Jewish Action Summer 2024

FEATURES

COVER STORY:

Religion on the Battlefield What Does the Torah Have to Say about Military Ethics?

By Rabbi Dr. Shlomo Brody

Questions from the Battlefield Rabbi Dovid Bashevkin speaks with Rabbi Yosef Zvi Rimon

On the Frontlines with Rabbi Shlomo Sobol As told to JA staff

The Holiest Work A Conversation with Miriam Neumark Shalev of the IDF Chevra Kadisha’s Women’s Unit By Leah R. Lightman

A Different Kind of Battlefield

High Fashion, Higher Standards By Sandy Eller 14 16 21 30 32 38 49 52 54 68

Meet Israel’s warriors on the home front—IDF wives who exhibit extraordinary faith while juggling housework, jobs and toddlers

By Carol Green Ungar

PERSONAL ESSAY

Choosing Life: The Blessing of Caring for My Father By Viva Hammer

JUST BETWEEN US

The Dog that Doesn’t Bark By A. Schreiber

JEWISH THOUGHT

Modesty in the Modern Age: A Symposium By Bracha Poliakoff; Shifra Rabenstein, as told to Barbara Bensoussan; Josepha Becker; Dr. Zipora Schorr; Rabbi Reuven Brand; Alexandra Fleksher; Rabbi Yisrael Motzen; Gila Ross; and Rebbetzin Ruchi Koval, as told to Barbara Bensoussan

PHOTO ESSAY

Holding Jewish History in Your Hand

LEGAL-EASE

A unique collection brings 2,000 years of Jewish life alive By David Olivestone

ON MY MIND

Is Compromised Tzenius the Cost of Being a Communal Leader? By Moishe Bane

DEPARTMENTS

LETTERS

FROM THE DESK OF RABBI MOSHE HAUER

An Inflection Point in Jewish Life—Mi va’Mi Haholchim

MENTSCH MANAGEMENT

What Are You Good At? The Art of Positive Feedback

By Rabbi Dr. Josh Joseph

IN FOCUS

A Lifeline for Israeli Teens By Chaim Pelzner

KOSHERKOPY

High Steaks: The Kashrus of Lab-Grown Meat

Talking with Rabbi Menachem Genack, CEO, OU Kosher 71 76 02 06 12 79 81

By David Olivestone 84 88 92 96 100 102 104

What’s the Truth about . . . Boiling Three Eggs?

By Rabbi Dr. Ari Z. Zivotofsky

THE CHEF’S TABLE

Taking it Outdoors

By Naomi Ross

FROM OU PRESS Summer Reading Recommendations

BOOKS

Rays of Wisdom: Torah insights that light up our understanding of the world

By Rabbi Mattisyahu Rosenblum, zt”l Reviewed by Rabbi Mark Gottlieb

Giving: The Essential Teaching of the Kabbalah

By Rabbi Avraham Mordechai Gottlieb Reviewed by Rabbi Yisrael Isser Zvi Herczeg

REVIEWS IN BRIEF By Rabbi Gil Student

LASTING IMPRESSIONS

Mah Shlomcha?

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Cover Photo: Ariel Jerozolimsky

THE MAGAZINE OF THE ORTHODOX UNION jewishaction.com

DYNAMIC RELIGIOSITY

THE MAGAZINE OF THE ORTHODOX UNION jewishaction.com

Editor in Chief Nechama Carmel carmeln@ou.org

Associate Editor Sara Goldberg

Editor in Chief Nechama Carmel carmeln@ou.org

Associate Digital Editor Rachel Eisenberger

I enjoyed reading “Up Close with Rivka Ravitz” (spring 2024) and appreciate the contribution she and her husband have made to Israel and to Jews around the world. However, I respectfully disagree with her definition of Chareidi. When asked how she explained Chareidim to her secular colleagues, Mrs. Ravitz answered:

Assistant Editor Sara Olson

Rabbinic Advisor

Rabbi Yitzchak Breitowitz

Literary Editor Emeritus Matis Greenblatt

Book Editor

Rabbi Eliyahu Krakowski

Book Editor Rabbi Gil Student

Contributing Editors

Rabbi Yitzchok Adlerstein • Moishe Bane • Dr. Judith Bleich

Rabbi Emanuel Feldman • Rabbi Dr. Hillel Goldberg

Contributing Editors

Rabbi Sol Roth • Rabbi Jacob J. Schacter

Rabbi Yitzchok Adlerstein • Dr. Judith Bleich

Rabbi Berel Wein

Rabbi Emanuel Feldman • Rabbi Hillel Goldberg

Rabbi Sol Roth • Rabbi Jacob J. Schacter

Editorial Committee

Rabbi Berel Wein

Moishe Bane • Rabbi Dovid Bashevkin • Deborah Chames Cohen

Rabbi Binyamin Ehrenkranz • Rabbi Yaakov Glasser

Editorial Committee

Rabbi Avrohom Gordimer • David Olivestone

Rabbi Dovid Bashevkin • Rabbi Binyamin Ehrenkranz

Gerald M. Schreck • Dr. Rosalyn Sherman

Rabbi Avrohom Gordimer • David Olivestone

Rebbetzin Dr. Adina Shmidman • Rabbi Gil Student

Gerald M. Schreck • Rabbi Gil Student

Rabbi Dr. Tzvi Hersh Weinreb

Rabbi Dr. Tzvi Hersh Weinreb

I explained to them that the word Chareidi means to be afraid of change. Being a traditional Jew means keeping the traditions. I would tell them that my grandmother looked exactly like her grandmother and her grandmother exactly as her grandmother before that. We are averse to change because once you start making changes—even small ones—you don’t know where you’ll end up.

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Unfortunately, that attitude sounds defensive and will not resonate with today’s seekers of a dynamic, relevant religiosity. Chareidi means “fearful” as in fearful of G-d and fearful of crossing halachic boundaries. Learning to approach this fear amidst a plethora of nonobservance is incumbent on all of us seeking to find closeness to G-d in a turbulent world that competes with observance in a myriad of successful ways. Defining Chareidi as an old-school grandmother’s yarn will do little to instill confidence in those seeking truth in the Torah.

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ORTHODOX UNION

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President Mark (Moishe) Bane

ORTHODOX UNION

David Weissmann Atlanta, Georgia

President Mitchel R. Aeder

Chairman of the Board

Howard Tzvi Friedman

Chairman of the Board

Vice Chairman of the Board Mordecai D. Katz

Yehuda Neuberger

Vice Chairman of the Board

STANDING UP AGAINST ANTISEMITISM

Barbara Lehmann Siegel

Chairman, Board of Governors Henry I. Rothman

Chairman, Board of Governors Avi Katz

Vice Chairman, Board of Governors Gerald M. Schreck

Vice Chairman, Board of Governors Emanuel Adler

Executive Vice President/Chief Professional Officer Allen I. Fagin

Executive Vice President

Rabbi Moshe Hauer

Chief Institutional Advancement Officer Arnold Gerson

Executive Vice President & Chief Operating Officer

Senior Managing Director

Rabbi Steven Weil

Rabbi Josh Joseph, Ed.D. Chief of Staff Yoni Cohen

Executive Vice President, Emeritus

The accounts from Jewish students describing their recent experiences on campus (“Voices from Campus” [spring 2024]) were both disturbing and encouraging. While our universities have clearly become the epicenter and breeding ground for antisemitism in this country, it is encouraging that many Jewish students and Jewish organizations are standing tall and proud, despite the constant attacks and threats they face.

Managing Director, Communal Engagement

Rabbi Dr. Tzvi Hersh Weinreb

Rabbi Yaakov Glasser

Chief Financial Officer/Chief Administrative Officer

Shlomo Schwartz

Chief Human Resources Officer Josh Gottesman

Chief Human Resources Officer

Since October 7, I’ve concluded that the only safe place for Jews is Israel, and that at some point, we will all need to make aliyah. But in the meantime, I’d like to offer some advice based on my personal experience on how to deal with the crisis of antisemitism in our country.

Rabbi Lenny Bessler

Chief Information Officer Miriam Greenman

Chief Information Officer Samuel Davidovics

Managing Director, Public Affairs Maury Litwack

Chief Innovation Officer

Chief Financial Officer/Chief Administrative Officer Shlomo Schwartz

Rabbi Dave Felsenthal

General Counsel

Director of Marketing and Communications Gary Magder

Rachel Sims, Esq.

Jewish Action Committee

Executive Vice President, Emeritus

Gerald M. Schreck, Chairman

Rabbi Dr. Tzvi Hersh Weinreb

Joel M. Schreiber, Chairman Emeritus

Jewish Action Committee

Dr. Rosalyn Sherman, Chair

Gerald M. Schreck, Co-Chair

1. Don’t be afraid to engage and push back. When I was in college many years ago, the Israeli national basketball team was scheduled to play our varsity basketball team. Pro-Palestinian and radical leftist students pressured our team to boycott the game. I spoke with some of the players to convince them to play. The last thing one of them said to me: “We haven’t made up our minds yet.” But guess what? They showed up and played. Was I the one who changed their minds? Who knows, but my voice obviously didn’t hurt.

Joel M. Schreiber, Chairman Emeritus

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©Copyright 2024 by the Orthodox Union

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2. Get involved in the political process. I’m in regular contact with my senators and representatives, thanking the ones who support us, and asking the others for their help. Every letter and phone call to your legislator is tallied, so don’t think your voice doesn’t count. The greatest fear of every elected official is losing an election.

3. Register to vote in the upcoming November election, and be sure to cast your ballot. As Jews and Americans we have the power of the ballot box, and we need to wield that power.

4. For those of us who want to help Israel during this crisis, I offer this: Go there! The best thing you can give Israel now is you. Donating money is nice, but being there to show your support does wonders, not only for the Israelis, but for your soul and your Jewish pride. This is our time to step up and help our fellow Jews.

Jay Lewis

York, Pennsylvania

“Voices From Campus” was simultaneously depressing and inspiring. Overt antisemitism grows on America’s elite college campuses, and the courageous response of Jewish students under attack, determined not to be modernday Marranos, is deeply inspiring. But they need outside support of their efforts.

Harvard student Isaac Ohrenstein noted how important an organized alumni voice can be. “Alums for Campus Fairness” provides such a voice. We have seventy-six chapters and nearly 55,000 individual members. Alums should visit https://www.campusfairness.org to easily join this effective, growing campus presence.

Richard D. Wilkins

Syracuse, New York Syracuse University Chapter Alums for Campus Fairness

THE BERACHAH ON GLUTEN-FREE BREAD

In Rabbi Eli Gersten’s response to letter writer Barbara Bolshon (spring 2024) about the proper berachah on gluten-free bread, he states: “Gluten-free bread, while shaped to look like bread, is not halachically considered lechem as it is not made from one of the five grains, and therefore its berachah is Shehakol.” While the bread in question was not made from the five grains, there are many gluten-free breads made today from the five grains (e.g., gluten-free oats), which would require a Hamotzi. For Pesach, gluten-free matzot made from the five grains are available, and require the berachah of Hamotzi.

Joe Offenbacher Chashmonaim, Israel

THE TIME HAS COME

Regarding the article “My Yarmulke” (spring 2024), OU President Mitchel R. Aeder wrote, “Wearing a yarmulke or a Magen David suddenly became fraught in many American cities” and “Administrators at a Jewish day school in California recently instructed first graders not to wear their kippot on a field trip, out of fear.” Have we, as Jewish people, forgotten the cycle of history that we have gone through since Egypt? For those who have forgotten, here is a recap: We settle in a foreign land, prosper and the locals start to persecute us. Egypt, Babylon, Spain, France, Germany, Russia and Poland are some examples. The rise in antisemitism across America (and other countries) is a sign and reminder from Hashem, telling us where we truly belong, as one nation: in the Land of Israel.

The time has come for rabbis and leaders in Jewish communities across the Diaspora to encourage members of their community to make aliyah or maybe even lead by example.

Oren Rimmon Modiin, Israel

CORRECTION

In “What’s the Truth about . . . Rashi Script?” (spring 2024), the caption under the image of a shekel coin identified the letters on the coin as shin-kuflamed, spelling “shekel.” This is incorrect. The three letters on a shekel coin are yud-hehdalet for “yehud,” which is the ancient designation for the province of Judea in the Persian Empire. Thanks to Dr. Lawrence H. Schiffman, professor of Hebrew and Judaic studies, NYU, for pointing this out.

Transliterations in the magazine are based on Sephardic pronunciation, unless an author is known to use Ashkenazic pronunciation. Thus, the inconsistencies in transliterations in the magazine are due to authors’ preferences.

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

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FROM THE DESK OF RABBI MOSHE HAUER

AN INFLECTION POINT IN JEWISH LIFE— MI VA’MI HAHOLCHIM

By Rabbi Moshe Hauer

On January 25, 2023, I [Rebecca Alpert], along with 9 other rabbis, representing another 265 rabbis from around the globe and every imaginable denomination, met with Secretary General António Guterres at the United Nations headquarters. You might think that we went to tell him what most Jews are presumed to believe, namely that the UN has it out for Israel and always treats the Jewish state unfairly. Nothing could have been farther from our minds. Rather, we went to thank him and the UN’s agencies for courageously calling out Israel for the humanitarian crimes they are committing in Gaza and to promote our cause: Ceasefire Now!1

While the actions of this group are on the fringe, groups like T’ruah2 and the affiliated organizations of the Union for Reform Judaism3 regularly make statements that call out the Israeli government, army and large sectors of its citizenry for their alleged extremism and thirst for never-ending war. These statements present their genuine sympathies for those killed and taken hostage on October 7 along with the demand for Israel to provide a fast track to Palestinian statehood without serious expectations for change in Palestinian behaviors and values. Rebuke of Israel is plentiful, while consideration of their security needs is scarce. The morality of Tzahal is frequently attacked and rarely, if ever, held up and recognized.

Many of us in the American Jewish community are pained by our apparent alienation from the students, faculty and administration of the universities in which we have long studied and invested. We are disoriented by the silence of our religious and civil rights colleagues beyond the Jewish community with whom we had consistently stood as allies but who apparently lost their voices on October 7. But what we are most distraught over are the growing differences among Jews. We appear to be at an inflection point in Jewish life, one in which the internal divisions within Klal Yisrael have grown beyond fundamental religious differences to contrasting conceptions

of “peoplehood” and its implications. While this change will not at all impact our firm commitment to support and protect all Jews, it will profoundly limit whom among them we see as our partners.

The Orthodox perspective on Jewish unity hinges on two core beliefs—which are in tension. Our firm belief in the Divinity and immutability of the Torah is a fundamental religious assumption that is not shared by those beyond Orthodoxy, preventing our collaboration on internal religious issues.4 At the same time, Orthodoxy believes as well in the immutability of Jewish identity, such that all Jews are responsible for one another, areivim zeh bazeh, 5 whatever their affiliation or level of observance; Yisrael af al pi shechata, Yisrael hu. 6 This latter belief has driven meaningful Orthodox partnership with a wide variety of Jewish groups on matters that impact the safety and material well-being of our people. And while there have been two centuries of intense debate within Orthodoxy over the appropriateness of partnership with the non-observant on material matters, the Orthodox Union follows the guidance of Rabbi Joseph Ber Soloveitchik7 and continues on the path charted by Rabbi Naftali Zvi Yehudah Berlin of Volozhin (the Netziv). In a classic responsum penned in 1879,8 the Netziv objected to the utter separation promoted by the school of the Chatam Sofer9 and advocated instead for all Jews to stick together as we face growing antisemitism. The Netziv noted wryly that the Torah compares the Jews in exile

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

to the dust of the earth,10 while the prophet compares the nations of the world to the raging sea.11 Those raging waters would completely wash away the dust unless the dust clumps together into a hardened and indivisible rocky mass, in which case the worst that could happen would be for the rock to be carried by the waves to a different location; it would never be destroyed. Thus, wrote the Netziv, “how can we suggest separation from our fellow Jews when that will leave all of us vulnerable to being washed away, bit by bit, by the wave tides of antisemitism?!”

In my role representing the OU around a variety of communal tables, I have been blessed to build many meaningful relationships across the Jewish community and have found both friendship and outstanding partnership with many Jewish leaders from beyond the Orthodox community. That remains the case today, and it is a precious experience of achdut. Yet with some of those leaders, it appears that we are approaching or may have reached a point where the assumption of ongoing partnership is unfeasible, not because of religious differences but because our dissimilar approaches to defending the Jewish people are on a collision course. We remain brothers, but not assumed partners. To use a Biblical illustration invoked by the Netziv: Avraham demonstrated unconditional loyalty and commitment to Lot, risking everything to go to war to gain Lot’s freedom despite his clear rejection of much of Avraham’s value system. Unlike our current situation, Lot’s move away from Avraham’s belief system posed no danger to Avraham. He did not speak in Avraham’s name and advocate for positions that would endanger him. Lot was a harmless disappointment. Even so, that same Avraham who would do everything for Lot, felt that he could not continue to do things with him, electing instead to dissolve their partnership. Kal vachomer . . .

This is neither a new nor purely Orthodox issue; it has been grappled with for years by the broader Jewish community in determining who gets a seat at the Jewish communal

table. Is the Jewish Voice for Peace (JVP) welcome? What about J Street? Today, however, the cadre of Jewish officials and organizations that are embracing troubling positions and concerning approaches to “standing up for Israel” has grown beyond those organizations mission-driven to redirect the Israel narrative. This growth is not primarily driven by the establishment non-denominational Jewish organizations as their approach to these issues is practical and they clearly see the looming threats to the Jewish future. The trouble seems to consistently emanate from those who have elevated their universalism into a religious or pseudo-religious value that seems to overshadow the critical moral imperative to be our own brother’s keeper. These organizations are anything but antisemitic, but their approaches frequently appear to undermine rather than strengthen the security of the Jewish people. While we will often be pushing in the same direction, their mingling of values makes ongoing assumed partnership a mixed bag and unreliable.

We return to the question: What actions or beliefs make a Jewish group an unreliable partner in the enterprise of preserving the Jewish future? This is not a search for a national loyalty test, and there is no McCarthyistic plan to redefine the lines of Jewish community. Nor is there any interest in stifling debate or legitimate criticism of Israel. Rather than a philosophical exercise of defining the range of legitimate opinions, we must seek to clarify the practical consideration of identifying who is a reliable partner in our efforts to enhance the security and material well-being of Jews and of the State of Israel.

