zion by Rabbi Jacob Ettlinger of Altona, Volume I, No. 154-155) n p H I S incredible story happened in the year 1859 in a village in Hungary -1- wherein lived two Jewish families, both blessed with sons and daughters. Apparently they were also well-to-do, as Jewish domestics lived with them. Occasionally the heads of the families would leave the villager for businesspurposes, while the members of the household remained at home. One Sunday morning in late winter, when the head of one of the fam ilies had gone on a business trip, a knock was heard on the door. The woman of the household hurried to the door, and there, to her surprise, stood an un couth stranger, in tattered and bedraggled garments, asking for food and lodging. The woman, who was very kindly as well as pious, did what every virtuous Jewess would have done in her place. She admitted the stranger, gave him food and drink, then took him to the room which in the meanwhile she had prepared for him. The traveller, who had come from Poland, made an unusual impression upon her. His piety was extraordinary. He ate no food that came from a liv ing creature (a practice usual with extreme pietists). He drank only water, slept on the floor, and put stones under his head in place of a pillow. All day he sat in his room, studying very intently. About midnight he got up to observe the rites of “Chatzhoth,” weeping and wailing over the destruction of the Holy Temples in Jerusalem. Each day in the coldest weather, he performed May-June 1968

ablutions in the frigid waters of the river. For close to two weeks, the men dicant persisted in his saintly ways. On the eve of the second ‘Sabbath, he took the opportunity to reveal his identity. Following the tasty Sabbath meal, the children and servants went to their rooms, the guest and his hostess remaining alone in the dining-room. The woman drew up enough courage to ask the man-of-G-d who he was, from where he came, and whereto he was heading. He replied he was a messenger of G-d, none other than the prophet Elijah himself, whom the Almighty had entrusted with the task of gathering together the dispersed of Israel from the earth. This secret, he insisted, must be shared by no one. The woman, deeply impressed with these words, and with apparently little doubt in her mind, retired to her room, perhaps happy with the thought of her being granted the privilege of performing so great a “mitzvah” as that of provid ing lodging for the prophet Elijah himself. About midnight the woman was startled from her sleep. The stranger had stolen into her room and awakened her. In all his wanderings, he began to say, he had never come across so virtuous a woman as she, worthy of being the Messiah’s mother. The reali zation of this possibility, he told her, was prevented only by her husband who lacked the virtues of becoming the father of the Messiah. He, Elijah, was sent from Heaven to accomplish this goal. In due time she was destined to have a son from him who would be the Messiah, who would bring about the complete redemption of Israel. The chaste Jewish mother was undoubted ly shocked, and recoiled from the advances of her “saintly” guest. This kind of behavior, she knew, hardly conformed to the traditional image of Elijah. Aware of her skepticism, the visitor offered positive proof that he was in deed Elijah. On the Tuesday after his departure, he told her, she would open the chest in her room and find there a treasure of four hundred ducats. But one condition was to be observed: by no means was the chest to be opened before the set time. This convinced the credulous woman that this man was truly Elijah, and that in submitting to his cajolery she would be fulfilling a divine commandment. Early Sunday morning, the scoundrel disappeared. HE foolish woman had been so impressed with the assurances of “Elijah the Prophet” that she wrote her husband to return immediately, as the Lord had seen fit to shower great wealth upon him. On Tuesday, the hus band was back home. How dismayed the woman was when she then opened the chest, only to find it empty. She started crying, and finally told her hus band what had happened. She confessed her sin, as her intention had been to fulfill the will of the Almighty. The stranger had no attraction for her. Only her certainty that he was none other than the Prophet Elijah persuaded her to sin. The husband, a pious Jew, was perplexed. What was he to do? A religious Jew cannot continue to live with an unfaithful wife. Yet she had always been to him a chaste wife and to his children a devoted mother. He cried bitterly at this sudden tragedy. In his anguish, he brought his troubles to a noted rabbi in the vicinity, Rabbi Mendel Friedlander of Georgen. The rabbi, after hearing the story, told the couple they may not live together till

JEWISH LIFE

the law of the Torah on this matter would be clarified. He submitted the problem to one of the greatest rabbinical authorities of the day, Rabbi Jacob Ettlinger of Altona, Germany (born 1798, died 1871). In his responsum, Rabbi Ettlinger discusses the pros and cons of the prob lem. Following in the footsteps of the great rabbis of the past, he sets for his goal the re-establishment of the marital relationship. There are two modes by which to approach the problem Halachically. The first is to seek to in validate the testimony of the woman as to her infidelity and thus cross it off the record; the second is to determine whether infidelity of this type is such as to render the woman forbidden to her husband, as the law applies only to intentional adultery. The question of the trustworthiness of the woman’s testimony is based on a Mishnaic ruling that, without witnesses, a woman’s admission of infi delity is unacceptable in court, as she might be fabricating a pretext to rid herself of her husband (Mishna, end of Nedarim). Even though in this case the woman insists that she did not deliberately sin, she may nevertheless be using a stratagem, having perhaps heard that were she to claim deliberate infidelity her word would be ruled out of court. On this score, then, her tes timony against herself is invalid. Nor even can the testimony of the servants, who saw the stranger on the bedroom floor, be brought to bear to corroborate the woman’s statements, as they did not see that he entered the room for immoral purposes, in addition to which the door of the room was open. Nevertheless, Rabbi Ettlinger maintains, since the husband harbors no doubts about his wife’s confession, she is forbidden to him, according to the views of most rabbinic legists. The attempt to solve the problem by demolishing the confession must be considered unsuccessful. The problem is then approached from the second angle. It is here that the famous ruling of the celebrated Talmudist Rabbi Joseph Colon (an Italian Rabbi known as Maharik; died 1480) stands in the way. This great sage had declared that a woman who commits adultery without being aware that adul tery is forbidden is nevertheless prohibited to her husband, as she is a delib erate violator of the marital trust. He moreover maintained that this prohi bition obtains just as well for an illicit relationship carried on for a meritor ious cause, such as in the case of Esther, who sought the favor of Ahasuerus in order to save her people (Esther 4,16), and thereby was lost to her hus band (Mordecai, according to Talmudic tradition; Megillah 15a). Rabbi Ett linger, while accepting the ruling of Rabbi Colon, disagrees that the case of Esther is relevant to this problem, for Esther surely had no intention of vio lating the marital trust. The question of her legitimacy to Mordecai was con tingent rather upon the possibility of finding some other method of saving the Jewish people. Once it was determined that there was no other way, she would definitely not have been forbidden to her husband. Yet Rabbi Ett linger found it difficult to reject the opinion of Rabbi Colon which was ac cepted by other codists, to the effect that even in the case of infidelity with meritorious intent the prohibition for husband and wife to live together still prevails. May-June 1968

However, on the basis of another opinion written by Rabbi Jacob Reischer (died in Metz in 1733), grounds are found for the re-establishment of the couple’s marital life. Rabbi* Reischer (Shevuth Yaakob) distinguishes be tween compulsory cohabitation, which does not render the woman forbidden to her husband, and a voluntary choice of cohabitation as a means of bring ing about the rescue of lives in which case the woman can no longer return to her husband, even though there was no intention of infidelity. Esther’s re solve to approach the king belongs to the latter category. In our case, how ever, the very act of cohabitation is to be regarded as compulsory, since the woman felt constrained to carry out what she believed was a divine com mandment. Since there was, in addition, no intention to violate the marriage vows, the return of the wife to her husband can in no way be forbidden. In our case, Rabbi Ettlinger concludes, even Rabbi Colon would have agreed to a lenient ruling. While Rabbi Ettlinger offered his opinion in favor of the wife returning to her husband, he nonetheless, in his modesty, asked that two renowned rabbinic authorities join him in issuing a decision to that effect. Rabbi Ettlinger’s Responsa do not reveal whether other rabbis did give their assent. Very likely the weight of his authority succeeded in bringing about a happy solution to the problem created by a virtuous but credulous woman.

JEWISH LIFE

B o o k R eview In Agudist Perspective by O. ASHER REICHEL

YAAKOV ROSENHEIM MEMORIAL ANTHOLOGY, Edited by Joseph Friedenson; New York: Orthodox Library, 1968, 110 pp., Hebrew and Yiddish sec tions, 72 pp., $2.00. HE Memorial volume for Moreinu Yaakov Rosenheim (1870-1965) is comprised of two subjects—the history of the Agudath Israel and the biography of its first President, Yaakov Rosen heim. At first blush, it may appear bizarre to find the leading essay (whose title also serves as the subtitle of the volume), “A Concise History of Agu dath Israel,” by Joseph Friedenson, the editor of the Anthology, preceding the biography of Yaakov Rosenheim. How ever, it is most appropriate that the sub ject of Agudath Israel serve as an in troduction to the biography since the subject’s life was intertwined with the Agudath Israel movement from its em bryonic stage.

RABBI REICHEL is spiritual leader of the West Side Institutional Synagogue in New York City.