Perhaps the answer can be found in the words of the prophet Zecharyah (2:12), describing G-d’s instinctive protectiveness of the Jewish people: “Ki hanogei’a bachem, nogei’a b’vavat eyno— Whoever touches you, touches the pupil of His eye.” That is the perfect illustration of what true caring looks like. Rather than calculated, visionary and objective, it is reflexive, visceral and personal, exactly as we are with our

When any Jew anywhere is threatened, it should feel like someone has poked us in the eye.

immediate family. Between themselves, family members are often insensitive and critical of each other, but should someone from outside the family attack or insult those dear to us, we respond reflexively, viscerally and personally, as if someone had poked us in the eye. It should be no different when Jews anywhere are threatened: when any Jew anywhere is threatened, it should feel like someone has poked us in the eye. Building on this framework, we can suggest four positions and values that fail this test and would preclude ongoing assumed partnership on defending Jews and supporting Israel. Disagreeing with any of these is not illegitimate, but as we assemble the forces of uncompromised loyalty to Jewish survival, our partnership with those who fail on any of these counts would force us to dilute and curtail rather than enhance and strengthen our support for Israel.

1. We cannot assume partnership with anyone who aligns with those who seek to harm Jews.

Whatever opinion we may have of the current government, of its policies in Gaza or of the entire Zionist enterprise, there is no room for Jews to align themselves with those who seek to harm the Jewish people. This includes the Neturei Karta’s alliance with the Iranians, JVP’s alliance with SJP, the “Rabbis for Ceasefire” who congratulate the UN for their obsession with Israel, and those who make common cause with the groups creating a hostile environment for Jews on campus.

DEEPLY ROOTED VALUES THAT MOVE HISTORY FORWARD

2. We cannot assume partnership with those who do not prioritize Jewish self-defense and do not recognize Israel’s right to have the last word on its own security. We must all be concerned about harm to innocent civilians in Gaza, but we cannot partner with those who approach the threats to Israel “objectively” and advocate for the aspirations of Palestinians at the expense of securing Jews.

3. We cannot assume partnership with those who do not see and champion the goodness that permeates Israel, who seem more ashamed than proud of Israel, and who constantly question the justice of its cause, its culture and its morality. Israel is not perfect and we must be honest about its failings, but it is built on strong values, is the land to which the Jewish people are integrally and historically connected, and has an army dedicated in principle to decency and kindness that is setting an unprecedented high standard in its wartime efforts to reduce civilian casualties and provide humanitarian aid to the enemy’s general population.

4. We cannot assume partnership with those who fail to unconditionally support the existence and defense of Israel even when critiquing it. Israel must be and indeed is a place where everything is argued and debated, but those loyal to Israel will stand by it unconditionally, regardless of its specific legislative stances. For example, during the judicial reform controversy, Prime Minister Netanyahu came to the United Nations to address the malign and existential threat posed by Iran.

That was not the time for Jews to assemble outside the UN and declare the Prime Minister and the state undemocratic.

An astute colleague noted that much has been learned since October 7, both in Israel and in America. In Israel we have learned how connected we are even to those with whom we have significant differences, and in America we have learned how alienated we are from some of those with whom we had previously felt connected. That alienation is something we must sadly accept relative to our erstwhile external allies, but how can we allow it to impact the Jewish community internally?! This is a time when all of us must realize how much we need each other and must stand up for each other, when we are protective rather than objective, feeling viscerally and instinctively that hanogei’a bachem, nogei’a b’vavat eyno, whoever threatens Jews anywhere is poking me in the eye.

That is what peoplehood requires. That is what makes for reliable partnership.

Notes

1. Rebecca Alpert, “Rabbis for Ceasefire at the United Nations,” Contending Modernities blog, University of Notre Dame, https://contendingmodernities. nd.edu/global-currents/rabbisfor-ceasefire-un/.

2. https://truah.org/press/north- americanrabbis-and-cantors-call-on- presidentbiden-to-push-for-end-of-war-in-gaza/.

3. https://urj.org/press-room/moment-weare-future-we-pray.

4. In the words of Rabbi Joseph Ber Soloveitchik: “When unity must be manifested in a spiritual-ideological meaning as a Torah community, it seems to me that the Orthodox cannot and should not join with other such groups that deny the foundations of our weltanschauung.” Cited by Rabbi Bernard Rosensweig, “The Rav as Communal Leader,” Tradition vol. 30, no. 4 (summer 1996),

https://traditiononline.org/the-rav-ascommunal-leader/.

5. Sanhedrin 27b.

6. Sanhedrin 44a.

7. In the same essay, the author cites Rav Soloveitchik advancing an argument in 1954 that continues to be repeated by hosts of others: “In the crematoria, the ashes of Hasidim and anshei ma’ase (pious Jews) were mixed with the ashes of radicals and freethinkers. We must fight (together) against an enemy who does not recognize the difference between one who worships and one who does not.”

8. Meishiv Davar I:44. The Netziv wrote in response to an editorial in Machzikei Hadas, a journal produced by Rabbi Shimon Sofer of Krakow, son of the Chatam Sofer, whose author advocated for complete separation from the non-observant.

9. See, for example, the conclusion of Responsa Chatam Sofer 6:89.

10. Bereishit 28:14.

11. Yeshayahu 17:12.

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WHAT ARE YOU GOOD AT? THE ART OF POSITIVE FEEDBACK

By Rabbi Dr. Josh Joseph

Times have been hard. Even dark. Many years ago, I faced some dark times personally, and frankly, I was floundering. In those days I carried a checklist with me all day and the greatest satisfaction I had was crossing things off that list. I was busy and accomplishing a lot; my superiors were thrilled, and I received numerous dopamine hits as I crossed item after item off my list. Until, one day, I stopped myself and wondered, “Who would I be without this list? Who am I without these external validators?”

I found myself going down a dark rabbit hole of self-doubt, until my conversation with Tzvi,* a longtime friend. We were catching up and suddenly he turned to me and said, “Hey, Josh, you know what you’re really good at?” And he proceeded to describe an area in which he thought I excelled. Though I wish I could recall the specific point, I do not remember what he told me. Nevertheless, that tiny drop of feedback shot me right out of that rabbit hole and restored my sense of self.

A few weeks later, still aloft on that cloud of positivity, I was at a social function when I heard Tzvi walk over to someone and say, “Hey, David, do you know what you’re really good at?”

Oh well, I thought. I guess I’m not that special!

Psychologists have observed that not all emotions are created equal. We gravitate toward the negative far more than the positive. From Jim Collins’ work,1 to research done by Gallup,2 to articles from researchers at Yale and beyond, it is clear that we are more successful, happy and fulfilled when we know our strengths. As Ken Robinson notes,3 we can be our best, in our “element,” only when we find “the point at which natural talent meets personal passion.” Instead, unfortunately, “too many think they’re not good at anything.”

At times like these, not only do we get down on “life, the universe and everything,” but we can be down on ourselves. Try coming up with four weaknesses or areas in your life that could use improvement. Now try coming up with four strengths. Most people will quickly arrive at their four weaknesses and will take far longer to come up with a list of strengths. That’s where leaders, managers, parents and friends come in.

In a recent article,4 David Brooks refers to middle managers as “the unsung heroes of our age.” At a time of seemingly widening division and outright conflict, we need people who can struggle to resolve tension, who can promote belonging at home, with their teams at work, and within their communities:

So how do these managers work their magic? When I hear people in these roles talk about their work and its challenges, I hear, at least among the most inspiring of them, about the ways they put people over process, about the ways they deeply honor those right around them.

Brooks refers to their approach not simply as management, but rather as “ethical leadership.” The lesson here goes beyond its resonance with the conceptual—aligned with mentsch

management!—and impacts on the practical. While Brooks himself points to eight applications of ethical leadership, for many of us managers there exist manifold tugs on our limited attention— and thus we are unable to make the time to give positive attention to those around us. Classically, feedback is given once a year, or if something went terribly wrong. But imagine channeling our inner Tzvis and giving positive feedback regularly. It is likely that a good number of our employees are struggling like I was. Imagine what we could do for them, and ultimately what it could do for the company or organization, by letting them know, after they’ve just completed an endeavor you were genuinely impressed with, how great they are at that endeavor.

To be a mentsch, a manager should be giving consistent and honest feedback. The feedback can, of course, include areas that need to be improved on. But our employees will often already know where and how they are falling short. It is just as critical, if not more important, to share positive feedback as well.

Our incredible OU “people team”— the professionals in the Human Resources department—has pioneered a new feedback plan this year as part of our commitment to fostering a culture of ongoing feedback. We established five touchpoints throughout the year, including initial goal setting, two career conversation days and a mid-year check-in, culminating in a traditional performance review, all of which aim to create more opportunities for reflection, discussion and refinement of goals. The results? Managers and employees both benefit greatly!

In Parashat Vayechi, Yaakov famously switched his hands when giving berachot

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

We can be our best, in our element, only when we find the point at which natural talent meets personal passion. Instead, unfortunately, too many think they’re not good at anything.

to his grandsons, Ephraim and Menashe. While one would expect him to place his right hand on the older grandson and his left hand on the younger, he actually did the opposite and crisscrossed his hands. Why not just switch the boys’ positions?

According to the Netziv, this teaches us that Ephraim surpassed Menashe in ruchniyut, in the spiritual realm, which is above the natural ways of the world. Menashe, however, was superior to Ephraim in gashmiyut, in all physical matters of the world.

Yaakov knew what he was doing, especially having learned from his earlier episode with Eisav. Rather than discount Menashe’s material and physical gifts and talent, certainly a necessity for the future of the nation, Yaakov kept him on his right. After all, he was still the firstborn! Yaakov therefore simply crossed his hands, placing his right hand on Ephraim’s head, to indicate that the blessing of spiritual leadership would be given to Ephraim.

When blessing our children on Friday night, in addition to giving them the traditional berachah, my wife and I try to point out to our children something specific they’ve accomplished or an aspect in which they aspire to grow and succeed. We try to channel the berachah toward something in particular. We tell them what they’re good at.

A few years after Tzvi helped me out, he was mulling over some life decisions and was questioning his own abilities. To that point it hadn’t occurred to me that although he had helped others with his suggestions, perhaps others hadn’t returned the favor. “You know what you’re really good at?” I told him. “You’re really good at telling people what they’re good at.” He looked at me, stunned, not knowing what I was talking about. So I explained—passing back to him the gift he had given me and my family and many others.

Whom will you bless next with their own gifts?

*Not his real name.

Notes

1. Jim Collins, “How To Find Your Personal Hedgehog Concept,” https://www.jimcollins.com/media_topics/PersonalHedgehog Concept.html.

2. https://www.gallup.com/cliftonstrengths/en/253790/science-ofcliftonstrengths.aspx#. To quote Gallup’s CliftonStrengths® founder Don Clifton, “Strengths science answers questions about what’s right with people rather than what’s wrong with them.”

3. Ken Robinson, The Element: How Finding Your Passion Changes Everything (New York: Penguin Books, 2009), 21.

4. “In Praise of Middle Managers,” New York Times, Apr. 11, 2024. https://www.nytimes.com/2024/04/11/opinion/middle-managersbusiness-society.html.

Religion

Photo: Ariel Jerozolimsky

What Does the Torah Have to Say about

By Rabbi Dr. Shlomo Brody

What can our tradition teach us about military ethics and the questions facing Israel today? The prospect of Israel facing many months, if not years, of protracted battle against Hamas and Hezbollah in urban settings raises many strategic and ethical dilemmas. We’ll need to fight decisively against ruthless enemies while acting in a way that will preserve our moral standards and diplomatic standing. A careful examination of rabbinic responses to Israel’s first war against terrorists might help guide us in our difficult struggle.

It was a sweltering summer day in August 1982 when Rabbi Shlomo Goren, Israel’s Ashkenazic chief rabbi, dropped an ethical bombshell: Jewish law required Israel to allow combatants and noncombatants to flee Beirut. Israel was strategically besieging and bombarding the Lebanese capital. The goal was to uproot the Palestinian Liberation Organization (PLO), which had long terrorized the Jewish State from its northern border. The siege began several weeks into Operation Peace of

Galilee, later to be known as the (First) Lebanon War. Rabbi Goren adamantly supported the war as a war of selfdefense (milchemet mitzvah). Yet he cited the second-century rabbinic sage Rabbi Natan who, followed by the Rambam, ruled that the “fourth side” of a besieged city must remain open as an evacuation corridor. Doing so gives combatants an incentive to flee; otherwise, they might fight to the finish, at great cost to both sides. Beyond its strategic value, it is important to show mercy during war, even to the enemy side, since all humans are created in the image of G-d. No outsiders or supplies needed to be allowed into the city. Yet everyone must be able to run for their lives.

Rabbi Goren’s public ruling created a bit of a brouhaha. Who lets terrorists

Rabbi Dr. Shlomo Brody is the executive director of Ematai and the author of Ethics of Our Fighters: A Jewish View on War & Morality (Jerusalem: Maggid Books, 2023).

Photo: Chaim Goldberg/Flash90

Rabbi Shlomo Goren, Israel’s Ashkenazic chief rabbi at the time of the Lebanon War in 1982. Courtesy of the Israel Government Press Office/ Ya'acov Sa'ar

Rabbi Goren would deem this gesture a prime example of how Judaism can teach the world how to fight wars ethically. It was a great kiddush Hashem.

escape from the claws of the siege?

Rabbi Shaul Yisraeli, head of Yeshivat Mercaz HaRav, wrote a private letter against the chief rabbi’s ruling. He argued that the ancient sources were offering tactical advice but not bonafide mitzvot. At best, this humanitarian gesture was only required in a case of expansionist warfare. The Ramban and Sefer HaChinuch, for example, indicated that the “fourth-side open” rule only applied in discretionary warfare (milchemet reshut), but not in wars of self-defense. It is implausible to think we should do anything less than kill or capture terrorists who actively threaten us. Rabbi Yisraeli, however, did concede that noncombatants should be allowed out of the city. Other decisors went further than Rabbi Yisraeli: there is no halachic requirement to let anyone out of a siege unless the goal is to conquer the territory alone. Enemies need to be fought decisively.

The IDF, for its own reasons, left open two major escape routes from Beirut. The army had no interest in the PLO terrorists fighting to the last man. They certainly did not desire to harm noncombatants. An estimated 100,000 people fled the city. Soon afterward, the Reagan administration negotiated a ceasefire that allowed Arafat and thousands of his fighters to leave the city.

This wasn’t the first time the “fourthside open” rule was invoked to teach the ethics of war. In 1977, the eminent philosopher Michael Walzer published his classic book, Just and Unjust Wars

An affiliated Jew, Walzer cited the “fourth-side open” rule as a key element in removing an attacker’s culpability for noncombatant casualties in urban warfare. When you give people the

opportunity to flee, it shows that your intent is not indiscriminate killing.

A few years later, Israel implemented this religious teaching in practice, not just on paper. It was the first time in many centuries that Jews had power and could implement Rabbi Natan’s teaching, and they did not fail. Even during a just war, we try to minimize bloodshed. Trevor N. Dupuy and Paul Martell, two military historians who covered the war from Lebanon, later asserted, “We can think of no war in which greater military advantages were gained in combat in densely populated areas at such a small cost in civilian lives lost.” And this, they added, despite the PLO’s purposeful placement of its fighters within civilian territories. Rabbi Goren would deem this gesture a prime example of how Judaism can teach the world how to fight wars ethically. It was a great kiddush Hashem.

I’ve been thinking about Rabbi Goren’s position since Hamas’s brutal October 7th attack. Israelis are united in believing that the country must remove the threat of Hamas from its border. Yet they have not opposed their government’s attempts to forewarn Gazan civilians of impending attacks, or to create evacuation corridors from neighborhoods in which Hamas embeds its fighters (itself a war crime). Israelis want to minimize noncombatant casualties. The Jewish State’s enemies target its citizens, but Israel will not respond in kind.

These humanitarian gestures have not won the Jewish State—or Judaism—too many fans. Most outrageously, as of this writing in April, the International Court of Justice began legal proceedings against Israel for alleged genocide. The allegation is utterly false and disgraceful on many levels, as all decent people have noted. One element of the accusation bears closer attention. South Africa, in its indictment, cited a brief press conference statement by Prime Minister Benjamin Netanyahu that made a Biblical reference. He stated, “You must remember what Amalek has done to you, says our Holy Bible. And we do remember.” The indictment further cited videos of IDF soldiers chanting “wipe off the seed of Amalek” before they entered Gaza. The implication, as online outlets like Mother Jones alleged, is that Judaism is inspiring genocidal intent.

Photo: Israel Government Press Office

Minimizing civilian casualties is a religious imperative. Yet so is defeating an evil enemy that threatens our people. Selfdefense is also a “humanitarian” moral obligation, not just a matter of interests.

The allegation is preposterous. In the same press conference, Netanyahu stressed how much Israel is doing to avoid civilian casualties. Rhetoric invoking Amalek has been merely semantic and quite limited. As Rambam taught in both Mishneh Torah (Hilchot Melachim 5:4-5) and Moreh Nevuchim (3:50), the mitzvah of wiping out Amalekites only applies to that specific nation, and their identity has been lost. Leading figures like Rabbi Tzvi Yehuda Kook, zt”l and Rabbi Nachum Eliezer Rabinovitch, zt”l affirmed this mitzvah is not relevant and should not be applied to any contemporary conflict.

Yet the larger claim needs to be addressed: Does Judaism encourage a certain type of religious fundamentalism that leads to unfettered violence? Critics of Israel would like to say that Judaism, like Islam, has its own form of holy war that leads to indiscriminate killing.

Yet our Avot teach us otherwise. Midrashic passages about our Biblical forefathers indicate that Jewish law

prohibits targeting non-combatants amongst the enemy population. The Torah states that Avraham was petrified before going to war to redeem Lot from captivity. One midrash asserts that he feared killing righteous people amongst the enemy population; G-d had to reassure him that all of his victims would be culpable (Bereishit Rabbah 44:4). Perhaps for this reason, when the Torah tells us to put “all men to the sword” (Devarim 20:13) in war, Rabbi Saadia Gaon, the Netziv, Rabbi David Tzvi Hoffman and, most recently, Rabbi Yaakov Ariel of Ramat Gan, explicitly assert that this means to kill combatants. Non-combatants are not our targets.