May-June 1968

Rosenheim was born in time to be hold in person the famed Rabbi Samson Raphael Hirsch in Frankfort. His schol arship and mastery of the written word (he published the orthodox Jewish week ly, Der lsraelit) fitted him into the vi brant Jewish stream wherein he would play a leading role throughout his life. Imbued with the spirit of Frankfort Or thodoxy, he was entrusted, in 1906, with the administration of the Freie Vereini-

gung fur die Interessen des orthodoxen Judentums (Free Association for the In terests of Orthodox Judaism), in Ger many, which was founded by Rabbi Hirsoh. Rosenheim approached the Lithu anian rabbinical luminary and renowned Jewish historian Isaac Halevy, who had settled in Germany at the turn of the cen tury, to take a leading position in the Freie Vereinigung’s educational activities in the Holy Land. Subsequently, Halevy con vinced Rosenheim that the role of the Palestine Commission would have to be expanded beyond the confines of a na tional organization. In 1912, with the founding of Agudath Israel under the guiding spirit of Rabbi Halevy, at Kat51

towitz, Rosenheim emerged as the dyn amic standard-bearer of the movement. Rabbi Halevy was instrumental in en couraging Rosenheim to head the Agudath Israel since he considered him the ideal personality whose leadership would be acceptable to both Eastern and West ern Jewries. Rosenheim’s addresses at the Kattowitz Conference and at the first Knessiah Gedolah which are quoted in this work vindicated Rabbi Halevy’s judgment. With the passage of time the name Rosenheim became synonymous with Agudath Israel. HILE this volume cannot be con sidered a definitive work on the life of Rosenheim and on the Agudath Israel, it does shed new light on both. The article on Agudath Israel deserves special mention because it affords the reader a bird’s eye view of the move ment, embracing the defense of Ortho doxy, Jewish education for girls (the Beth Jacob Schools movement), the popularization of an orthodox Jewish press, rescue work in the holocaust years of World War II and the PostWar reconstruction. Of major signific ance is Mr. Friedenson’s clarification of the views and actions of the Agudath Israel (navigated by Rosenheim) in the crucial moments vis-a-vis the political history of the Holy Land Yishuv. The historical perspective of the Agudah’s role in the Balfour Declaration, in its relationship with the Jewish Agency, the Partition Plan for Palestine, the Peel Commission, the United Nations Inves tigation Commission as well as the Reli gious Bloc in the State of Israel, will be read by many for the first time from the Agudah point of view.

The essays evaluating the personality of Yaakov Rosenheim in Yiddish, He brew, and English (the order of the languages is in relation to the number of pages) were written by those who were close to him. In this circle are Rabbi Yitzhak Meir Levin, a minister in the first Israeli Cabinet and his suc cessor as President of Agudath Israel, Dr. Isaac Lewin, a leader of the world Agudah movement, Rabbi Benjamin Hendeles, Rabbi Moshe Sherer, David Adler, as well as Moreinu Rosenheim’s daughter, Mrs. Adele Engel, and others from various parts of the globe. This volume demonstrates that the his tory of modem Orthodoxy has yet to be written in depth, as well as in splen dor. The number of topics and episodes dealt with in this work are incentives for further elaboration and documenta tion. The Orthodoxy of the future can gain tremendously from its experiences of yesteryear. Rosenheim’s role in Orthodoxy is viv idly illustrated in this volume by the three-score-and-ten photographs of the leading Torah personalities of the past fifty years who joined forces with him under the Agudah banner. But the vari ous vignettes of his family life as well as his intellectual approach to personal and communal endeavors, related in the biographical sketches and essays, reveal Rosenheim also as a self-disciplined and well-integrated ba'al habayith. Thus this biography should serve as a personal in spiration to men in the public limelight to leave some room in their busy days for their own spiritual nourishment. This work should find its place on the refer ence shelf of every up-to-date Judaica library.

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M atters to th e E d ito r 'ON HOMOSEXUALITY1 Los Angeles, California Rabbi Norman Lamm’s article on homosexuality in your January-February 1968 issue is most interesting. It repre sents an application of Jewish principles to a modem subject, an updating of Jew ish law to modern life. It is a welcome addition to Jewish thinking for relatively unlearned individuals such as myself. However, one of the conclusions (or side remarks) I find most troublesome—dis turbing if it reflects the general attitude in the orthodox leadership. I refer to the statements that the author presents for advocating that homosexuality should not be treated as a criminal offense. Briefly the two rea sons given are: (1) our present society and its judiciary is such that the courts do not wish to intervene when other individuals and society are not directly involved; and (2) our prisons as now constituted would worsen the homo sexual’s condition. I assume that Rabbi Lamm agrees that the orthodox Jew (and others) whom he seeks to guide as well as to teach should be involved in American social and political life, and should par ticipate in developing its laws and its practices. And I also assume that it is desirable for the Jew to foster the imMay-June 1968

plementation by the general community of the Noachide laws. On the basis of these two assumptions, I question strong ly the validity of the two conclusions of Rabbi Lamm noted above. On the first, we accept the thesis that Judaism is unequivocally committed to higher moral practices. For Jews only? Obviously not; so obviously that we need not say more on this point. We may safely say that the Jew accepts the yoke of the Torah for himself, and believes that the non-Jew should accept those moral and ethical ideals as are stated or implied in the Noachide laws. With this purpose, the Jew may act by exam ple, by teaching and explaining, and by cooperating with the general community in specific actions, including community and political activities. The current atti tude in some parts of the general com munity and of some courts in refusing to act except when an individual is di rectly and manifestly harmed is ques tionable, especially by Jewish standards, is not universally accepted, and in this country is of recent vintage. Actually one senses a struggle within both the general society and in the courts con cerning this issue. It ill behooves the Jew to establish himself either as a practicing neutral or in favor of the trend. If a significant portion of the general community seeks 53

to prohibit actions which the Torah con demns both in Jews and non-Jews, we should support these efforts by positive actions—pious platitudes and academic scholarly dissertations are inadequate, es pecially by Jewish standards. Would we be so academic if we sensed a trend towards acceptance of murder, robbery, minority oppressions, etc? Of course not. We have a responsibility to propose measures to penalize criminally sinful activities. The inadequacy of our present penal institutions is a handicap to the punish ment of criminals, not a bar. If it were the only objection, we should seek to develop suitable penal methods, not to deny or void the nature of criminal acts. In general any punishment, either under our ancient state or under modern con ditions, involves undesirable features: imprisonment for any crime does not necessarily lead to rehabilitation. I do not believe that Rabbi Lamm would foi this reason advocate the elimination of all punitive legislation. For that matter, Jewish law concerning criminal offenses includes reasons other than rehabilita tion. Concerning this subject, the rabbi is far more competent than I; I suggest that consideration of the Jewish prin ciples underlying criminal prosecution would be pertinent in this matter, and should have bearing on our attitudes. I have written at length on this sub ject because I believe most strongly that orthodox Jewry should advocate specific concrete steps for attacking the deficien cies such as this which are rending the general society. I have noted other such areas in which thinking Jews appear to realize the existence of problems—and at present offer only philosophical dis sertations. This is especially true in the field of personal morality. May I sug gest that the developing Jewish Rab binate in this country give us guidance 54

in providing positive measures for apply ing our traditions to the modern Ameri can scene? Morris Smith New Haven, Connecticut I have just finished Rabbi Lamm’s article on homosexuality in Jewish L ife and wonder if he hasn’t let himself off the hook a bit too easily. It would seem to me that a straight reading of our literature would say that the Jewish posi tion ought to be to push for increasingly severe penalties, perhaps not death, as the Puritans read it, but certainly some kind of harsh treatment. There is a venerable tradition for judging the sui cide gently. There is no such tradition that I know of to help the homosexual. My reservations about his article are not in the fact that he has tried to con sider homosexuality a disease. Though that is by no means a simple question, I think I would agree with him. My prob lem concerns his rather belligerent tone. Isn’t he ultimately in the same situation as many of those whom he opposes, find ing some aspects of Torah law rather difficult and attempting to mitigate as pects of its apparent harshness without abandoning the structure? It is a valu able effort that he makes and in fact precisely what tikkun olam is all about, an attempt to ameliorate the stringencies of the Divine imperative with what, from our own human point of view, man in fact seems able to achieve. As I read his piece, the issue is how upset people should be by homosexuality. He says one should be more upset by it than are the people he takes issue with. Fair enough. But his bubbas and zaydehs would have agreed with neither of them and would have been horrified with both of them. In essence, I suspect that his position is far more radical than he is willing to admit. I wonder if JEWISH LIFE

he is entitled to quite as bellicose a stance as he takes. Richard J. Israel Director, R’nai Brith at Yale University RABBI LAMM REPLIES: The two letters printed above are fairly representative of the types of ad verse criticism occasioned by my recent article for Jewish L ife , some of it in communications and some in editorials in Anglo-Jewish periodicals. (For the record, let me say that most of those who bothered to write, whether privately or in print, approved of my point of view, and that some of them were Chris tians who were as upset as I was by the Episcopalian statement.) Let me turn to Mr. Smith’s strictures first, and begin by assuring him that my opinions are my own and by no means necessarily reflect those of “orthodox leadership.” I am troubled by my correspondent’s activism. He apparently dismisses any thing Jess than a direct application of the Noachide law as a “scholarly dis sertation” or “pious platitudes.” Of course, I agree that Judaism’s moral principles should be brought to bear on general society. But that does not com mit us to strive for the literal enact ment of the Noachide law. Would Mr. Smith really approve of capital punish ment in America for homosexuality? And for eating a limb torn from a living animal? And for blasphemy? I assume that he would not advocate this. In addition to all else, the penology established by the Halakhah assumes a normative Jewish society and a qualified Sanhedrin sitting in a rebuilt Temple. If the full enactment of Noachide law is impossible, we must then seek to in corporate the principles of this legisla tion into the moral and legal structure of society. Here I agree with him, and May-June 1968