A similar midrash asserts that Yaakov Avinu was distressed by confronting and killing the 400 men accompanying his vengeful brother Esav, even though Yaakov was acting out of self-defense (Rashi, Bereishit 32:8). While violence is justifiable in such circumstances, Rabbi Eliyahu Mizrachi speculates that Yaakov feared killing those who could have been

neutralized in a less lethal manner. The Maharal alternatively suggests that his concern was killing coerced combatants who had no intent to actually fight.

Following the rape of Dina, her brothers Shimon and Levi vengefully wiped out the city of Shechem. How could they kill so many people? The Maharal asserts that the brothers justified their actions by maintaining that in war, the entire nation is treated as a collective, combatants and noncombatants alike. Yet as Rabbi Ariel has argued, this comment may only justify why fighters would not be punished for incidentally killing civilians amongst the combatants. In the context of war, non-combatants are inevitably harmed. It does not justify, however, directly targeting innocents. Indeed, as Rabbi Asher Weiss notes, the same Maharal had argued that Yaakov feared he would be punished for killing Esau’s reluctant warriors, even though they would certainly be more culpable than noncombatant bystanders. Yaakov Avinu rejected learning any precedent from Shimon and Levi. As the Ramban and Rabbi Samson Raphael Hirsch note, at the end of Sefer Bereishit (49:5-6), Yaakov censures his sons while on his deathbed, proving that the brothers’ actions were misguided.

The lesson was well-summed up by Rabbi Goren. “We are commanded . . . even in times of war . . . not to harm the non-combatant population, and certainly one is not allowed to purposely harm women and children who do not participate.” Similar sentiments were also expressed during the First Lebanon War by Rabbi Aharon Lichtenstein of Yeshivat Har Etzion, who asserted that strategists should consider expected enemy collateral damage before making decisions. Moral constraints remain relevant in wartime. This is our mesorah We should live by these values, both in 1982 and 2024.

So minimizing civilian casualties is a religious imperative. Yet so is defeating an evil enemy that threatens our people. Self-defense is also a “humanitarian” moral obligation, not just a matter of

Photo: Michael Giladi/Flash90

interests. Leaving the fourth-side open of a siege works best when you just want to conquer the territory or city and don’t care if the inhabitants flee. When this tactic allows terrorists to survive and regroup, it becomes morally complex, as we learned from the aftermath of the siege on Beirut.

In 1983, a year after the siege ended, many PLO fighters, including Arafat, made their way back to Lebanon to shore up support for their cause. They were now based in the port city of Tripoli but surrounded by splinter groups who had rebelled against the PLO. The UN, wanting to avoid another Lebanese civil war, negotiated a settlement to evacuate Arafat and his troops. Then, on December 6, 1983, Palestinian terrorists detonated a bomb on a Jerusalem bus. Six Israelis were killed. PLO loyalists and rebels both took credit for the attack.

Israel’s new defense minister, Moshe Arens, condemned the international evacuation plan for letting terrorists escape. “If a terrorist committed an atrocity, and a democratic country helped get him to a new location so he could commit more such acts, that is not something which those of us who accept democratic values can accept.”

Israel launched a naval blockade on the Lebanese coast and shelled PLO positions in Tripoli. The hope was that the rebel groups would further weaken the PLO. Others dreamed that they would even kill Arafat.

Instead, under immense American and European pressure, Israel opened the blockade. Arafat and four thousand loyalists were taken to safety in Tunisia. They would continue to terrorize Israel in the coming years. This time, Rabbi Goren was outraged at the Israeli government. In his mind, there was no requirement to allow the PLO fighters to escape since Israeli forces were located on only one side of the siege. The IDF was not responsible for the PLO’s predicament. If the PLO wants to flee, he quipped, they should ask the splinter groups for an escape route. The moral burden here does not lie with the IDF. To the contrary, allowing the PLO leaders to leave under these circumstances made no sense. Each PLO terrorist is a

“violent pursuer” (rodef) whom Jewish law mandates we neutralize before they kill someone else. They are threats to Israel that must be eliminated. The international community’s inability to grasp this basic point doesn’t change our moral obligation.

Jewish military ethics compel us not to target noncombatants and allow them to flee from the battlefield. Yet they also demand from us to unflinchingly act against threatening enemies, like the PLO leaders stuck in Tripoli. If Yaakov’s sons would have targeted the enemy combatants in Shechem, their actions would have been entirely legitimate. Israel, Rabbi Goren argued, had no moral right to compromise on Israeli security.

That criticism, of course, could also be launched against Rabbi Goren himself for having supported the IDF in letting PLO terrorists out of Beirut. Arafat and his comrades were also dangerous pursuers in 1982. If we hadn’t let them escape from Beirut, the argument went, we wouldn’t have been back in the same place in 1983. When you go to war, your priority must be killing your enemies. Otherwise, don’t bother fighting at all. Indecisive actions just drag out a war and its suffering, and don’t allow for decisive accomplishment of one’s strategic goals.

Rabbi Goren’s claim that the “fourthside open” requirement applies only when the same country (in this case, Israel) besieges all four sides seems overly legalistic. After all, the residents of Tripoli were seemingly also entitled to some humanitarian relief. The “fourth-side open” requirement isn’t much of a moral obligation if it gets waived simply because other warring parties are doing the dirty work. Yet one could retort that the law demands compassionate relief, but there are limits to what we can be obligated to do when we don’t fully control the situation. By returning to Lebanon, one might further argue, Arafat and others lost their right to flee again.

Ultimately, given its disputed status, it seems more compelling to conclude that the idea of leaving a fourth-side open is a general principle of Jewish

military ethics but not a bona fide commandment. Such an approach is a meaningful compromise to the heated disputes over the “fourth-side open” rule in rabbinic sources. The principle asserts that one should do everything they reasonably can to reduce the human costs of war, even on the enemy side. This includes allowing noncombatants to escape before the onset of hostilities and, when possible, during the conflict. Even combatants may flee, provided that this doesn’t overly undermine the war efforts. Yet it allows for important critical caveats, including preserving an element of surprise and ensuring the removal of the threat against the people. This remains our priority.

Judaism offers the world a multi-value framework for thinking about the moral complexities of warfare. It encourages, when possible, to allow the enemy to clear their people from the battleground. Its sound military strategy helps diplomatically, and most fundamentally, helps reduce unnecessary bloodshed. Yet our mesorah prioritizes the imperative of self-defense. Leaving sworn enemies alive so they can fight us again at a later point is a moral failing. Alas, diplomatic pressure and military limitations have repeatedly made that necessary. Yet we should resist, as much as possible, any outcome that prevents us from accomplishing our primary goal of protecting our people. This happened in 1983. One hopes this won’t be repeated in 2024.

Photo: Nati Harnik/Israel Government Press Office

Rabbi Dovid Bashevkin speaks with Rabbi Yosef Zvi Rimon

Photo: Ariel Jerozolimski

Rabbi Yosef Zvi Rimon is an internationally acclaimed posek, author, educator and lecturer. Individuals and communities from around the globe turn to him with complex questions in halachah, the responses to which have been pivotal in helping shape the contemporary Jewish world. Rabbi Rimon is president of World Mizrachi, rosh yeshivah of Lev Academic Center (JCT), chief rabbi of Gush Etzion and community rabbi of Alon Shvut South. Rabbi Rimon is the author of Hilchot Tzava, a practical guide to halachah for soldiers in the army.

Since October 7, he has visited with thousands of soldiers, answering their she’eilot and providing chizuk. Additionally, many hundreds of soldiers in Gaza, who are without cell phones due to army regulations, have sent letters to the rav with their questions.

After meeting countless soldiers and visiting dozens of bases, Rabbi Rimon says, “I have a suit jacket that I don’t ever want to take off except for dry cleaning—I have hugged thousands of soldiers wearing it; it is very holy!”

Rabbi Yosef Zvi Rimon at an army base.

Photos courtesy of the Office of Rabbi Yosef Zvi Rimon, unless indicated otherwise

Rabbi Dovid Bashevkin

What are some of the most frequently asked questions you have gotten since October 7 from soldiers?

Rabbi Yosef Zvi Rimon:

The most common question I receive is from soldiers in Gaza who have a short break and want to return home on Shabbat. Are they allowed to do so? To answer this question, one must take various things into account. One consideration is pikuach nefesh, saving a life, which overrides the restrictions of Shabbat. But in this case, since it’s wartime, it may not only be personal pikuach nefesh but also pikuach nefesh of the tzibbur, the public at large. The halachot during wartime are obviously different. Even if there is a slight possibility that a break will alleviate some of the soldier’s stress and help him be more effective when he returns to the battlefield, we can permit him to go home on Shabbat.

But suspending the laws of Shabbat depends on many factors. What exactly is going on in the war? How much time was the soldier on the battlefield? How long is his break? Can we give him a break at a different time?

There are lots of questions that need to be considered before allowing a soldier to go home on Shabbat.

I would like to share a story. At one point, a logistics officer called me and asked the following: Soldiers who had been in Gaza for some time were given an eighteen-hour break. They were being sent to an army center in Ashkelon where they would be able to shower, relax and visit with their family, and the next day they would return to Gaza.

They were told they could leave Gaza on Friday at noon and return on Shabbat morning. The question was as follows: Their wives, children and parents wanted to visit, but if they drove to see the soldiers in Ashkelon, they would not make it back on time for Shabbat. These soldiers hadn’t seen their family members for weeks and had no idea how long the fighting in Gaza would go on. If they got a break but were unable to visit with family, they might feel depressed and discouraged. For a soldier, mood and morale can have life-and-death implications. In light of the situation, according to halachah, could the families drive home on Shabbat?

I asked the officer if there was a possibility the families could stay in

Rav Rimon published this practical guide to the halachot of war that perfectly fits into the pants pocket of an IDF uniform. There is precedent for a sefer like this—the Chafetz Chaim wrote Sefer Machaneh Yisrael for Jewish soldiers in the Russian army.

a nearby hotel for Shabbat, but the IDF coordinator said the army could not pay for that.

It was Thursday evening when I was speaking to the officer, and I was in my car driving to another base. In general, when I travel to army bases, only my assistant is in the car with me. Often, a group [on a solidarity mission] accompanies me by bus. However, this particular time, members of a solidarity mission from Congregation

Rabbi Dovid Bashevkin, a member of the Jewish Action Editorial Committee, is the founder of 18Forty, a media site discussing big Jewish ideas. Some of the content in this article is from the 18Forty podcast entitled "Yosef Zvi Rimon: What Happens to Jewish Law During War?"

THE HIDDEN LIGHT OF THE GALILEE

Bnai Yeshurun in New Jersey asked if they could accompany me in my car. The rabbi of the shul, who was seated next to me, heard the conversation. He turned to me and said: “We would be happy to pay for the hotel.” The shul ended up funding a wonderful Shabbat for our soldiers and their families. While the hotels were all closed in Ashkelon, we were able to find a guesthouse that could accommodate 180 people, including the soldiers, their wives and children. A team of volunteers brought food and toiletries, and even toys and books for the children. Thanks to the generosity of this Teaneck shul, these soldiers and their families were able to enjoy a very moving and meaningful Shabbat together.

The officer in charge, Yitzhak Schwartz, who managed to uplift the soldiers and their wives over Shabbat, was injured a few days later. Baruch Hashem, his life was saved, but he suffered a serious spinal cord injury. When I visited him in the hospital, he said: “Pray for me.” “Of course,” I replied. Then he told me: “Rabbi, pray that I get well soon. I have to go back to Gaza to be with my soldiers.”

RB: What a moving story! Can the Rav elaborate on any she’eilot related to tefillah and the battlefield?

I can personally attest that you can really feel the Shechinah [in the military camps]. I believe this is because it is a milchemet mitzvah, an obligatory war of self-defense, and G-d is with us.

RR: Yes, of course.

Minyanim are often set up in tents, and the army brings sifrei Torah for some of the minyanim. I was asked the following: Between fifteen to twenty chayalim come together for a minyan, but there are four chayalim who cannot come to the tent because they are required to remain at their posts some 200 meters (600 feet) away. Can the minyan bring the sefer Torah from the tent to those four soldiers and daven there with them? This way, they won’t miss keriat HaTorah.

Generally, one is not supposed to transport a Torah scroll from its usual location to be used in another location for temporary use. This is because it is considered disrespectful to take a Torah to those who need it; rather,

those who need it should come to the Torah. The soldier asked me what to do. I told them, “First of all, there is a machloket. What happens if you don’t go to the sefer Torah not because you don’t want to, but because you don’t have the ability to do so? Let’s say you are in jail; may one bring a sefer Torah to jail? There are Rishonim who permit bringing the Torah in such a case. There are other Rishonim who do not permit it. Secondly, perhaps in this particular case the sefer Torah might not be considered to have a set location, as it is housed in a tent in a war zone. Finally, we can argue the following: The Talmud Yerushalmi states that there is an exception to the rule: one can take a sefer Torah to an adam chashuv, a prominent person. Who is an adam chashuv? Usually, we

Rabbi Rimon (center) visiting with soldiers.

. . . the world does not understand that our army has the highest level of morality. No one comes close to us in this regard.

would say a talmid chacham, a rabbi, the president of a country or some other high-level official. But I told him I believe that a soldier who sacrifices his life to protect Am Yisrael . . . he is the most significant adam chashuv And therefore, I said, it is acceptable to bring the sefer Torah to the chayalim.

RB: That is incredibly moving.

RR: Here is another question concerning tefillah that came up recently.

As you know, during the tefillah of Tachanun, the custom is to bow one’s head. The Rokei’ach writes that one should not bow during Tachanun if the room does not have a Torah scroll. He cites the verse in Yehoshua 7:6 as evidence of this: “Yehoshua thereupon rent his clothes. He and the elders of Israel lay until evening with their faces to the ground in front of the Ark of G-d.” Seemingly, bowing is necessary in front of the Ark of G-d [which can also apply when there is a sefer Torah].

One soldier asked the following: In our particular camp in Gaza, we do not have a sefer Torah with us. Should we bow during Tachanun?

Based on the Rokei’ach, there is room to argue that bowing is required in every place where there is a revelation of the Shechinah, as we find with Avraham Avinu (Bereishit 17:3) and in many other places in Tanach. The Torah itself attests that the Shechinah is found in a Jewish military camp, as the pasuk (Devarim 23:15) states: “Since Hashem, your G-d, moves about in your camp to protect you and to deliver your enemies to you, let your camp be holy; let [G-d] not find anything unseemly among you and turn away from you.” I therefore responded that they should bow even without a sefer Torah

With all the visits I have made to

military camps these last few months, I can personally attest that you can really feel the Shechinah there. I believe this is because it is a milchemet mitzvah, an obligatory war of self-defense, and G-d is with us.

RB: That’s remarkable. I imagine you also received some unique questions regarding mourning and burial?

RR: There were many questions. What happens if only parts of a body are found and a burial takes place? Does the family sit shivah? And if they sit shivah and the rest of the body is found a few months later, what then? Does the family sit shivah again? These are questions that have not been asked for decades.

What happens if there is no body at all, just blood? This occurred in the tragic case of Daniel Perez, Hashem yinkom damo, the son of Rabbi Doron Perez.

All of these questions are terrible, and for years we were fortunate not to have to ask such questions.

RB: Have soldiers asked questions that inspire you?

RR: Most of the questions soldiers ask me or the stories they share with me inspire me! They indicate the extraordinarily high moral caliber of our army. I’ll give you an example. Soldiers in Jenin had a mission to destroy the home of a terrorist. They went to the building and saw that they could destroy the apartment in ten minutes. But they stayed a few hours. Why? They realized that if they would proceed with their plan, they would damage the whole building. If they worked for an hour, they would destroy the terrorist’s apartment and damage two surrounding apartments. They ended up working for a few hours so that the apartment of the terrorist would be destroyed without damaging surrounding property.

To me, this is very inspiring because the world fails to understand that our army

Photo: Abir Sultan/Flash90

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has the highest level of morality. No one comes close to us in this regard.

Those soldiers were in Jenin for a few hours. A few hours! I asked them: “If you stay a few hours, is it more of a risk?” They said, “Of course, it's a risk.” In this scenario, every minute in Jenin is a risk. I’m not sure they did the right thing—putting their lives at risk just to protect property. . . . But while I’m not convinced it was the right thing to do, one thing I am sure of—no nation, no army in the world, would do something like this.

Here’s another question that really moved me. A woman recently called me and said: “Rabbi, we are a young couple and we have been trying to get pregnant for a long time. I just got a positive answer that I’m pregnant.” I said, “B’sha’ah tovah!” Then she said: “My husband is in Gaza and he doesn’t have a phone, but once every ten days or so, he has access to a phone and then he has two minutes to talk to me. I know he’s going to call me in two more days. Rabbi, I long to tell him that I’m pregnant. I really want to, we’ve been waiting so long, but I don’t know if I’m allowed to. I know that the Rambam says that when a man goes to war, he should not think about his wife or his children, but only about the people of Israel.”

I ask you: is there another woman like this in the world?

What did I tell this woman?

I told her, “You know your husband better than anyone else. What do you think? If you tell him, will it make him feel stressed or will it make him really happy?” She thought for a moment and

said, “It depends on how I say it. If I cry, it will stress him out; if I say it happily, it will strengthen him.” I told her, “You have two days. Cry now, and stop crying in two days. When you feel that you can tell him happily, tell him.”

Rabbi, pray that I get well soon. I have to go back to Gaza to be with my soldiers.

So many people call me; I usually don’t know who they are or what happens after I give them a particular pesak. But some time later, a soldier called me. He said, “Do you remember a woman called to ask you how to tell her husband she’s pregnant? That husband is me! I want you to know how much it affected me. You really strengthened me and strengthened my motivation to fight—I have to protect my future child.”

RB: Last question. I’m curious what the Rav says to soldiers who don’t have the same resolve they might have had months ago at the beginning of the war?

RR: Indeed, we are in a very difficult situation. There are dead and wounded soldiers as well as hostages. We cry and we grieve. But in the midst of difficulty, one must constantly lift himself up and feel the greatness. We are the generation of redemption. We have seen so many miracles before our eyes, we know Hakadosh Baruch Hu is with us and that, with His help, we will win.