that is why I took the trouble to write my article: to call attention to the Torah’s abhorrence of homosexuality and to protest its designation as “morally neutral” by certain Christian clerics. But Mr. Smith considers this mere “philoso phizing” and apparently prefers a jail term for homosexuals. I do not know, however, why a prison sentence should substitute for the original punishment. Jewish law, by and large, did not en courage the denial of personal freedom as a recommended form of punishment. There is nothing Jewish about a jail. (Flogging, I think, is far less cruel and far more enlightened.) Since capital pun ishment is out of the question, we are left with one absolute minimum: strong disapproval of the condemned act. But we are not bound to any specific peno logical instrument that has no basis in Jewish law. I prefer to judge the form of punishment by standards other than the expression of society’s disapproval. I am not Halakhically bound to press for the harshest verdict available. I am Halakhically bound to act with com passion (more of this shortly). Rehabili tation is not a newfangled invention of far-out liberals. It is nothing more than teshuvah. And the cumulative experience of our society does not encourage us to expect that our prisons will rehabilitate homosexuals. . . . Quite to the contrary, they confirm the deviant in his abberations and turn him out of jail and into society as a hopeless victim of his own abnormalities—and our unconcern. This does not mean that I am neces sarily against prison for any crimes. I feel that incarceration may be required in order to protect society from those who would do it violence, and as a de terrent to non-violent crimes such as theft or embezzlement. But an enlight ened society should at all times try to rehabilitate its ethically and morally dis55

advantaged elements, even as it seeks to help the socially and financially disad vantaged. While Mr. Smith holds me to be too liberal, Rabbi Israel takes me to task for being too harsh on the Episcopalian priests. He accuses me of being secretly more “radical” than I seem, questions my right to be “bellicose,” and calls down upon me the wrath of my illus trious ancestors. Now I am quite unruffled by his criti cism of my thesis, but when he meddles in my family affairs, that is going too far. I must therefore strongly protest his contention to have discovered a vari ance between my grandparents and my self, and his resultant questioning of my loyalty as an einikel. His first point has already been an swered in my response to Mr. Smith. Both of them assume that in the ab sence of an enforceable death penalty (which is quite explicit in the Bible, and is not limited to the way “the Puritans read it!”), we must strive for the harsh est treatment possible. Not so, as I pointed out above. Rabbi Israel knows of “no such tradition . . . to help the homosexual.” The tradition is teshuvah. Even a condemned man being lead to his execution was encouraged to confess and make his peace with his Creator (Sanhedrin 6,2). This leads me to the main point I wish to make: the Halakhah sees no contradiction between condemning a man to death and exercising compassion— even love!—towards him at the same time. The Talmud applies the verse “thou shalt love thy neighbor as thyself” specifically to one condemned to death, and invokes this commandment in deter mining the very manner of his execu tion—“choose any easy death for him” (Sanhedrin 52a). Hence the two prin

ciples, both formulated as mitzvot, co exist simultaneously: execute him and love him. (Interestingly, the command ment of neighborly love is given in the same verse as the one that proscribes vengeance—Leviticus 19,18—and suggests that the Torah’s philosophy of punish ment is non-vindictive.) Certainly, there fore, where the death penalty cannot be carried out (as it has not been enforce able since 4— or 40—years before the destruction of the Temple in 70 CE), we remain bound by only one mitzvah— compassion and love. This does not by any means imply that we condone the crime. We condemn the sin but not the sinner, as Beruriah taught in the Talmud. If I confused some of my readers by my suicide analogy, I genuinely regret that. But my point remains: if I am unable to enforce the full Biblical pen alty, I am not required to press the civil authorities to devise other forms of severe punishment for homosexuals or other transgressors. The death penalty does have timeless relevance, however, in informing us of the extent to which the Torah abhors a prohibited act. But this does not detract from the obligation to treat the offender with neighborly love. In principle, this attitude is applicable to the whole range of offenses the Torah considers worthy of death, whether by Heavenly decree or by the Sanhedrin. Adultery, work on Shabbat, eating on Yom Kippur, cohabitting with a niddah —all of these are cardinal sins. The death penalty, even when prescribed by Jewish Law, was not meted out lightly. Although the Halakhah did not accept the opinions of Rabbi Tarphon and Rabbi Akiva who declared that had they been members of the Sanhedrin no man would ever have been executed, never theless a death sentence was rare indeed (Makkot, end chapter I). In all these JEWISH LIFE

cases we are bound to protest the trans gression—and, at the same time, to en courage the transgressor to teshuvah or rehabilitation. This is the attitude I advocate towards homosexuals. It simply does not help to dismiss them as “queers” and withdraw from them any concern for their plight. (I confine my remarks to homosexuals who recognize their abberations as wrong and regret them, not those who have banded together to claim “civil rights” for degeneracy.) We find it easier to exercise the kind of compassion that leads to constructive, therapeutic results, when we have discovered some mitigat ing factor. That factor is the concept of disease; and this is why I introduced the matter of suicides. It is this which allows us to work productively for the rehabilitation of the homosexual, with out at the same time falling prey to the muddle-headed view that accepts homo sexuality itself as “morally neutral” pro vided that “it fosters a permanent rela tion of love” (as the Episcopalian priests maintained in their conference last November). Like Rabbi Israel, the periodical “Reconstructionist,” in an editorial in its February 23, 1968 issue, purported to find in my essay “a change in the Halakhah,” and “if this is so, then Rabbi Lamm is unfair to the Bishops when he attributes to them a tendency to re turn to paganism.” But there is nothing in my position, I submit, that is “far more radical” than I am “willing to ad mit.” I am sorry that I cannot provide my critics with a case of disguised historicism, as if I were trying to sneak in a “change in the Halakhah” past the religious customs inspector. It is all too easy for orthodox Jews to be frightened by the specter of “change.” I do not believe we should May-June 1968

be scared away from confronting con temporary issues by ghosts of heresy (or even “bubbas and zaydehs”) conjured up by those to whom Halakhah has lost its binding force and who gleefully an ticipate welcoming converts from Ortho doxy. To equate my position with that of the Episcopalian priests, because both of us advocate “change,” and therefore to fault me for being “bellicose,” is to be guilty of extravagance. It may make a debater’s point, but it obscures instead of clarifying.

'WORLD SYNAGOGUE CONFERENCE1 New York, N.Y. Your recent issue of Jewish Life of March-April, 1968 contains an article by Rabbi Ralph Pelcovitz on the syna gogue conference held in Jerusalem. He is introduced to the readers as a former president of our organization, the Rab binical Alliance of America. Without debating the merits of the article (which I might have reason to on the basis of a recent trip to Israel), I think your readers are entitled to know that Rabbi Pelcovitz does not, in this instance, reflect the policy of our or ganization which was and is categorically opposed to the conference in Jerusalem and has so informed the public. Further more, it was clearly understood that Rabbi Pelcovitz would not be identified as an Honorary President of our group so as not to distort the position of our organization. Rabbi Bernard Weinberger President, Rabbinical Alliance of Americ| Brooklyn, N.Y. Rabbi Ralph Pelcovitz’s article on the World Conference of Synagogues (MarchApril 1968) appears to me to distort 57

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the position of Agudath Israel on the fuse this identification with spokesmanConference. The author contrasts the op ship for or reflection of an organiza position to the Conference by Israeli tion’s policy. I am indebted to Mr. Greenberg for Agudah spokesmen with the denial by the American Agudah that any “ban” clarifying the position of the American and Israeli Agudah regarding the Con had been issued against it. In point of fact, both the American ference. I was certainly not attempting to and Israeli Agudah, in accordance with “exploit” this issue and am grateful for the decision of the Gedolei Torah, went the clarification. on record against the Conference. It was only in response to a Jewish Telegraphic 'ARGENTINA1 Agency report that Agudath Israel had issued a “cherem” (“religious ban”) on Princeton, New Jersey Currently within Jewish circles we can all participants in the Conference, that the American Agudah issued a denial find an ever-increasing concern over our that any “cherem” had been imposed. Jewish brethren in Latin America. In the very same January 11th news Thank G-d this care differs from the item in the Yiddish press referred to by fears which we have for our Mishpachah Rabbi Pelcovitz, the denial by the Amer in Poland and the other countries in ican Agudah was followed by a Jewish the Soviet bloc. Jacob Beller in his article, “Jews and Telegraphic Agency dispatch from Jeru salem quoting an Israeli Agudah leader Jewishness in Argentina,” in the Januaryidentically denying the imposition of any February Jewish Life reflected this growing interest. Throughout his article “cherem.” It as clear from all the publicity I Mr. Beller articulated how he felt the have seen that both the Israeli and Jewish soul is perishing among the Jews American Agudath Israel opposed the of Argentina. I can agree with Mr. Conference but issued no “cherem” on Beller’s observations, but I must dis participants. To my knowledge, Agudath agree as to the cause that he cites—the Israel has never in its history imposed younger generation’s infrequent use of a “cherem,” which carries such serious Yiddish and unawareness of its spiritual depth. Halachic consequences. Our forefathers centuries ago did not Rabbi Pelcovitz’s attempt to exploit the denial of a “cherem” as a weakening speak Yiddish, for it did not exist at of basic ideological opposition to the the time, still they were pious people. Conference is a source of amazement On the American Jewish scene today we find many young devout couples and to me. Menachem M. Greenberg yeshivah students with absolutely no knowledge of Yiddish. Please do not believe me to be say RABBI PELCOVITZ REPLIES: Rabbi Weinberger makes mention of ing that there is no value to knowing my position as Honorary President of Yiddish, for this I do not mean. My the Rabbinical Alliance of America. I point is that to have Jewishness in your have never enjoyed this title nor used heart, G-d as your life-dedication, and it, and I am a past president and iden Torah as your ideals, you do not have tified correctly as such. I am certain to know Yiddish. We must emphasize teaching Jewish that any intelligent person will not con59