How do we know? Because throughout all of our history, every nation that tried to kill us is not here anymore. Vehi she’amdah—It is this that has stood by our fathers and us. Shelo echad bilvad amad aleinu lechaloteinu—For not only one has risen against us to annihilate us, but in every generation they rise against us to annihilate us. V’Hakadosh Baruch Hu matzileinu miyadam—But the Holy One, Blessed is He, rescues us from their hand. We know Hashem is with us, and with Am Yisrael unified, we are going to win.

Soldiers in Gaza asked Rabbi Rimon if a sefer Torah could be brought to soldiers who could not leave their post. Photo: Phil Sussman/Flash90

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Rabbi Shlomo Sobol received many she’eilot from members in his community serving in the Military Rabbinate, the Rabbanut Tzvait, who are involved in identifying and caring for the bodies of the murdered victims.

Photo: Nati Shohat/Flash90

As told to JA Staff

Rabbi Shlomo Sobol, rav of Kehillat Shaarei Yonah Menachem in the Buchman neighborhood of Modiin, leads a congregation comprised of some 350 families with roughly 200 soldiers. Jewish Action asked him to share some of the questions he’s received from his congregants who have been drafted over the past few months. Rabbi Sobol, who attended Yeshivat Mercaz HaRav and received semichah from Israel’s Chief Rabbinate, will often refer more challenging she’eilot to Rabbi Yaakov Ariel, Rabbi Asher Weiss or Rabbi Avigdor Nebenzahl.

I received quite a few requests for assistance from farmers in the South whose workers were drafted; without help, their crops were going to be ruined. We helped these farmers recruit volunteers, but we realized that some of the farmers were then selling the produce directly to consumers (leaving out the middleman) without taking terumot and ma’asrot. I suggested to the volunteers that they offer to separate terumot u’ma’asrot. In many cases it didn’t work. It was a challenging situation because we wanted to help the farmers, but at the same time we didn’t want people to eat produce from which terumot u’ma’asrot were not taken. I told community members that every time they buy produce from the North or the South (from a farmer or stand and not from a store), they must separate terumot u’ma’asrot themselves.

One of the more interesting questions that came up involved a soldier who was concerned about worrying his parents. He asked: “Am I allowed to lie to my parents and tell them I’m not in Gaza, even though I am?” I advised him to tell his parents the truth. And I added: “When you tell your parents, you should also get a berachah from them. A berachah from one’s parents is more significant than a berachah from a rebbi.” Even in times of war, there are she’eilot involving semachot, joyous occasions. A significant number of soldiers have asked about postponing their weddings. IDF soldiers often get a 24-hour break every few weeks. Soldiers ask me: “Should I get married during a break, or should I wait until after the war is over?” (At the start of the war, people thought it would be over in a few weeks or at most a few months.) Some soldiers ended up having backyard weddings while on leave for a day or two, and then returned to active duty.

As surprising as it sounds, I always tell engaged couples the same thing: “If you could make the wedding now, do it.” I sit with the kallah (whose chatan is in Gaza) and the two families and discuss it. Not everyone can make a wedding while on 24-hour leave from the army. Of course, in order to get married, one has to be in the right emotional state, so the most important thing is to verify that the kallah and chatan are prepared psychologically and emotionally for getting married in the midst of a war.

A few soldiers postponed their weddings. But many others did not.

There are valid reasons for not postponing a wedding. Rabbi Asher Weiss tells a remarkable story emphasizing this point. His rebbe, Rabbi Yekusiel Yehudah Halberstam, the Klausenburger Rebbe, who lost his wife and eventually all of his eleven children in the Holocaust, had an eldest son, Lipa. Nineteen-year-old Lipa, an ilui, was the apple of his father’s eye. Tragically, while Lipa did survive the Holocaust, he died of typhoid two weeks after the war ended. The Rebbe was crushed.

Rabbi Tzvi Hirsch Meisels, the Veitzener Dayan, who survived the war, shared with Rav Asher an incredible story, which Rav Asher had never heard from the Rebbe: In 1944, Rav Tzvi Hirsch was about to finalize the shidduch of his oldest daughter with the Rebbe’s son Lipa, when the Nazis invaded Hungary. The Rebbe decided to cancel the engagement party, which was scheduled for the following day, and wait for the storm to pass; no one could possibly have envisioned what the future held for Hungarian Jewry.

After the war, Rabbi Meisels heard that the Rebbe survived and was in the Foehrenwald DP camp. He quickly made his way there to reunite with the Rebbe. The first question the Rebbe asked the Veitzener Dayan was, “Did your daughter survive?” “Yes,” was Rabbi Meisel’s response, “and is Lipa alive?”

The Rebbe broke down crying and replied that Lipa had died a few weeks earlier. “Perhaps had we finalized that shidduch, the combined merit of two young tzaddikim would have kept Lipa alive.” The Rebbe deeply regretted pushing off the engagement.

For these young soldiers, says Rabbi Asher Weiss, leaving the army for a day or two and getting married is a great zechut. Hopefully, the combined merit of two young people planning to build a bayit ne’eman b’Yisrael will serve as a protection for both of them and enable the soldier to return home safely.

She’eilot have also come from members in our community serving in the Military Rabbinate, the Rabbanut Tzvait, who are involved in identifying and caring for the bodies of the murdered victims. A member [of this unit] told me that one of the most difficult experiences he had was collecting body parts and spilled blood for identification purposes, working for hours at this gut-wrenching job, only to discover later that all that he had collected belonged to a terrorist. Another righteous soldier serving in the Rabbanut Tzvait shared with me that before he began this type of work, a psychologist prepared him for what he would encounter. “You have to know that the smell of death is something you might carry with you for the rest of your life,” he told him. This soldier then told me something very powerful. “When I carried the body of a soldier, I didn’t smell death. I sensed the fragrance of Gan Eden.”

Members of the Rabbanut Tzvait asked if they could continue to collect bodies on Shabbat. Under normal circumstances, the answer would have been no. On Shabbat, a dead body is considered muktzah. But in the aftermath of October 7, it was an entirely different situation. For parents, finding out whether their child was alive or not was literally piku’ach nefesh It was a question of saving lives—the lives of emotionally distraught parents. Additionally, doing such work on Shabbat signified in a powerful way to fellow soldiers that we will work 24/7 to care for their bodies with dignity and respect should something, G-d forbid, happen to them.

Not surprisingly, I also received a lot of emunah questions—especially from those soldiers who dealt with the bodies. We all know that there is good and evil in this world, and while we all believe that Hashem runs the world, painful,

distressing sights are often too much to deal with. I don’t have the answers to those questioning their faith. I hug them. I sit quietly with them. Listening is always critical. I tell them: “We know Hashem is in charge of everything, and we believe in Him, but we are also allowed to complain to Him and to ask Him our questions openly and honestly.”

At the same time that there are questions, we also clearly see Yad Hashem. Even the very fact that the terrorists were able to do what they did was obviously the Divine Hand at work. It is inexplicable that the IDF—one of the strongest armies in the world—“died” for a few hours. Perhaps Hakadosh Baruch Hu wanted to reveal the strength of Am Yisrael. Many of us are in the habit of complaining about Millennials and Gen Z; the young generations spend so much time on smartphones, and we worry— what will be with them? But these young people suddenly rose up like lions, with mesirut nefesh and a light in their eyes, to defend Am Yisrael, exposing the diamond within the Jewish soul that was concealed all this time.

This is the ko’ach of Am Yisrael.

Photo: Oren Ben Hakoon/Flash90

A memorial at the site of the Nova Music Festival in southern Israel honoring the memory of the roughly 400 victims of the Hamas terrorist attack on October 7.

Photo: Yehoshua Halevi

The HOLIEST WORK

A Conversation with MIRIAM NEUMARK SHALEV of the IDF Chevra Kadisha’s Women’s Unit

By Leah R. Lightman

In the days and weeks after October 7, hundreds of bodies arrived at the Shura military base for identification. Miriam Shalev’s chevra kadisha unit made several trips down from the Tziporit base in the first two weeks to help prepare the female victims and bring them to proper Jewish burial.

October 7 will forever be known as a day of infamy for Jews. The atrocities wrought on our brethren are still too horrific to contemplate, as is the fact that over 125 hostages remain in captivity as we go to press. Yet we Jews, in our age-old response to calamity, stepped up to help Acheinu Bnei Yisrael. One prominent example is the Israel Defense Forces’ chevra kadisha, which operates under the most challenging of circumstances. Lesser-known but as compelling is the Metaplot HaChalalot (chalalah is a fallen female soldier), the IDF chevra kadisha’s women’s unit, which functions under the IDF Rabbinate.

Miriam Neumark Shalev, an early childhood educator, heads the Tziporit military base’s chevra kadisha unit for women, where she, among others, is responsible for preparing the bodies of fallen female soldiers for Jewish burial. In the aftermath of October 7, she sat down with Jewish Action writer Leah Lightman to give us an inside look at the holy work of the Metaplot HaChalalot.

I’m a devoted mother and grandmother, but when I’m called to do work for the chevra kadisha, that’s my first line of duty. This was certainly the case after October 7.

Photo: Nati Shohat/Flash90

Leah R. Lightman:

How did you get involved in working with the IDF’s chevra kadisha?

Miriam Neumark Shalev:

My husband and I married in 1979 and came on aliyah from New York half a year later. Shortly thereafter, we were part of the founding community of Hoshaya, a small community in northern central Israel, where we still live today.

Around twenty-five years ago, a member of our community was very ill; we knew he was dying. A few of us got together and set up a local chevra kadisha. That’s how I got involved with the chevra kadisha in Hoshaya.

Tziporit is one of two military bases in Israel responsible for caring for fallen soldiers. [Tziporit is often referred to as “the chevra kadisha of the North.”]

The other base, Shura, located in central Israel near Ramle, serves as the home of the IDF Rabbinate.

Because of my affiliation with the local chevra kadisha, four years ago one of the officers at the Tziporit military base asked me to establish a women’s chevra kadisha unit that would serve the northern communities if and when, G-d forbid, female soldiers are killed in service.

LL: Is having a women’s chevra kadisha under the auspices of the IDF Rabbinate a new development?

MS: Whenever a soldier, male or female, is killed, the IDF Rabbinate oversees the identification and burial of that soldier.

In the past, when a female soldier would be killed in service, female volunteers from around the country, who worked for the chevrot kadisha in their communities, would be called upon to assist the army professionals in the preparation for burial. As more women have been entering combat units, the IDF Rabbinate established a unit in which women would be trained to assist in the identification process and burial preparation for a female fallen soldier.

Sharon Laufer, an American olah who lives in Efrat, was involved in recruiting the women for the IDF chevra kadisha at the Shura army base. As a result of her work, most of us were officially drafted this past July; what that means is, we are no longer considered volunteers for the IDF Rabbinate but soldiers serving in the reserves.

It took us time to create the Tziporit group. I didn’t want it to be comprised of women only from Hoshaya; Tziporit is a base that serves all the northern soldiers, and we believe that this chevra kadisha should reflect the diverse communities.

Currently, our group consists of fifteen women from six communities throughout northern Israel.

To form this volunteer group, I turned to the heads of each of the local women’s chevrot kadisha and asked for experienced volunteers. Because we deal with traumatic cases, I preferred that the women be experienced in such work and not be doing a taharah for the first time.

LL: Can you describe how this chevra kadisha differs from a usual one?

MS: Ours is not a “typical” chevra kadisha. Due to the devastation of war or a terror attack, it can be difficult to identify

the body of a fallen soldier. During the identification process, certain details have to be marked down to make sure the identification is exact. (The army uses fingerprint identification, dental records and DNA identification.)

Even though the identification process requires the involvement of soldiers, doctors and forensic scientists, our job is to ensure the tzeniut of the soldier. We prefer to have no males in the room unless absolutely necessary. We prefer to have a female doctor in the room if there’s a female doctor on call. We are also learning the computer system so that a male soldier will not be needed for that. Out of respect, when male soldiers are assisting with the computer, they stand with their backs to the table where the deceased is lying. Once an identity is confirmed, the families are notified, and then we prepare the body for burial.

LL: What is the typical profile of a woman who volunteers for the IDF chevra kadisha?

MS: There is no typical profile. Our unit consists of every type of Jew: Israelis, Anglos, those born religious and ba’alei teshuvah. They are all amazing women— amazing in terms of their devotion, their discretion and their love for their fellow Jew. We have developed a fabulous team, and we know we can count on one another.

Volunteering for the chevra kadisha—which is a chesed shel emet—is something one often learns from his or her family. A good number of women serving as volunteers have parents and grandparents who also volunteered for such work. My grandmother was a volunteer for the chevra kadisha. My sister heads the chevra kadisha in her community. My brother, sister-in-law and my brother-in-law are all volunteers in their communities. My husband and oldest son serve as volunteers in the chevra kadisha as well.

I’m a devoted mother and grandmother, but when I’m called to do work for the chevra kadisha, that’s my first line of duty. This was certainly the case after October 7.

Leah R. Lightman is a freelance writer living in Lawrence, New York, with her family.

LL: Can you share with us how October 7 unfolded for you?

MS: Early in the morning on October 7, we started seeing IDF soldiers leaving Hoshaya on foot and by car. I had gone out for a walk and was puzzled [seeing all the soldiers leave]: I needed to get information about what was going on. I came home and my husband told me that the house phone rang and because of the unusual activity going on, he answered it. It was a soldier from the Tziporit army base saying that after Shabbat, I had to come down and get our volunteers organized. I was on call.

After the chag ended that night, I drove to the base and only then did I understand the full extent of what was happening. My colleagues in the chevra kadisha and I knew we would be needed. Together, we mapped out a plan.

After a few days, I saw that Tziporit was quiet, and we were told that there were dozens of chalalot at Shura. Because of Shura’s geographic proximity to the Gaza Envelope, it handled most of the bodies. The center is large, but they could never have predicted a catastrophe on this level.

At Shura, teams of medical examiners, doctors and rabbis worked quickly and diligently to identify the bodies of the women, both soldiers and civilians, who were murdered down south. The Shura women’s chevra kadisha unit was called into action and worked eight-to-twelvehour shifts.

I called the woman who is my counterpart at Shura and said, “Why don’t we come and help you?” We went down several times to Shura in those first two weeks to prepare the female victims and bring them to proper Jewish burial.

LL: How does the taharah process for a person who dies al kiddush Hashem, such as a chayal, chayelet or terror/war victim, differ from the typical process?

MS: One who dies al kiddush Hashem does not undergo the usual taharah, the purification process in which the body is washed and cleansed before burial. Because the individual died in such a way, they are already kadosh, holy. They do not require any further purification as their death alone has sanctified them. So we don’t call it a taharah. We call it a

preparation for burial.

We do not do taharah, we want the body to go to G-d [as if to say,] “Look what happened. Look what happened to this soldier who died al kiddush Hashem.” We bury her with her clothes— at times we dress the soldier with tachrichim (white shrouds) and at times we just place the tachrichim on the body. Those who die al kiddush Hashem have an exalted place in Heaven, according to the Gemara in Bava Batra.

Throughout the preparation for burial, we assure the highest standards of tzeniut and kavod hameit. We have a tradition that before we start, we stand together, and if one of us knew the person or heard about her on the news, we say a few words about her.

Throughout the process, we recite pesukim from Tehillim. We ask for mechilah in case we did not show proper respect, and express our hope that we have done our best to help this precious human being take leave of this world and go on to the next one. We do our work out of love for the female soldiers and feel that we have a tremendous zechut to send a soldier off, as we are the last people with her in this world.

It is a huge responsibility.

LL: Your group meets primarily under emergency circumstances. How do you form a unit, especially when there’s no extraneous talk in the taharah room?

MS: Pre-October 7, our unit got together maybe twice a year, primarily for drills. We never interacted with the Shura unit. Since October 7, the two units of the Metaplot HaChalalot (Shura and Tziporit) have gotten together once or twice. We’ve gotten to know one another, and we’ve learned from one another.

Currently, one of our goals is to organize a day of learning and training for women of the IDF chevra kadisha. We don’t want the sessions to only address practical techniques and halachot, but to provide a spiritual boost to give us strength to continue doing what we’re doing.

LL: How do you cope with the stress of dealing with such traumatic cases?

MS: All of the IDF units provide a trained mental health professional, in Hebrew

referred to as a kaban, who works with soldiers. Each time we—the four or five women on a particular case—prepare a body for burial, we meet on Zoom with our kaban. (We purposely use a female kaban.) This gives us an opportunity to express our feelings, which is of the utmost importance. I know what some of the women in the chevra kadisha in Shura went through, and I was glad to hear that they were treated to a two-day mental health retreat. Mental health is one area we want to more fully address when we arrange a day of learning.

Our chevra kadisha in Hodaya has adopted a tradition. Whenever we do a taharah, the few of us involved meet together afterward to do a debrief of our experience. Even if the taharah isn’t especially traumatic, we know that we are there for each other. It’s a way of taking care of ourselves. We started this practice with the women in Tziporit.

The stories and pictures of these courageous women stay with us. Over time we learn to find the balance of holding on to them and letting go. This is the only way we can continue to do what is expected of us.

LL: Do you have a final message for our readers?

MS: After October 7, talking about the chevra kadisha is not something that comes easy to any of us. The reason to talk about it at this time is to ensure that people know about the atrocities committed against so many of the fallen female soldiers and civilians. The world must know what was done to our people.

While it was extremely difficult to see some of the things I saw, I derive strength to continue doing what I’m doing because I feel that through my work in the chevra kadisha I can have an impact. Being part of the IDF chevra kadisha is my way of contributing during this difficult time.

There is always, of course, davening This especially strengthens me in my work with the chevra kadisha. As we say in Tehillim 121: “Ezri mei’im Hashem, Oseh Shamayim va'aretz—My help comes from Hashem, Maker of Heaven and earth.” Our work is a rare moment when we feel spiritually connected to both Heaven and earth in the service of Hashem.

Remember the Parents, Be Remembered In Our forefather Abraham, 3,800 years ago sensed the holiness of Hebron & paid full retail-price for the Cave of the Patriarchs & Matriarchs, he knew this purchase needed to last for eternity.

ןורבח

A DIFFERENT KIND of Battlefield

Meet Israel’s warriors on the home front— IDF wives who exhibit extraordinary faith while juggling housework, jobs and toddlers.