May-June 1968

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subjects in the language that the student can best understand and thereby receive the greatest reward. The one exception must be the learning of Hebrew, since this is the Lashon Ha-Kodesh and must be learned by all when possible. After all, the Almighty gave the Torah in Hebrew. Intensive Jewish study";5 dedication to G-d and the Jewish people, and the living of our Tradition is what appears to be absent in Argentina, not the knowl edge or study of Yiddish. Yale Lipsett MR. BELLER REPLIES: I regret that Yale Lipsett erroneously interpreted the comments made in my article on Yiddish in Argentina. If he were to take the trouble of re-reading my conclusions more thoroughly he would be persuaded that I am fully in agreement with him that it is possible to be a good and faithful Jew and not know Yiddish. I repeated several times that in order to rescue the younger gen eration from total assimilation one must speak to them in their own language if we are seriously concerned about them wandering too far afield. I myself—a Yiddish writer—arrived long ago at the conclusion that it is time we took notice of the changes that have come about in Jewish life, that “a generation passes and a generation comes.” On page 47, line 15 in my arti cle, I point out that “here in America far-sighted Jewish leaders foresaw the peril and established a ‘nusach Amer ica,’ i.e., a Judaism adapted to the con ditions of American life. They created a Judaica in English, something that has hitherto not been tried in Argentina.” The secular Yiddishists, to whom Jew ish tradition was a dangerous opiate, con centrated on a Yiddish without Yiddish-

May-June 1968

keit (i.e., Jewishness or Jewish tradi tion). It is they who now bear the re sponsibility for the sad situation in Ar gentina where Jewish youth is fleeing from us. Yes, it is quite possible to be a good and loyal Jew without Yiddish. On page 53 read what Professor Dujovny replied to the Yiddishists when they raised the alarm that there can be no Jewish life without Yiddish. He said that Jewish culture consists of more than Yiddish and I agree with him com pletely. Only the Yiddishists remain to be convinced that they are the ones re sponsible for the dejudaization of the younger generation in Argentina with their campaign against religious Judaism and against the “forces of fanaticism.” As a Yiddish writer it would be natural for me to prefer that the younger gen eration read that language, but can we afford to lose an entire generation for the sake of myself and the Yiddish writers? Secularist Yiddishism is bankrupt whereas traditional Judaism is growing and expanding. Yes, I have met Ameri can-born yeshiva students—even rabbis —who do not know Yiddish yet have been the authors of important works on Jewishness and Jewish thought, some even in Hebrew. But I have not met an American born Jew who creates in Yiddish. T H E

K O VN ER

ROV1

New York, N.Y. I enjoyed Rabbi Aaron Rothkoff’s arti cle in your last issue (March-April) on “The Last Rabbi of Kovno.” As one who has lived in Lithuania for a number of years and known the Kovner Rov, I would like to draw his attention to some historical and biographical shortcomings. The fact that Vilna <did not elect an official Rabbi in modern (after World

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War I) times did not make Kovno the leading rabbinical position for several reasons. As Lithuania and Poland (be cause it had annexed Vilna) had cut off all ties and it was impossible to com municate between these two countries, and Jews living in Kovno had completely lost all communication and connections, it does therefore not make any sense to compare these two cities. Although it is true that Vilna did not have an officially elected Rabbi, Rav Chaim Ozer Grodzynsky was doubtless the greatest leading personality in Vilna. Last and least, I do not understand why Kovno should be considered the leading rabbinical position, more than any other Jewish city. I would like to add as an afterthought that Rabbi E. Oschry had been Rabbi of Kovno after the liberation. There did not exist any Beth Jacob schools in Lithuania. The religious school movement was called Yavneh (a branch of which exists in Cleveland, Ohio). The Kovner Rov’s lecture was delivered to an organization of married women, “Beth Jacob,” as is printed on the front page of the pamphlet in which the lecture is published. It was not only because of the Kovner Rov’s close relationship to Dr. Revel that men such as Rabbi Samuel Volk received visas to enter America, but also through the efforts of others such as Rabbi Volk’s rebbe, the last Telzer Rov, who wrote re peatedly to Dr. Revel, as can be seen in Rabbi Volk’s most recent publication. Rabbi Chaim Kreiswirth in 1940 re ceived a certificate in Kovno by which he left for Eretz Yisroel, coming to the United States after World War II (about 1949). Toviya Lasdun RABBI ROTHKOFF REPLIES: I thank Mr. Lasdun for his corrections May-June 1968