By Carol Green Ungar

Photo: Chaim

Photo: Miriam Alster/Flash90

Here’s a new addition to your Hebrew vocabulary—miluima. The portmanteau, which has become popular during the Israel-Gaza war, combines the words milu, short for miluim, or IDF reservist, and Ima, or mother, to describe a woman with children whose husband has gone to war. Sadly, Israel has never enjoyed sustained peace; Israeli women have always had to endure their husbands’ army stints. But since October 7, the number of miluimot has increased as never before.

The October 7 tzav shemoneh emergency draft was the largest mobilization in IDF history. (Tzav shemoneh, “Order 8,” is a military term that refers to the emergency call-up notice that summons Israelis to drop everything and serve their country.)

Along with the standing army, the IDF called up 300,000 reservists, among them 98,000 married men, many of them fathers.

What about the women they left behind? How do they cope?

It isn’t easy. “This war has been longer, scarier and more life-changing than previous wars,” says Leah Gelband, a Jerusalem-based psychologist who works with miluimot and their families.

With the men in Gaza for weeks or months at a time and often unreachable by phone, fear plays a major role. “It’s not easy to live with the feeling that that knock on the door can come,” says miluima Hila Levi, who was born and bred in Israel. Tragically that knock was heard too many times—as of this writing in May, 286 IDF soldiers have been killed in the war in Gaza.

Mishpachah Ba’Tzava, a children’s book, speaks to the experience of IDF families; when one member is in active duty, the whole family is really serving.

Tali Wohlgelernter, a thirty-five-yearold mother of four including one child with special needs, experienced firsthand the loneliness of being a miluima, as her husband Tzvi was gone from October to early March. Still, she sees herself as one of the lucky ones—her family was there to help.

Photo: Sharoni Galeano

Israel has never enjoyed sustained peace; Israeli women have always had to endure their husbands’ army stints. But

since October 7, the number of miluimot has increased as never before.

Levi has more experience in this regard than most—her husband has devoted twenty-five years to the defense of his country as a career officer in the IDF. She even co-authored a children’s book called Mishpachah Ba’Tzava [Family in the Army], emphasizing the idea that when a father serves in the army, really the whole family is serving. She holds onto her mental health by avoiding media. “I don’t follow the news. I don’t watch TV. I go to funerals only when I have to.”

She feels that this war has been especially hard. “No one expected it. It was a horrible surprise,” she says. Although she’s always been religious— Levi heads the Jerusalem branch of the Emunah Religious Zionist women’s organization—she’s been leaning into her faith as never before. “I never prayed so much in my life as I did during those first weeks.”

Prayer may help to dial down the anxiety, but miluimot must still cope with the loneliness that comes from being separated from one’s partner. “When my husband left, half of me went with him,” recalls miluima Tali Wohlgelernter, a thirty-five-year-old mother of four including one child with special needs, whose husband was gone from October to early March. During the day, she kept herself together by staying busy—Tali and her husband Tzvi are North American olim who direct JLIC-Mizrachi at Bar-Ilan

University and are responsible for coordinating religious programming for the dynamic and growing Anglo student community in Givat Shmuel. (JLIC is the OU’s program that serves to support Orthodox men and women on secular campus environments across the United States, Canada and Israel.)

FAMILY FILLING IN

In the evening, things would get tougher. Wohlgelernter’s youngest daughter suffers from a rare and severe form of epilepsy. The war caused her seizures to get worse. “Our doctor said that wasn’t uncommon,” she says.

Still, Wohlgelernter sees herself as one of the lucky ones—her family was there to help. While her husband was at war, her dad filled in. “He made sure the house was locked, the dog was walked, and the car was filled with gas. These are the little things that are big things when you are doing them by yourself,” she says.

Having her father move in with her is atypical. More common was the reverse—miluimot who moved back in with their parents. At the start of the war, grandmother Esther Einstein, who lives in the Kiryat HaYovel neighborhood of Jerusalem, hosted

Abby Scheinfeld's husband is in and out of Gaza. “He's fighting a milchemet mitzvah,” his wife says.

three of her eight daughters, including eight of her grandchildren, for a month, with all the kids sleeping together in her safe room. Her daughters traveled many miles to return to their mother’s nest—one from Tel Aviv, another from the Golan and a third from Or Akiva, a city in the Haifa District. “We felt safer together,” she says. Einstein sees her daughters as heroines. “They feel that they are doing something very meaningful for Am Yisrael.”

Now they have all returned home, but Einstein and her husband still help out. “We want to give the kids a sense of normalcy. If a husband isn’t home for Shabbat, we go to them or they come to us,” she says.

With two toddlers and a husband who is in and out of Gaza, twentyseven-year-old singer and songwriter

Abby Scheinfeld has yet to leave her parents’ Beit Shemesh home, which is fortunately within walking distance from her own home. Scheinfeld, an olah who moved with her family to Israel from Teaneck, New Jersey, when she was nine, is grateful to be welcomed by

Carol Green Ungar is an awardwinning writer whose essays have appeared in Tablet, the Jerusalem Post, Ami Magazine, Jewish Action and other publications. She teaches memoir writing and is the author of several children’s books.

her family. “To really cope, you need to be around people you love. This isn’t the life we had planned, but it’s okay to realize when things are too hard for you. I’m a better mother when I have help,” she says.

OTHER SOURCES OF SUPPORT

Not everyone has this option. Grandparents aren’t always available to help. “Many are working, or they have several children in the army whom they need to help,” observes Efrat Gnatek, an educator who heads a neighborhood support team in Efrat’s HaZayit neighborhood.

Such teams have sprung up all over Israel. Gnatek’s is fairly typical in that it provides meals, babysitting, and recreational programming for the women. Gnatek goes the extra mile by offering a volunteer who does home repairs. “When a husband is in miluim, a pipe can burst, the solar heater can break; we help.”

She acknowledges that even this is sometimes not enough. “We discovered families who needed assistance taking out the garbage—the need was that basic.”

Sometimes help can come from outside of one’s community. On October 8, Chana Irom of Jerusalem, a Chareidi woman and a social activist, got together with friends to discuss what they could do to help. Together they founded Sisters of Iron or Achayot MiBarzel, which sends 2,500 volunteers,

Children write letters to their fathers in the army at Sisters of Iron’s Chanukah event this past December. Founded by Chana Irom, Sisters of Iron sends 2,500 volunteers, most of them Chareidi mothers, into the homes of miluim families to help with housework and childcare. Since October 7, the organization has reached nearly 700 miluimot Photo: Yossi Zeliger

most of them Chareidi mothers, into the homes of miluim families to help with housework and childcare. Based in a Jerusalem wig shop, the organization has six volunteers working the phones eight to ten hours a day, finding out what women need and then conveying the requests to teams of volunteers located throughout the country.

Reaching nearly 700 miluimot, Sisters of Iron matches woman to woman, often a Chareidi woman with a non-religious woman who comes to the miluima’s home and assists with whatever is necessary. The organization, says Irom, provides “anything that a sister would do for a sister. Those hours of help are a breath of fresh air for the miluimot,” says Irom.

“Miluimot are on automatic mode,” agrees Gelband. “They are spread so thinly, they feel they are losing themselves. One used to run. Another used to love to dress nicely. Now they

can’t anymore.” The Sisters of Iron volunteers give them the downtime they need to reclaim their pre-war selves. Irom says requests have been increasing. “The regular support systems are tired, so many more women are turning to us.” She estimates that nearly a third of the families Sisters of Iron helps are secular, yet none of the volunteers have heard negative talk about the Chareidi resistance to being drafted. “There is no resentment. Instead, the women thank us and tell us how beautiful it was for them to spend time with a Chareidi woman,” says Irom. She hopes the spirit of unity generated by Sisters of Iron will continue long after the war has ended. Another resource for miluimot is Tzalash, an organization launched in 2013 to provide religious and emotional support for soldiers and their families. Since October 7, not surprisingly, requests for help have ballooned.

Being part of the future of this nation is hard, but it’s also a privilege; the hardest thing and the right thing are sometimes the same. We have a part in ensuring the future of Am Yisrael and Medinat Yisrael.

“Before the war, we worked with 350 women. Shortly after the war started, 2,400 signed up,” says director Rabbi Dovid Gottlieb.

Tzalash organizes barbecues for soldiers’ wives and families. “This gives them a chance to interact with others in the same situation,” says Rabbi Gottlieb. Tzalash volunteers also drive around the country to deliver gifts to the miluimot—chocolates, skin creams, flowers and religious texts on faith.

“A woman has a husband in Gaza and this is what she needs?” asks Rabbi Gottlieb. The answer, he asserts, is an emphatic yes. “Having a volunteer drive out to deliver these packages gives these women the message that someone is thinking about them.”

OU Israel has been very active supporting miluim families as well. For many families evacuated from places like Sderot and Kriyat Shemona and now living in hotels in Jerusalem, the fathers are away, serving in the IDF. To lift spirits and provide chizuk, OU Israel’s Zula Band—Zula is a unique program for at-risk youth—provides ongoing concerts, visiting hotels scattered throughout Jerusalem. A mega concert, sponsored by OU Israel specifically for the wives of IDF soldiers

OU Israel has been very active supporting miluim families by providing weekly meals, arranging toy drives and carnivals, and sponsoring ongoing concerts for evacuees from communities such as Sderot and Kiryat Shemona. (Many of these concerts are performed by OU Israel’s Zula Band.) Seen here, a child receives a toy at a carnival sponsored by OU Israel.

and held at Jerusalem’s Ramada Hotel, featured singer Ruchama ben Yosef and attracted some 600 women.

Additionally, OU Israel has been providing weekly meals for miluim families and arranging toy drives and carnivals. “In Israel today, when a soldier enters a bakery or falafel place and tries to buy something, everyone steps aside and lets him go to the front of the line and someone inevitably will cover his bill,” says Rabbi Avi Berman, executive director, OU Israel. “Why? Because we all recognize that soldiers are being moser nefesh for Klal Yisrael. The incredible wives of our soldiers, who are coping with endless stress managing their children and their homes all alone, may walk into the same bakery or the same falafel place, but their mesirut nefeseh is not as obvious. That’s why we want to be there for these women—and give them the chizuk, the concerts, the dinners and the pampering that they need.”

All the help, however, doesn’t take away the fact that war is hard. “Some women are beyond strong. Others suffer crippling anxiety,” says Rabbi Gottlieb.

Stress-related conditions, including insomnia, skin problems, and weight gain caused by emotional eating are common among miluimot. In an Instagram reel, comic Bazy Rubin, herself a miluima, facetiously boasts that she’s serving her kids balanced meals while she gobbles an entire challah.

The war also challenges the kids. Miluimot point to sleep problems and displays of anger and anxiety. “There’s a lot more bedwetting. Every morning, I have to change the sheets,” says miluima and attorney Shvut Raanan, a Sabra and mother of four who lives in Yokneam, a city in northern Israel.

Making ends meet is another challenge, and government help isn’t always forthcoming. “We are

stuck in a bureaucracy. We were supposed to get a discount on arnona [Jerusalem real estate tax], but the Jerusalem municipality makes it very complicated,” says teacher and miluima Sarah Weller, a Hartford, Connecticut, olah in her forties. “We get by with food donations and very careful budgeting,” she says.

Employers aren’t always understanding, either. “Employers expect these women to function as they did before the war. If they don’t, they may be put on unpaid leave or fired,” says Raanan, who has become active in the Reservists’ Wives’ Forum. The Forum is a 5,000-member organization started during this war to advocate for the rights of soldiers’ wives in the workplace.

Even the long-awaited reunion with one’s spouse may be fraught with tension. “There is often a gap because the couple were apart and having such different experiences,” says psychologist Leah Gelband.

The mitzvah of taharat hamishpachah can also be complicated; the Tzalash staff fields many halachic questions pertaining to this. Along with the halachic complexity, emotions may be jumbled. Leah Aharoni’s organization Our People prepares beautifully wrapped gift packages containing selfcare products and cosmetics that are placed in mikvahs throughout Israel. “Getting a gift makes the women feel supported; many of them cry when they receive it,” says Aharoni.

Even if all goes well with the couple, children may struggle to make room for a dad who has been gone for months. “Sometimes the kids won’t speak to their father,” says Raanan. She notes that the Reservists’ Wives Forum grew out of a Facebook discussion sparked by a miluima’s post about just this situation.

MAKING IT ALONE

Most wives of IDF soldiers have some kind of support system—whether it’s family living nearby, neighbors or friends. But when Ellie Menora’s husband returned to Israel to join his IDF unit, Ellie was left alone. Ellie and Rabbi Ben Menora live in Binghamton, New York, where they serve as the OUJLIC directors for the Orthodox students at Binghamton University. “We have no family here in the States,” she says—and being in the middle of Binghamton, there’s not much social support, aside from the students, of course. “It’s pretty isolating,” says Menora, who is one of three OU-JLIC directors based in the States whose husbands returned to Israel after October 7.

After Rav Ben got the call to return, there was no hesitation. “It was very clear to both of us that one of us [or both of us] will go back,” says Ellie, an ER nurse and medic who worked in Israeli hospitals. In the end, Rav Ben went alone, leaving almost immediately after the chag. Ellie stayed behind, caring for their five children under the age of ten, the youngest only ten months old. But

despite the isolation and the challenges, Menora wouldn’t have it any other way. “If people like us were unwilling to fight for Israel, there wouldn’t be an Israel.”

HOLDING

ONTO FAITH

There’s no way around it—the miluima life isn’t for the fainthearted. “The only way we can get through this is by believing. My husband constantly says that Medinat Yisrael exists because Hashem willed it,” says Rachael HirschZores, forty-three, a Be’er Sheva–based kindergarten teacher whose husband spent two months in Gaza. “If I didn’t believe in Hashem and didn’t believe that this was something Hashem wanted, I don’t know how I’d get through this.”

Like the soldiers, miluimot are long on morale. “Being part of the future of this nation is hard, but it’s also a privilege; the hardest thing and the right thing are sometimes the same,” says Wohlgelernter. “We have a part in ensuring the future of Am Yisrael and Medinat Yisrael.”

“I thank Hashem that my husband isn’t home, that he’s fighting a milchemet mitzvah—he has a special role in the

army, performing a unique mitzvah,” says Scheinfeld, whose husband is part of a unit tasked with retrieving bodies of fallen soldiers so they can be brought to kever Yisrael

In times like these, life is bittersweet. The realities of war seep into daily life. “My children ask me, ‘What should I do if they come to kidnap me?’ My husband and I talked about who we would want to raise our children if we both died. These possibilities are no longer theoretical,” says Hirsch-Zores.

The war, says Hirsch-Zores, has made her Yiddishkeit more emotional. “I cry every time I light Shabbat candles—I didn’t use to. And I think about the hostages constantly—do they even know when it’s Shabbat? ‘Matir assurim’ has taken on new meaning.”

For many, music can be a source of relief, spiritual strength and even validation.

“Music and song are almost as essential as food and sleep,” says Scheinfeld, who graduated Emunah College for the Arts in Jerusalem and specializes in theater and music. Since the war began, Scheinfeld has shared her spiritual Jewish music with other IDF wives and moms. “Music has been my therapy, and it also uplifts others,” she says.

The music that resonates most deeply with miluimot is music of faith. At chizuk events, Scheinfeld, who performs under the name Avigail, sings songs with stirring religious themes such as “Shir HaMaalot,” “V’afilu B’hastarah” and “Tov L’hodot LaHashem.” She has also written and recorded a song for her fellow miluimot called “Kol Yachol,” or “You can do it all.” “Be there for yourself,” she sings. “Fly up. You will see everything from there. You will realize you can do it all.”

The medals have yet to be struck, but the IDF acknowledges the miluimot and their contribution. “The heroes of this war are the women at home,” says reserve General Yosef Hazut in an official IDF video (https://www.youtube.com/ watch?v=Xy5OPG9kmIk).

They may even know how to win it. Send them to Gaza, and, as they joke on their WhatsApp groups, they’d catch Sinwar in a minute.

If only it were so easy.

Sisters of Iron, founded by Chana Irom (third from left), has brought together women across religious sectors in support of each other. Irom hopes the spirit of unity will continue long after the war has ended. Photo: Yossi Zeliger

The Blessing of Caring for My Father Choosing Life

By Viva Hammer

Ilive with my parents and my children on a peninsula between the Pacific Ocean and Sydney Harbor. The weather is temperate, never cold and hardly ever hot. The beaches are pristine; people dream of their next saltwater dive and their property values. For thirty years I was ten thousand miles from this Eden where my parents live, until the time came for me to return to care for them and be cared for by them. One of my children came before me and one came after. We are three generations living together in peace.

Dawn. Midsummer. A kookaburra is at my window singing a morning song, as usual, but unfamiliar sounds come from the next room. My father is retching, gasping, heaving. My mother is soothing him. I run to them; my father has been sick all night. I call for a doctor, but it’s a long weekend and no

one answers. We are offered in substitute a robot reading a checklist that is supposed to deliver a diagnosis and plan for action. The robot fails.

My father sleeps that day while I watch him. When he wakes, I offer him tea and something sweet. He shakes his head, no. At the end of the weekend, when he is stronger and wanting to get up, a sharp pain spikes through his back. His doctor who has returned from the weekend informs us there’s nothing wrong, prescribes pain medicine and departs for a long vacation. My father takes what the doctor prescribes and falls asleep.

That night he wakes demanding blankets and a hot drink, and when they come, booms out that he needs ice and a fan. He is shivering, shouting, freezing and boiling; a fever spikes. His voice is commanding, and I don’t recognize him. Then I do. He has been transformed overnight into the man he was when I

was a child. I recoil, shudder, step back. Then I step forward again. I am my father’s child but I am not a child. I am an adult fulfilling the commandment of honoring my father.

In health, my father is a charming old man, beloved in shul and wherever he goes. He was a different person when we were young. He was an immigrant, a refugee, a survivor of Nazi Europe and of Stalinist communism. In my early years, he woke in darkness to daven before going to the factories to buy frocks for his shop, then went out to teach mathematics at university, then

Viva Hammer is at the Hadassah-Brandeis Institute of Brandeis University and the Crawford School of Public Policy, Australian National University.

I had worried about being an adult in my parents’ house, but my worries were misplaced; my parents have given me only pleasure and joy.

back to the shop to see what was selling, returning to us in darkness, ravenous. He had no energy for anything but his heavy obligations. He earned a living for his wife and children, and for his parents, and there was no backup if he slipped. At work he had to be charming. At home he could be himself—exhausted.

In the years I was away from Sydney, my father stopped worrying about the next meal or rent payment. He stopped working and went to shul however often he wished. He became charming inside the home as well as outside as well as with his minyan men, who adore him. But now he is sick and in pain, and his old self, the surviving self, returns. Morning. After a feverish night, my father is crying that he misses my daughter, who is away, because only she knows how to rub his back to relieve the pain. We are surprised; he never cries. Should I ask my daughter to come back? But as my father says, and I agree, she has to lead her own life. This illness of my father’s (we still don’t know what it is) may be a marathon. A stomach upset, a fever, a pain in the back, kleinekeit. No need to call a crisis when there isn’t one. The fever spikes, the pain worsens, and my son and I move my father downstairs from the bedroom into the living room so that we can watch him and let my mother sleep. Days and nights become interchangeable; my father falls into a doze, wakes suddenly, confused. We wake with him, offer a bite to eat, a hot-water bottle. We are vigilant that he doesn’t get up and fall. Falling is a great risk for old people, painful and debilitating.

During the nights by my father’s side, half waking, half sleeping, I am far from the sickroom, dreaming about an escape back to my life on Capitol Hill, the wild dance and hullaballoo of Washington

DC. I deliberated a long time before leaving that perpetual carnival to return to my parents. I had worried about being an adult in my parents’ house, but my worries were misplaced; my parents have given me only pleasure and joy. What I didn’t imagine was a city where I couldn’t find a shul to daven in, or people to learn Torah with, or places to do chesed. I ache for someone to visit on a Shabbos afternoon and embark on a conversation that goes on and on and never ends.

In that moment of yearning, a friend, an angel, calls from New York. It is deep in the night, but I am alert and ready to continue a conversation we began twenty years before: she is looking for shidduchim for her children. There is no topic more certain to never end than shidduchim. I dip into my list, and offer her riches from my American life, where ideas flourished. At the end of the phone call, although no engagements have been announced, I am rejuvenated, ready for duty.

My father is awake, I close the phone, offer him something to nibble on. When well, my father has a legendary appetite, which he satisfies every hour or two and is immediately hungry again. He doesn’t hold onto an ounce of weight. But since his stomach upset, we cannot coax him to a meal, and even so, his limbs swell as if he were bursting.

In the morning, we look again for doctors, but there are no appointments. We consider the hospital but last time he was there, they said a kosher diet was too complicated and they couldn’t feed him. So he starved. No, I decide, better we should watch him at home.

It’s exhausting taking care of someone very sick; emotions roil, it consumes physical and spiritual energy to keep us afloat. My father drops off to sleep at any

time and wakens with a fright. My son and I take turns; someone is watching him always. And my mother keeps the enterprise running: cleaning, shopping, cooking, laundry, the usual, but without our help. It takes three healthy adults to care for one sick person, consuming more energy than any other project I’ve done. There is no room for error.

Shabbos approaches and I call a rav about what I might be allowed do for my father. The week before, he had asked for warm food and I refused, reminded him that it was Shabbos. The rav isn’t available, so I look up the halachah myself. The week before, I wouldn’t have admitted my father was a choleh she’yeish bo sakanah, a sick person in danger, but this week I know he is. I open the Shulchan Aruch. “For a person who is seriously ill, it is a mitzvah to violate Shabbos. One who rushes to do so is praiseworthy; one who takes the time to ask is a murderer.” A murderer.

My father’s constant refrain to us: v’chai bachem, to live in the mitzvot, with them, through them. U’vacharta b’chaim, choose life. He who was a witness to death in his youth is a fighter for life in his old age.

I had been wrong the week before; I should have heated food. This week, with his skin stretched to bleeding, his breath uneven and short and his fever spiking throughout the day, I know my father’s life hangs in the balance. I do for him that Shabbos what I’d never done before for anyone. It is a strange experience, and I have to remind myself each time I do a melachah I am not breaking Shabbos for my father, I am observing Shabbos for my father. And I make sure he doesn’t see what I am doing, so he won’t know he is so sick that Shabbos is adjusted for him. My obligation is to maintain his dignity, to keep him believing he will recover, and be well again.

On Sunday, the heilige Sunday, the doctor who is on vacation calls us. When does such a thing happen in Australia? When? When the results are bad. My father has heart failure and lung failure, and his white and red blood cells are way off. He also has a broken vertebra in the lower back. What does the doctor

recommend? We ask. He doesn’t know what’s wrong, but maybe some medicine. We ask about going to specialists. Good luck getting appointments, he replies.

And so I embark on the rite of passage of every child of aging parents, sitting in the waiting rooms of expensive doctors. The expensive doctors say maybe it’s lung cancer, maybe it’s heart failure,

for the things I didn’t do with him, and for the stories I would never hear. For the thirty years away from him when we could have been together.

I want to take him back to shul once more to say goodbye. We walked to shul every day together. Next to him in shul I learned the Alef Bais. Now we walk from the dining room to the living

maybe it’s blood cancer, maybe it’s something else. They don’t know. They look at me with a question mark. They smile at my father from a great distance. There are no answers.

My father looks at me and whispers, They don’t know what they’re talking about. He is getting weaker, but not in his mind. At home he tells me stories of his childhood before the war, of cheder and the friends who didn’t come back from the deportation, his brothers who didn’t come back. He offers testimony of worlds that are gone. I go out and I cry,

Viva Hammer and her father

spine. My father gets down into it and rests, his breath becoming shorter, his limbs more limp, life seeping out of him. My son and I look at each other, and we nod. We message family wherever they are and tell them to come. Over the next week they do, and we circle round each other, in a daze of exhaustion, fear and disbelief. My father is confused about the influx of people, but he is too tired to inquire.

When we are not with family, we are ceaselessly with doctors who have no ideas. The last one is a pulmonologist, who patiently explains to my father that he has an unusual case of pneumonia. It probably came from aspiration during the upset stomach on the long weekend in midsummer. When the lungs cannot work, the heart cannot work, and then the body swells up and the fever spikes. In an old person, an ordinary upset stomach can disrupt the fragile balance. The pulmonologist prescribes medication. We go home.

room, his legs swollen and heavy, then he sits and falls asleep. He is not happy, he says; he is miserable, he says, but he is alert. My mother is baking scones. I sit by my father’s bedside reading him the parashah, which he used to do with me when I was a girl. Each of us is in the presence of our last hour. Every hour a chance. This is where I belong, in this place at this time. My father is still with us and we are keeping vigil, watching. That night, my son makes a chair bed for my father so he can sleep upright, breathe more easily and not irritate his

This was my opportunity: to recognize that this is why I am here, to walk my father to shul, to take care of him when he is sick. There is nothing better, nothing more important, nothing that will last longer.

Coming out of my father’s crisis is like coming off a rocking boat; the earth still moves beneath my feet. The sickness does not pass quickly. My father was very ill and we were with him. It was exhausting and confusing and something we moderns are less prepared to face than the innumerable other crises we manufacture. But the Torah talks extensively about how, as we age and face the end, we can pass on to our children what is essential: u’vacharta b’chaim, choose life.

My father comes back to us again, but we are not the same as before. Sometimes we are given the chance to become different from what we have been. And to move onward. This was my opportunity: to recognize that this is why I am here, to walk my father to shul, to take care of him when he is sick. There is nothing better, nothing more important, nothing that will last longer. Here is the home where I belong, even if I am restless and seek more. The other things I seek might be good, but they are not essential. Essential now is taking care of my parents as they take care of my children and of me.

Readers are invited to use this forum to express personal views and address issues of concern to fellow Jews. Opinions expressed do not necessarily reflect the policy or opinion of the Orthodox Union.

THE DOG THAT DOESN’T BARK

By A. Schreiber

Sherlock Holmes, one of the greatest literary characters of all time, was famous for his power of observation. The many stories in the Holmes canon are filled with examples of the great consulting detective putting this skill to work. He would infer things like a man’s financial status from a forgotten hat, or his profession from the condition of his front steps, all by simply keeping his eyes open.

But Sherlock Holmes didn’t limit his observations to things he saw—he also learned much from the things he didn’t see. A famous example of this can be found in “The Adventure of Silver Blaze”:1

Detective Gregory: Is there any other point to which you would wish to draw my attention?

Holmes: To the curious incident of the dog in the night-time.

Gregory: The dog did nothing in the night-time.

Holmes: That was the curious incident.

Thus, “the dog that didn’t bark” entered the English language as a byword for something more conspicuous by its absence than by anything specific about the thing itself.

A. Schreiber (a nom de plume) lives in a town just like yours, attended the same type of schools and yeshivot as you did and has a family just like your own. He may even be your neighbor.

As Jews, we like to do good. In the words of our Sages, we are by nature rachmanim and gomlei chasadim, compassionate and kind. There are many cases where the need for communal assistance is obvious, such as after an untimely death or in a clear case of medical need. When the need for help is transparent, the Jewish community generally rallies and swings into action.

But what happens when it’s not so obvious? Symptoms of distress are not always self-evident. When we look out for the welfare of our brothers and sisters, are we also looking for signals that lie beneath the surface?

A famous tale is told of Rabbi Yosef Dov HaLevi Soloveitchik, the Beit HaLevi, in which a man asked him if one could use milk for the four cups of wine on Passover. The rabbi understood the question asked, but more importantly, he also understood the question not being asked. Clearly this man was in dire financial straits if this was the type of question he was asking. The Beit HaLevi understood that his true responsibility in this case was not simply to answer the surface question, but rather to alleviate the man’s financial stress. This is an example of listening more to what wasn’t said, rather than to what was.

Once we become attuned to listening, we become more sensitive to hearing these silent cries for help. In recent decades, awareness has grown within various professions, and efforts have been made to improve both active listening skills and attentiveness to

unexpressed signs of distress. Indeed, the hallmark of a good medical diagnostician has always been the ability to see things the patient himself couldn’t articulate. Shouldn’t we as a community try to employ similar steps to improve our mission of tzedakah and gemilut chasadim?

This all sounds great, the reader might argue, but how does one look for something that can’t be seen? The answer is by employing the same analytical tools we’ve already practiced for centuries: thinking. Drawing inferences. And by caring enough to notice.

Do you know someone who used to rush out of shul in the morning to go to work but now seems to have a lot more time? At your school’s annual fundraiser dinner, is someone missing whom you’ve been seated with in years past? If your shul raises funds by periodic appeals or by auctioning aliyot—have you noticed a former participant suddenly gone quiet?

Surface feelings can be deceptive. Many in our community are even more reticent about family problems than they are about financial difficulties. Yet my experience has been that when someone approaches a friend to ask confidentially if there’s a problem, the invitation to talk is often gratefully accepted.

But it’s intrusive, one might object. It could be perceived as being nosy. That is precisely the point. Showing concern for the wellbeing of our friends and neighbors is not the same as interfering with their business. Moshe Rabbeinu taught us as much. Surely it would have

been the easiest thing for him, upon seeing a Jew attacked by an Egyptian, to have simply closed his eyes, reasoning that it was not his business. Yet he did not take that approach. Indeed, although on the surface a failure to show interest might appear like respecting one’s privacy, on closer inspection, it can indicate a simple lack of concern for others. It comes close to the philosophy of “what’s mine is mine and what’s

see a doctor. “But Abie was a Jew, and so nobody worried about him. May [G-d] forgive us all.”

The widow, the orphan, the visibly ill, even those in chinuch or in kollel, are often well-supported by institutions or wealthy patrons. There are many funds and gemachs, both communal and private, geared toward these demographics, and the individuals in

When the need for help is transparent, the Jewish community generally rallies and swings into action. But what happens when it’s not so obvious?

yours is yours”—an attitude described by some of our Sages (Avos 5:13) as the characteristic of Sodom. If, after being approached, an individual makes his desire to maintain his privacy clear, then that certainly should be respected. But staying away out of fear of being perceived as intrusive has never been the Jewish way.

Another way we can improve our detection skills is by broadening our field of vision. I began with one example from literature, so allow me to illustrate this point with another, this time from the classic children’s series, The Great Brain In one story, quite poignantly told, a Jewish peddler in the late nineteenth century named Abie Glassman from the town of Adenville, passed away. It emerged that he had died of malnutrition, and no one had seen it coming. The Fitzgeralds, the protagonist family in the series, recognized their own and the collective guilt of the town in not preventing Abie’s death. As Papa (the narrator) explained, “It isn’t that we dislike Jews or mean to be unkind to them. It is just that we don’t worry about them the way we worry about other people.’” When Abie had stopped buying groceries, no one inquired. When he fainted several times, no one insisted he

around in wooden bankruptcy barrels (and of course, never did) as though life was a Community Chest card from Monopoly. This does not absolve us of our responsibilities—it only makes them greater. The fellow living right next door to you might be out of a job, without you even knowing it.

Nothing I have said here is new, and many more examples can be brought

In our time—perhaps more so than in previous eras—we need tzenius, writes Rabbi Reuven Brand, in the following symposium. “To live the rewarding and meaningful lives we seek, we must commit to living inwardly.” But upholding the value of modesty in the Instagram generation is no simple feat.

While the writers of the essays that follow all address similar concerns—developing an inner self, cultivating self-esteem, sharing and oversharing and the blurring of lines between public and private, among other issues—they each bring a unique perspective to the conversation.

Rethinking Tzeniut

BRACHA POLIAKOFF

Of all the things that surprised me about the recently published book Reclaiming Dignity: A Guide to Tzniut for Men and Women, which I co-authored with Rabbi Anthony Manning, first and foremost is my own involvement. If someone would have suggested to me five years ago that I get involved in a project about tzeniut, I may have just run the other way. Tzeniut was something I struggled with, though not in the practical sense. The term “tzeniut” produced a general sense of uneasiness in me, bringing up feelings of tension and uncomfortable past associations. Ironically, it was my own conflicted relationship with this topic that ended up being a catalyst for the creation of this book.

My journey really began in young adulthood. At that time, I recognized that I was struggling to connect to this mitzvah in a positive and healthy way, and that I needed to better understand it and find a way to relate to what I knew

Editor’s note: Transliterations in the magazine are based on Sephardic pronunciation, unless an author is known to use Ashkenazic pronunciation. Thus, the inconsistencies in transliterations in this section are due to authors’ preferences.

to be an important Torah value (according to the Gemara in Makkot 24a, based on Michah 6:8, tzeniut is one of the top three characteristics that every Jewish person must embody, along with chesed and mishpat). For that reason, I decided to try to learn more about tzeniut from different perspectives.

One watershed moment in my journey was coming across the shiurim of Rabbi Anthony Manning, co-director of Midreshet Tehillah and a well-known Torah educator in Israel, whose understanding of tzeniut is based on the teachings of Rabbi Yitzchak Berkovits, rosh yeshivah of Aish HaTorah and a well-known rosh kollel and posek in Yerushalayim.

Tzeniut, he taught, neither starts nor ends with women’s dress. It is partly a mitzvah requiring us to act in a dignified

MODERN AGE in the

manner; partly an area of halachah, as delineated in the Shulchan Aruch; and partly based on minhag, comprising more subjective communal norms—all of which are applicable to both men and women. Tzeniut is not a onesize-fits-all dress code; there are nuances. And therefore context, such as community norms, matters when determining halachic practice.

I was also exposed to another facet of tzeniut: tzeniut as a middah, a character trait related to internality, sensitivity and seeing the world with depth. This middah, which Chazal emphasize for both men and women, is something that can be developed and cultivated over time. It is not just something we do, but a way of being in the world. To be tzanua is to change our focus from the external (thinking about what other people will think) to the internal (thinking about what really matters and what Hashem will think). This

Bracha Poliakoff, LCSW-C is a licensed clinical social worker, speaker and writer. She currently serves as the founder and director of continuing education at Bright Ideas Continuing Education, where she provides high quality continuing education programs for mental health professionals in the United States and Canada. Bracha lives in Baltimore, Maryland, with her husband and three children.

The overwhelmingly positive response to the book showed me that I am not alone in my struggle to connect to tzeniut.

expansive view of tzeniut seemed to be part of the answer. Through my learning, I began to realize that in many ways, we had societally reduced tzeniut to being about medidah, measuring. In doing so, we were missing the depth of tzeniut—the middah.

As I was slowly beginning to heal my own relationship to the concept of tzeniut, I became more aware of how many others around me were also struggling in this area. So many women that I spoke with, spanning varied ages and religious backgrounds, had difficulty connecting to this important Torah value. Men, on the other hand, were more

apathetic, feeling that tzeniut was purely a woman’s mitzvah that did not apply to them in any meaningful way. I also heard numerous community leaders, educators and parents express that they did not know how to teach this topic to the next generation due to their own conflicted or negative feelings around it.

It saddened me that so many individuals had no connection to this important Jewish value, and I began to think about what could be done to remedy the situation. I decided to explore the possibility of publishing a book on this topic l’ilui nishmat my mother, Debra (Pernikoff) Friedman, a”h, who exemplified the middah of tzeniut in so many aspects of her life.

My goal in writing the book was to go back to the original sources—to “reclaim” what tzeniut is—and to show how tzeniut can be beautiful and meaningful for both men and women. The result is an anthology of twenty-six honest and personal essays presenting a variety of perspectives on tzeniut, as well as the struggle inherent in developing this important value.

Since it was first released a little more than a year ago, we have heard from many people—rabbis, teachers, principals, kallah teachers and community members—telling us how the book has helped them better understand tzeniut and, in many cases, heal their own strained relationship with this topic. One senior educator in Chicago told us she will be revamping aspects of her tzeniut curriculum based on the book and is starting a book club for young women to read and discuss the essays. We heard from men who were surprised to learn that tzeniut is an important value for them that can enrich their own lives. And we have heard from many who gained a greater appreciation for the

halachic diversity of the Orthodox community and the role community minhag plays in determining halachic practice.

Readers told us they were surprised that a book on a topic that is often considered polarizing could be so incredibly popular. Yet somehow, b’ezrat Hashem, the book has been successful across the US and in many other countries around the world! We are aware of groups learning the sefer in both Williamsburg, Brooklyn, and on Manhattan’s Upper West Side.

Though we believed in the importance of this work, I don’t think we realized just how much interest there was for an approach like this one. We were shocked when the first printing sold out within just a few weeks, with subsequent printings selling out almost as quickly. Mosaica Press, the publisher, shared that this was a record for them. Since the release of the book, over 6,000 copies have been sold and we will be releasing the second edition of the book this fall, which will be our fifth printing.