and comments on my article on the “Kovner Rov.” While I can accept some of his comments, I still must reject a number of his points. Vilna did not elect a Chief Rabbi since the immediate period following the death of the Vilna Gaon. Kovno, the second largest center of Lithuania, was therefore the leading city of this area that still elected a Chief Rabbi. The prestige of the Kovno rab binate was also enhanced by its incum bent from 1864-1896, Rabbi Isaac Elchanan Spektor. Nevertheless, I in no way wanted to leave the impression that the “Kovner Rov” superseded Rav Chaim Ozer Grodzynski as the leading rabbinical figure in pre-war Europe. In the May-June 1967 issue of Jewish L ife , in my biography on Rav Chaim Ozer, 1 clearly stated that “Rav Chaim Ozer was gradually acknowledged as Rabbi Spektor’s successor as the leading scholar-re spondent-statesman of the orthodox Jew ish world.” I agree with Mr. Lasdun that follow ing World War I, after Poland annexed Vilna, it is difficult to compare these two cities. Nevertheless, Rabbi Shapiro was elected to his Kovno position in 1913. I feel that historians will agree that the title of “The Last Rabbi of Kovno” will remain Rabbi Shapiro’s rather than that of the distinguished Rabbi Ephraim Oschry who served in Kovno after the liberation. I thank Mr. Lasdun for his explana tion of the “Beth Jacob” which published the “Kovner Rov’s” lecture on Taharath Ha-Mishpochah. Although I am well aware of the ef forts of other Torah luminaries in at tempting to gain visas for European Yeshiva students, I still feel that Rabbi Shapiro’s letter was the most influential document in Rabbi Volk’s behalf. I re cently completed a doctoral dissertation 63

entitled “Vision and Realization: Bernard Revel and His Era.” In the course of my work on the life of Rabbi Dr. Bernard Revel, I researched numerous archives. 1 discovered, xeroxed, and gave Rabbi Volk the letters referred to. He subse quently published them in his latest vol ume. It is my considered opinion that Dr. Revel was most influenced by re quests he received from Rabbi Shapiro. I also saw the “Kovner Rov’s” letters and Rabbi Revel’s response regarding Rabbi Kreiswirth. However, it is possible that Rabbi Kreiswirth did not utilize these documents in escaping from Eu rope.

'CAMPUS AND JEWISH EDUCATION1 New York, N.Y. While Shnayer Z. Leiman discusses the problem of the high school boys in adequately prepared for the college at mosphere in “The Campus Problem and Jewish Education,” (Jewish L ife , MarchApril) he totally neglected to mention the parallel problem for religious girls.

The students graduating from Beth Jacob and girls’ yeshivah high schools are far less prepared than their male counterparts who learn Gemora, etc. In view of the growing number of religious girls attending college and as a girls’ yeshivah high school graduate presently attending college, I am aware of the necessity for basic curriculum changes and the need for additional Hashkafah pertaining to modern daily life, including the situation to be faced at college. Instead of merely ingesting Chumosh and Nach, emphasis should be withdrawn from rote memorization of M’forshim and placed on Jewish philosophy and outlook as derived from the text. In many schools it is erroneously as sumed that the girls will continue their religious education and such funda mental cotfrses are saved for seminary. By instituting these studies in high school, the girls terminating their reli gious studies upon graduation will be better able toxface the college environ ment. “Yoju Dovika”

JEWISH LIFE

Generations are best remembered by the luminaries they present to the fabric of tradition. DR. H. RABINOWICZ of London, England,

o well-known to Jewish Life readers from his previous contributions, n portrays one of the more colorful of the luminaries, Rav Nachman

Bratzlaver, founder of one of the major schools of Chassiduth . . . . . . When does a discussion become an argument? There are many

our

ways for an issue to become exposed to varying points of view, and sometimes become lost in the confrontations. RABBI ABRAHAM

c COHEN of the Young Israel of Canarsie in Brooklyn, and instructor 0 in Talmud in Talmudical Academy of Brooklyn, offers some incisive n t

r 1

pointers. . . . The means and methods employed by the Jew for ex-, pressing his devotion to the Almighty have been many. MICHAEL KAUFMAN, whose article “Visit to Russia” in the November-December 1967 issue of Jewish Life gained international attention, treats of one medium of spiritual expression, that of art, in the light of Jewish purpose and function. . . . Good is good and bad is bad, but

11 where and when does one draw the line? Especially when one finds

himself between apparently conflicting value committments does this problem become the more acute. RABBI ISRAEL BORNSTEIN of the Bnai Israel Congregation of Norfolk, Virginia, explores one such

currently-pressing issue.

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