The overwhelmingly positive response to the book showed me that I am not alone in my struggle to connect to tzeniut. But even if you don’t struggle with tzeniut at all, I hope that you walk away from this book with a new appreciation for this important Torah value. As one of our readers wrote, “As an introvert and rule-follower, it’s not really a topic I thought much about until I read your book . . . . It really gave me an appreciation for this mitzvah and a realization that I am probably missing out on the beauty of so many other mitzvot that I take for granted.”

I hope that as people become aware that there is much more to this mitzvah and middah than meets the eye, they will connect to tzeniut more deeply, each in his or her own way.

Modesty: An Educator’s Perspective

SHIFRA RABENSTEIN

As told to Barbara Bensoussan

I’ve been teaching and counseling high school students for twenty-five years. I believe we’ve made great progress during that time in the way we approach teaching about tzenius When I first started teaching, tzenius was almost exclusively about skirt length and sleeves, and the girls reacted with a certain resentment at their dress being targeted. Today we have expanded

the concept of tzenius to include an all-encompassing type of conduct. Students are no longer surprised if we refer to tzenius as a middah.

Two excellent curricula focusing on the inner self are now being used in more than fifty schools: Faigie Zelcer’s Penimi program, and Chana Noa Gelbfish’s Foundations curriculum (a broader program that includes two units on tzenius). Many schools use both programs. In a world obsessed with

externals, the girls appreciate the shift away from outer appearance and the pivot toward core values and inner life.

But I’m finding that despite the excellent teaching being offered, the girls are confused by the disconnect between what they’re learning, with its emphasis on penimiyus and authenticity, and the messages they get from the rest of the world, including the Jewish world. This was highlighted for me one day while I was having a class discussion with some twelfth graders. The conversation centered on a challenging, tech-related area of practice. All the girls acknowledged that this area was having a negative impact on their lives, and they wished it would change. But that would be impossible, they insisted, because of peer pressure. “Everyone is doing it,” they said.

“Why don’t all of you implement this change together as a group?” I suggested. “You can create your own support group.”

“Okay, I’m in,” said one of the students. “But only if our mothers do it first!”

This was a powerful moment for me. I realized that we, as adults, may be failing to model the messages we transmit to young people. We tell the girls that tzenius emphasizes the dignity of a person and the importance of what lies within. And so when it comes to shidduchim, the girls want to know why people are asking for a picture. “Why does everyone seem so concerned that I look a certain way?”

We teach the girls to get in touch with their core selves, their inner values, their authenticity. Then when it comes time to choose a seminary, too often parents wonder aloud if it will look good on the resume, rather than asking, “Which seminary will be most suited to my daughter’s growth?”

In school we try to teach them to be attuned to their inner world and to cultivate spiritual values, yet outside they are surrounded by a widespread material indulgence that is at odds with that message. When it comes to yom tov, the experience sometimes seems to revolve more around the tablescapes and the menus than the spirit of the holiday. When on vacation, we can seem more concerned with showing others where we are than the experience itself.

Tzenius teaches us not to take an inner, private experience and turn it into a photo-sharing session. It’s about valuing the self and our relationship with Hashem. We should be asking ourselves where our choices come from. Do they emerge from what is right and in sync with who we are as individuals, or are we focused on what other

Shifra Rabenstein is a well-known speaker and educator. She lives in Baltimore, Maryland, with her family.

Barbara Bensoussan is a frequent contributor to Jewish Action

people will think or say about us?

Reb Yisrael Salanter is credited with having said (I’m paraphrasing): “I set out to change the world, but I failed. . . Then I directed my efforts toward my town, without success. Then I tried to change my family, and that failed too. Finally, I decided to change myself. And that’s how I had an impact on the world.”

We can’t change the world, but we can take small steps ourselves. It’s up to us to bridge the gaps between the values of tzenius we espouse religiously and the kinds of attitudes and behaviors that have become so common, even reflexive, in today’s externally-oriented world. We should be able to appreciate ourselves and others from the inside out, and to enjoy authentic experiences in life without needing to publicize them for others. As parents, we need to work on internalizing these attitudes ourselves, sending the right messages by modeling the values we hope to promote.

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My Tzeniut Journey

JOSEPHA BECKER

Call me shallow, but I’ll spend hours deciding what to wear. I care deeply about how I’m dressed and, even more so, about tzeniut

It’s my favorite mitzvah because, when genuinely embraced, it allows me to be a true embodiment of my neshamah. And yes, I know I sound like an off-the-shelf tzeniut guidebook.

I didn’t grow up observant, and my clothes as a child and young teenager certainly weren’t halachically tzeniut When I chose to become religious, tzeniut was one of the first mitzvot I took on. This was a very deliberate choice; I was able to use my mode of dress to change how I saw myself. But it also represented a deeper transformation, a journey from external to internal, wherein dressing with tzeniut helped me to behave tzanua as well. By virtue of its nature, the mitzvah of tzeniut gave me a sensitivity for all mitzvot by fostering an attitude of humility and selfawareness within me. Being mindful and modest in the way I dressed and behaved, I found it easier to be mindful in my observance of mitzvot such as kashrut, Shabbat, gemilut chesed and tzedakah

Of course, for many, adopting tzeniut is a journey filled with challenges. Specifically, focus on the external can make tzeniut seem superficial and oppressive, something that did not resonate with me when I was living steeped in secular culture. In such an environment, the rules about dress and behavior involved in the practice of tzeniut can sometimes be seen as overly restrictive, and appear to limit personal freedom to dress and act as one pleases. In all honesty, I had to try tzeniut myself to really believe in its importance and power. I find that my experience mirrored the Jewish proclamation at Har Sinai: “Na’aseh v’nishma”—we will do and we will hear.” “Hear” is often translated as “understand,”

and just as the Jews were meant to accept the mitzvot only to understand them later, it was solely by becoming tzanua that I grasped the deep impact my dress could have on me.

What enables me to embrace tzeniut every day is the focus I have chosen to place not on concealing my body, but instead on the intention to outwardly portray my neshamah I have never defined my relationship with tzeniut through my struggles, because I know that whatever hurdles come along the way are not important in light of the overarching goal: doing Hashem’s will and knowing that He only wants good for us. This understanding far surpasses forgoing fashion trends.

Adopting tzeniut when most of my peers didn’t never bothered me. I was blessed with both a strong will and an accepting environment. The self-respect and inner confidence tzeniut instilled in me meant I didn’t need to look outward anymore for validation. I was able to rely on an inner sense of self-worth, one based on the connection I created with Hashem through my attire.

Importantly, my affinity for clothes didn’t wane. In fact, it intensified, and to assuage any doubts, I can attest that my friends still very much consider me well-dressed. To me, modesty doesn’t mean being unfashionable. It’s about mindful selection, ensuring that what I wear resonates with who I am. To equate tzeniut with unstylishness is, mildly put, a misconception.

Modesty doesn’t mean being unfashionable. It’s about mindful selection, ensuring that what I wear resonates with who I am.

Nevertheless, there absolutely were struggles along the way, some of which remain even now in my early twenties. Parting with some of my beloved non-tzeniut outfits was hard. They felt intrinsically “me,” but they also stood between me and the person I aspired to be. I had to recognize that while certain pieces flattered my body, they didn’t necessarily flatter my neshamah as well. Sometimes I’m tempted by beautiful, yet non-tzeniut items, but I remind myself that the true me, the truly beautiful me, is not just with my body. As humans we are naturally drawn to look at faces, and a person’s eyes provide a window to their soul. Modest dress directs attention toward our face, emphasizing the value of the neshamah and highlighting the self that lies within.

London.

Josepha Becker is pursuing a graduate degree at University College

A New Approach for Teens

DR. ZIPORA SCHORR

What is the approach we take with our students in the area of tzeniut, and how do we present the concept in a way that is relevant, relatable and practical?

It has admittedly been a painful evolution.

Our school is a community school, with a co-educational population that represents a wide range of religious observance. Approximately 30 percent of our students are from Modern Orthodox homes. The majority are from homes that range from unaffiliated to Conservative to Reform. (All of our Judaic studies teachers are Orthodox Jews, many products of the yeshivah system.)

This demographic requires a great deal of sensitivity—a balance between fidelity to halachah and a deep understanding of the lives of our students and their families. The challenge is making sure that contextualizing our message does not imply compromise of hashkafah or halachah.

began to describe tzeniut as an external manifestation of an internally held value. This provided us with the opportunity to guide, teach and influence our students not merely in the way they dress but, more importantly, in their attitudes, their speech and their actions.

This is where the power of the well-known verse from Michah (6:8) can be applied: “U’mah Hashem doresh mimcha ki im asot mishpat v’ahavat chesed v’hatznei’a lechet im Elokecha—And what does G-d require of you: only to do justice, and to love goodness, and to walk modestly with your G-d.”

Putting “mishpat” and “chesed” on the same plane as “hatznei’a lechet” seems to imply that tzeniut should be looked at as a character trait, a middah, an internal value that has external manifestations. Viewed through that lens, tzeniut then has relevance equally for boys and girls.

Being “countercultural” is no longer an embarrassment, but a source of pride.

Prescribing a strict adherence to the accepted practice in Modern Orthodox schools was just not working for our students, and our efforts were doomed at the outset. After appointing one teacher after another to be the “uniform czar,” we found that the role was impeding that teacher’s relationship with the students and causing unnecessary resentment and loss of morale, with little improvement in compliance.

All of this necessitated a shift in the way we viewed tzeniut, and the way we articulated that view to our students. We

Dr. Zipora Schorr has served as director of education of Beth Tfiloh Dahan Community School, in Baltimore, Maryland for the past four decades. She is a recognized leader in Jewish education and has been honored with numerous awards in the US and Israel.

In a co-educational environment, this approach becomes that much more relevant to both girls and boys, and certainly more teachable than a limited emphasis on feminine clothing alone. This concept takes on even more immediacy in this age of Instagram and TikTok, where girls think nothing of appearing dressed very immodestly in a public forum. Actually, even when dressed modestly, our children are in blatant violation of our definition of tzeniut when they lip-sync to songs with lyrics that are misogynistic at best and blatantly coarse and explicit at worst.

Trying to convey a message that speaks to our students, we crafted an approach that centers around the student’s self-image, as well as the image he or she wishes to convey to others. Asking questions like “How do you want to be viewed?” and “Are your actions and speech congruent with the person you are or the person you aspire to be?” changed the conversation from accusatory and judgmental to reflective, thoughtful and student centered.

Thus, tzeniut, translated as “dignity,” becomes a standard of speech and action that presents the student as someone in control of how he or she is viewed—by others and by themselves. (I would even venture to say that we moved away from an emphasis on halachah to an emphasis on hashkafah.)

An analogy we often draw is to the description of the aron in Shemot (25:11): “V’tzipita oto zahav tahor mi’bayit umi’chutz tetzapenu.” We are commanded to overlay the ark with gold inside and out—a powerful image of “tocho k’baro,”

being consistent in character internally and externally. That value is internalized, after repeated and consistent discussions and conversations that are overt and unapologetic, with meaningful applications to everyday teenage life and practical examples transcending the traditional understanding of tzeniut. These include an emphasis on the everyday vocabulary we use to refer to both girls and boys, to show respect and avoid objectification of others. When the broader meaning and implications of tzeniut are reinforced and internalized through everyday modeling, we begin to have a shared lexicon that represents a value system with a high degree of consonance not only between students and teachers but, more importantly, between the inner student and her outward persona. Being “countercultural” is no longer an embarrassment but a source of pride.

When discussing their actions, as well as the way they speak to and about each other, my senior class used words

Tzenius

RABBI

Tlike “dignity” and “sending a message that I deserve your respect.” Their language thus becomes an outgrowth of our value system and serves to inform it and reinforce it as well. Another direct outgrowth of this value system was a conversation impressing upon our seniors who had recently received college acceptances that demonstrating triumphalism regarding their acceptances is the antithesis of tzeniut. In this way, we emphasized that the value of personal dignity is part and parcel of tzeniut—an approach that resonated with our students overall and made tzeniut more relevant and aspirational for our non-Orthodox teens, many of whom are immersed in contemporary culture and fashion.

If we can succeed in helping our students internalize all of this, we will have succeeded in creating a “kinder, gentler” culture, in which the external is a reflection of the internal, a true culture of “hatznei’a lechet” where the lives of our students and their families are indelibly changed.

: The Key to an Inner Life

REUVEN BRAND

zenius is a gift to our generation. To appreciate this gift, we need to understand its meaning.

What is tzenius?

In its original context, tzenius describes a way of life (Micah 6:8; Mishei 11:2) characterized by privacy and concealment. It is directed to everyone: men and women. It directs us to live with an inner focus, veiling our outward actions under the cloak of privacy. Tzenius calls on us to pursue what exists beneath the surface. It draws our attention away from a physical, measurable, external world and directs us to a life within ourselves.

This internal orientation directs all of us—regardless of gender. Its focus contrasts with living by paying attention to the external world—what we term in Hebrew makom, which is the realm of objects and things that occupy space. The world of makom is characterized by limits (by definition every physical object is finite) and scarcity (there is a limit to the quantity of all physical things). The out-facing world is where we compare and measure ourselves against the things and size of others. By contrast, the inner world—the

spiritual world—is intangible and has no boundaries. It is endless, as it is connected with Hashem, the endless light.

We all know this intuitively: spirituality is found in one’s inner experience in moments of connection and meaning that exist in a person’s inner world. We know that spirituality, transcendence and G-dliness are felt within. This is why a person can have his own spiritually connected moment standing before candles in the windowsill on a winter night while a passerby feels nothing. Spirituality is found deeply within a person. It resides in our concealed, inner self.

Tzenius directs us to live life oriented to this inner world—the immeasurable, concealed world of spirituality. “Kevod Elokhim haster davar, It is the glory of G-d to conceal a matter”(Mishlei 25:2). The outer world—known as alma d’isgalya in our tradition—can distract us from our spirituality. Pursuing a life that focuses on what lies beneath the surface—the spiritual world— brings us closer to spirituality: hatznei’a lechet im Elokecha.

This inner world of spirituality is the authentic source of our self-awareness and self-esteem. Self-esteem means feeling our own value and worth. Self-worth is nurtured by an awareness of every person’s unique Divine spark, which gives each human being purpose.

Rabbi Reuven Brand is the rosh kollel of the Yeshiva University Torah Mitzion Kollel of Chicago.

We can appreciate the source of our worthiness. Looking externally, to others, for validation is unhelpful; it can be elusive, fleeting or lacking entirely. By deepening our spiritual connection, we gain an appreciation of our true self—our spiritual identity. This is the source of our worthiness: the realization that our Divine spark is our identity, and we are spiritual agents in this world. Even if nobody else acknowledges me, I sense my spirituality, which means G-d acknowledges me This spirituality can only be found within, in the depth of our being. In this way, self-esteem is correlated with spirituality, and spirituality is correlated with our inner world. This is the meaning of tzenius.

In our generation—perhaps more than in previous eras— we need tzenius. Today we are beset by unique challenges; we know them as we confront these questions: Are we struggling with acquisition of material things, consumption of products (How many Amazon boxes arrived today? Does anyone know what’s in them?) or visual images? Are we, or people in our close orbit, struggling with mental health issues? Are we finding it hard to maintain personal boundaries and privacy (consider that there was no social media twenty years ago)?

We can approach these various, although seemingly disparate, challenges in a unified way guided by a fundamental, powerful teaching of Rabbi Dr. Abraham J. Twerski, zt”l. This Chassidic rabbi and psychiatrist who treated over 40,000 patients with nearly every type of mental health challenge and whose guidance saved and transformed lives, identified the ability to maintain the quality of selfesteem as life’s central challenge. Self-esteem, defined thoughtfully as accurate self-awareness, is the foundation of the good life we seek. Rabbi Twerski made this theme the focus of his broad literary and spoken contributions. His approach to self-esteem is a keen and refreshing take on an often-misunderstood concept. Upon reflection, we realize that tzenius guides us to self-awareness and self-esteem.

The remarkable explosion of the outer, revealed world in our time pulls at us. Yet, procuring goods and comparing ourselves

to what others project actually chips away at our spirituality and often depletes our self-esteem. When we post personal photos online, are we sharing because of an inner spiritual motivation or some external pressure? How much time do we spend looking at what other people are posting? Why? To live the rewarding and meaningful lives we seek, we must commit to living inwardly. By focusing on our inner world, we turn away from the externally appealing images that can distract us from the spiritual. This explains why tzenius is so connected with seeing and what we see; leading a spiritual life is seeing what is beneath the surface. With tzenius as our manner of living, we build healthy self-esteem and a deep spirituality, directing us toward a meaningful life.

Our inner focus is required not only in the mundane aspects of life, but also in our religious lives. We—men and women— must ask ourselves, for example: Is our shul attendance focused on the pilgrimage of our inner, spiritual development or is the kiddush food or the social identification the greater concern? When we arrive at shul, are we thinking of how others perceive our appearance? Are we focused on how others look when they arrive and what they are doing? Do we engage in tefillah based on the looks of others? Or can we tap into an inner, spiritual experience in which we settle into a few moments with the Source of Life that resides deep within ourselves?

On the deepest level, the ideal of living an inward-focused life is a calling even when we are engaged in important spiritual pursuits. For those involved in talmud Torah, are we doing so for some extrinsic reason? Or are we able to tap into the spirituality that is beneath the written and spoken word?

Certainly, tzenius has many layers, practical applications and a complex (sometimes controversial) reputation. In an authentic, healthy and balanced system, all aspects and dimensions of tzenius express and reflect its core meaning: inner spirituality. By tapping into this remarkable lifestyle and energy, we create and live healthy, illuminated lives and transform the gifts of our age into conduits that refract the inner, spiritual light of our life.

Can Social Media and Modesty Coexist?

ALEXANDRA FLEKSHER

Of all contemporary religious challenges, social media tops my list. Its complexity is overwhelming, particularly due to the nature of the medium: social media isn’t just a tool, it’s a double-edged sword. You’re naive to fully embrace it, but less engaged with the world and its opportunities if you reject it. As the creative director of

an OU social media account, co-host of a podcast and a writer, social media is how I get my work out there. It’s a tool I take seriously and hold gingerly in my pocket.

There are various layers to the complexity of social media, including documented dangers. One of the primary

Modesty is an internal focus. This doesn’t mean I can’t be public, but it does mean internality needs to inform my public decisions.

challenges is modesty. No doubt, modesty in dress and appearance on social media is something even the world at large grapples with, and it is a particular struggle for teenagers on trending platforms, who may feel pressured to post compromising pictures or videos. However, there are so many other layers of depth to the challenge of modesty on social media. Social media tests our very relationship with the concept of tzenius in our lives.

Here are questions I’ve asked myself: How much brand building is appropriate for me? Is sharing promotional content for my podcast or speaking gigs self-promotion, or am I simply using this platform to share work I’m doing that adds value? What is my purpose in posting this picture of myself? Are there considerable downsides to posting vacation pictures? Will this post hurt someone? Do I need to speak directly to someone instead of raising the issue on social media? Am I aware that thousands of people will be seeing this content? In a word, the most common question I ask before I post anything is: Why?

For me, most of these are questions of modesty. Modesty is an internal focus. This doesn’t mean I can’t be public, but it does mean internality needs to inform my public decisions.

Here’s a sentiment I hear often: “Social media is, by definition, not tzenius.” This is said with the assumption that social media users are posting content exposing their innermost world. That they are using social media to selfpromote and show off. Which all happens—all the time.

And therein lies the challenge. Is it possible to use this medium in a way that doesn’t overexpose and show off? I believe it is. Discretion, self-control and propriety are required. Which is, in fact, the very essence of tzenius. Social media is a tool that isn’t by definition “not tzenius.” It’s a tool that can be used immodestly or modestly. Is it a difficult and potentially dangerous tool to use, with temptations built into its mechanics? Absolutely.

Before we arrive at any hopefully helpful or meaningful conclusions, let’s get our terms straight. What is social media?

According to Wikipedia, “Social media are interactive technologies that facilitate the creation and sharing of information, ideas, interests and other forms of expression through virtual communities and networks.”

Social media has enabled me to share the articles I’ve written and the podcast episodes I’ve hosted, as well as promote the work of others that I deem valuable. It has provided me with inspiring Jewish content that has positively impacted my growth. It has allowed me to form professional

connections that have led to new opportunities. It has given me the chance to learn about other people and their life experiences. It has provided me with like-minded friends with whom I’ve built offline relationships that have enhanced my life. It’s granted me an audience to consume the content I create, which I hope is beneficial to people. While I would never have imagined this (I’m a trained educator who only entered this space less than a decade ago), outside of my contributions to my family, media and social media are the primary tools I use to contribute to Klal Yisrael.

What is modesty? Modesty is discretion. It’s knowing what to share and what to keep hidden. Beyond halachah, the beauty of modesty is that it’s a very personal thing. For some, that means no social media. For others, that means no posting personal content. And yet for others, it’s posting thoughtfully, with boundaries and goals always at the forefront. For those of us on social media platforms, it’s our duty as religious Jews to be constantly vigilant. We must be brutally honest and examine whether we are breaching any personal boundaries of discretion. On platforms where sharing vulnerably is the gold standard, we need to remember that what we keep private is truly the most valuable part of ourselves and our lives. Getting caught up with the pressure to post daily snapshots and the resultant dopamine rush of likes and shares is a surefire way to distract us from staying focused.

In a verse in Mishlei, modesty is referenced in a surprising way that is remarkably relevant to this topic: “When arrogance appears, disgrace follows, but wisdom is with those who are modest” (Mishlei 11:2). Tzenius here is associated with wisdom and is presented as the opposite of arrogance. How true this rings when it comes to our relationship with social media.

Social media is the arrogant person’s playground and can actually lead to disgracing a person’s name and reputation. Modesty on social media means being discerning and wise. It’s being thoughtful before every post, before every piece of content is created. It’s always asking, “Why? Why am I posting this? “What is my need? Is this truly me? While social media can never capture the wholeness of me or my life, is what I’m posting a window I want to open into my reality?”

Chamath Palihapitiya, CEO of Social Capital, shared this idea in the brilliant documentary The Social Dilemma: “We curate our lives around this perceived sense of perfection because we get rewarded in these short-term signals—hearts, likes, thumbs up—and we conflate that with value and we conflate it with truth. And instead, what it really is is fake, brittle popularity that’s short term and that leaves you even more, and admit it, vacant and empty [than] before you did it.”

No doubt, social media has the potential for vacancy and lack of truth. Before we click share, we must diligently remind ourselves that social media is a tool that can be used to add value and truth to the lives of so many, as long as we use the value of internality as our compass.

Alexandra

Fleksher is an educator, columnist,

co-host

of the Deep Meaningful

Conversations podcast, and creative director of the OU’s Faces of Orthodoxy social media initiative. She lives in University Heights, Ohio, with her family.

Public and Private in the Age of Instagram

RABBI YISRAEL MOTZEN

Iam not troubled by the flaunting of one’s wealth, exotic vacations or Instagram-perfect family pictures on social media. Maybe I should be, but in the scheme of breaches of tzeniut on social media, it pales in comparison to a far more insidious form of immodesty— vulnerable posts. The vulnerable post, a self-disclosure of sorts, is in vogue and will almost always be rewarded with an abundance of likes (which ironically makes such posts not very vulnerable at all). It is, on the one hand, a reflection of a society that embraces self-awareness and emotional wellbeing, which should be applauded, and on the other, an unprecedented blurring of lines between the private and public, a basic breakdown in tzeniut

The Maharal of Prague defines tzinah as internality, a perspective and way of life that transcends the material and external and is attuned to the spirit. The premise of tzeniut, then, is that there is a difference between external and internal, the public and the private. Social media rewards and encourages the public sharing of our deepest emotions and asks of us to share as often as we possibly can, leaving us with very little left inside.

And yet, in a now-famous speech given to American pulpit rabbis, Rabbi Yosef Dov Soloveitchik, zt”l, begged them to be more open, and dare I say vulnerable, with their congregants: I do not believe that we can afford to be as reluctant, modest and shy today as we were in the past about describing our relationship with the Almighty. If I want to transmit my experiences, I have to transmit myself, my own heart (Rabbi Aaron Rakeffet-Rothkoff, The Rav: The World of Rabbi Joseph B. Soloveitchik, Volume 2 [New Jersey: Ktav Publishers, 1999], 167-169).

The Rav was encouraging rabbis to share their most intimate feelings, with the hope that in doing so, it would give their congregants a window into their own inner spiritual worlds. And while his particular focus was sharing the depths of one’s relationship with G-d, the principle is widely applicable—the sharing of one’s inner world is a powerful educational tool.

Yisrael

In truth, this was not the Rav’s own insight. Our tradition is replete with great individuals who practiced self-disclosure to the extreme. In the final chapters of Yeshayahu, the prophet shares his heartbreaking reservations over the impotency of his mission (see Radak on chap. 49). Yirmiyahu, in the third chapter of Eichah, uses the first-person account to describe his brokenness over the destruction of Tzion. And most famously, David Hamelech, throughout the book of Tehillim, shares the entire gamut of emotions through the lens of his own highs and lows. Clearly, self-disclosure is not all that bad. And here’s where I, ironically, get vulnerable. I struggle with this tension: to share or not to share. I have seen firsthand how impactful self-disclosure can be, how the sharing of a powerful yearning can inspire others to grow and how acknowledging a weakness can give others strength. I have also felt the emptiness of sharing too much, of feeling compelled to weigh in, to speak up, and to empty out the rich emotions bubbling up inside, or far worse, to share when the emotional tank is on empty. I constantly feel the magnetic draw to posting, the undeniable dopamine hit that every single “like” releases. It’s not easy navigating the vulnerable post, all the while being blinded by its appeal.

I have not yet figured it out and I doubt I ever will, but I do have some social media posting rules that I often fail at but try mightily to abide by. When I started posting on Facebook, I did some research on what many social media influencers do to gather a following. My rules, which I developed through much trial and error, are the exact opposite of what they taught me:

1. Post when it feels right. There is both a strategy and a compulsion to post all the time. Fight it. Your number of followers will undoubtedly be fewer, but you will feel better inside as you treasure the richness of your emotions. And let’s be honest, we don’t always have something to say, and that’s okay.

2. Double-check whether you need to be the center of the story. It is natural to talk about ourselves; for some of us, a little too natural. And as mentioned above, personal posts equal clicks. Can I convey the message of my post without it being about me? Despite it being socially acceptable in 2024 to do so, every “I” still smacks of self-centeredness.

3. It goes without saying that sharing information about, or pictures of, one’s own family should only be done with their permission. Even then, since posts about family tend to attract

Rabbi

Motzen is the rabbi of Ner Tamid, Baltimore, Maryland, and serves as the special assistant to the executive vice presidents at the OU.

Social media rewards and encourages the public sharing of our deepest emotions and asks of us to share as often as we possibly can, leaving us with very little left inside.

more likes, there is an additional blind spot that needs to be acknowledged when posting about family.

4. Lastly, ask yourself: Why am I posting this? Is it to further my “brand,” or do I have something meaningful to add? Every personal post depletes our limited supply of spiritualemotional oxygen.

For all the pitfalls, I have found social media to be an

To

Post or Not to Post

GILA ROSS

Iwas recently teaching high school students my course on how to have a healthy relationship with technology, and I shared with them that my husband and I both have the passwords to each other’s phones. One of the students expressed incredulity: “Where’s the trust in the relationship if you are checking up on each other?!”

We have access to each other’s phones because we choose to give each other access. It’s great for accountability if you know that someone else can see what you’re up to. Accountability may sound like an off-putting word, but it’s actually priceless. If you have something valuable that you are working toward, accountability can help you get there. Venturing into social media is venturing into a powerful world, often without realizing just how powerful it is. I started using social media more during Covid; since I was teaching over Zoom, it wasn’t too much effort to stream my

Gila Ross is an educator who has lived and taught in Israel, Germany, Canada, the UK and the US. She hosts a podcast called Power Up! and authored a book entitled, Living Beautifully: How to bring meaning, joy, and love into your life based on the timeless wisdom of Pirkei Avos. She developed Power in Your Hands, a course on how to build a healthy relationship with technology.

incredible tool for both teaching and learning Torah and for creating and being part of a community. While some may argue that the challenges to tzeniut would be grounds for deleting one’s profile entirely, tzeniut does not demand of us to stop or to hide. “Hatznei’a lechet im Elokecha”—we are enjoined to walk with tzeniut, to not lose sight of our inner world as we boldly forge forward.

classes on Torah and Judaism on Instagram as well. I noticed people tuning in and commenting from across the world. I realized that this was a powerful tool to teach and impact people. Although social media often seemed to have a negative impact, I thought to myself, Why not try and use the medium to impact people positively? So I started to learn more about how social media works and to create Jewish educational content, content that helped people see how Torah wisdom is relevant and accessible to our lives today.

At one point, I created a reel (short-form video) using a trending style that I was super proud of. It taught about the beauty of Shabbat in what I thought was a very creative way. I showed it to my husband just before I posted it, and he asked me, “Gila, is that how you want to portray yourself in public?”

I stopped and thought about the question. On the one hand there wasn’t anything outright immodest with the reel, and yet I couldn’t respond with an unequivocal yes to my husband’s question. After much back and forth, I decided to err on the side of maintaining my sensitivity and not to post that reel. That’s where accountability is so helpful. Yes, I want to teach and influence others, but what is the cost of having that platform? How does one balance having a public platform without letting it affect them personally?

While it would be nice to have a one-line answer, being on social media has an impact. So much money and research are invested in getting its users to stay on their platforms, how can it not have an impact?

The easiest person to fool is usually oneself. That’s where having clear boundaries and accountability comes in. Knowing how to share and not overshare, we can follow the lead of Yaakov Avinu, who said simply, “im lavan garti—I lived with Lavan.” Instead of going into the sordid details of what he went through in Lavan’s home and the spiritual dangers he endured, he shared just enough so that the reader is able to discern that he underwent difficulties and learn from him that it is possible to remain spiritually connected despite being in an environment that is contrary to that.

Having someone who sees what you are doing on social media—someone you trust and from whom you can accept feedback—can go a long way in keeping you close to your values.

It’s also really important to know why you are on social media. It is so easy to get caught up in the metrics of social media, the views, the likes, the comments, that the goal can easily be missed. If your goal is to influence people or to generate income, and you are achieving your goal, then you can work on ignoring the externalities. The more focused

Having someone who sees what you are doing on social media— someone you trust and from whom you can accept feedback— can go a long way in keeping you close to your values.

you are on what your goals are, while being aware of the impact social media is having on you, the more you will be able to evaluate whether those goals are worth the cost of being on social media.

Walking a Tightrope REBBETZIN RUCHI KOVAL

As told to Barbara Bensoussan

I’ve been an early adopter of technology for years. I opened a Facebook page in 2008, and a blog in 2011. Then came Instagram. In 2015, I was at a Federation event in Cleveland where the guest speaker was the CEO of Instagram.

My kids had already gotten into it, and while sitting there, I opened an account on the spot.

Some of my posts are geared more toward frum people (Meaningful Minute and WhatsApp statuses), while others are geared toward the wider Jewish community (Facebook and Instagram).

I enjoy technology and learning the culture of each platform. I also love people, so it was inevitable I’d end up using one to reach the other. The process of sharing my thoughts and feelings is natural for me; somebody once

Rebbetzin Ruchi Koval is the co-founder and associate director of Congregation JFX, an innovative kiruv community in Cleveland, Ohio. She has been a Jewish educator for two decades, leading mussar groups for adults and teens, and mentoring educators around the world.

told me, “You live out loud.” I process my life and cope with challenges through writing things out and sharing them. It helps me, and it helps others who see themselves in my posts or who find inspiration in them.

I’m a kiruv professional, and my goal with social media is to share powerful Torah content that has wisdom and conveys the beauty of Torah. I also show snippets of my own life to keep it real and show people I’m not a perfect person preaching from a pedestal, but rather a regular person who has her share of ups and downs. My inspirational content feels more authentic, because I also share how I survive and find light in the moments when I’m struggling or feeling low.

As a side benefit, my being active on social media provides publicity for my career as a public speaker and relationship coach. But I’m not there to promote myself—I’m promoting a higher cause. I sometimes hear people say, “I want to be an influencer,” and to my ears it’s like a fingernail on a chalkboard! Why are you trying to influence people? What’s your tachlis?

That’s one reason I decided to be authentic in my reels. I saw that I got more views, from both women and men, if I wore a wig and dressed up nicely. Which is kind of sad. So I made a conscious decision not to put out a curated version of myself. I’ll do reels in a tichel or with flour on my apron. My focus isn’t about putting myself out there as a celebrity. I’m selling ideas, not myself.

Social media is a tool I use to get out messages and build relationships. You avoid self-centeredness when you make relationships reciprocal, that is, when you show interest in others’ messages or express gratitude for positive comments. You can’t come in with an agenda, and you have to be authentic and genuinely invested in others. I’ve made some of my best friends through social media (real friends, not just virtual friends), in the same way dating apps sometimes result in real relationships. The process is really not much different than reaching out to people in shul or responding to comments about an article or a book you’ve written.

Tzenius, to my mind, is really about privacy. When it comes to my social media presence, which is about sharing my thoughts and my life, I sometimes find myself walking a tightrope, struggling to keep the right balance. I don’t share everything, even if it’s just about me. Even given my very open, sharing self, some things just shouldn’t be shared; it’s a matter of respecting my own privacy. You don’t want to wake up with a “vulnerability hangover” because you overshared some things that should have remained private. When my children were small, I could share their pictures

freely. Now that they’re older, I have to ask them if they mind (some love being public, some don’t). My husband is more private than I am, so at times it’s hard for him if I mention family-related things. Once, in 2007, I wrote about something significant that was going on in my family because I wanted to bring the issue out into the open. I wrote the post spontaneously, cathartically, and while I’m not proud to admit this, I did not check with my family members first. In the end they were okay with it, but it really gave me pause for the future. It taught me that I need to be more sensitive, and that the sharing of my story may encroach on someone else’s story, and therefore their privacy. My family saw that the post created enormous benefit by throwing a lifeline to so many people struggling in shame and secrecy. Today I’m very careful to ask permission before sharing other people’s private stories. I don’t want to feel silenced, yet if I step on someone’s toes, I’m better off refraining.

The benefit of sharing is that it creates conversations that would not have happened otherwise. I once created a support group on Facebook that was so beneficial we moved it to a WhatsApp chat for greater privacy. The blog post I’d shared about my family issue helped countless numbers of people. They thanked me and told me I’d given voice to their private shame, and I made one of my best friends through that post. But I’m always weighing the benefits of my posts against any potential overstepping of privacy that could happen, and checking with the people involved to make sure everyone is on board.

High Fashion, Higher Standards

Low-cost and free modest attire makes tzeniut an attainable goal

By Sandy Eller

Tamar Zinnar of New York’s Five Towns knows all too well just how difficult it can be for those who are embracing their religious roots to make the enormous leap toward dressing modestly.

Having been involved with several kiruv organizations while growing up in North Woodmere, New York, including NCSY, Zinnar made the life-changing switch from George W. Hewlett High School to Hebrew Academy of Nassau County in eleventh grade. Embracing a world of Torah and mitzvot, she began observing Shabbat and kashrut with the change to what she describes as “halachic modesty” the last area she tackled.

“Once I did it, it was the most freeing thing,” Zinnar said. “I had been able to put myself into a community with an identity, but this was special. This was holy.”

Zinnar realized that there was nothing she wanted more than to share what she was feeling with others, but also understood that committing to an entirely new look could be a daunting task. Simply finding clothing that meets tzeniut standards can be an overwhelming prospect for young women taking this step on their own, and many find themselves with little or no financial or emotional support.

Zinnar couldn’t help but jump in to offer a helping hand to a younger friend who was having a difficult time preparing for a year in seminary.

“She was struggling to find clothes that worked for her that didn’t cost a trillion dollars,” recalled Zinnar. “She didn’t feel confident in any of the outfits, so I checked my closet and realized that I had a ton of things that could work for her.”

That was how the Bat Melech Boutique was born. Reasoning that if she had plenty of unworn clothing that she would be happy to share, then others likely did as well, Zinnar reached out to her friends and sent messages out on various chats explaining that she would be running an event offering free and low-cost modest attire to those who were taking on the mitzvah of tzeniut, asking people to donate whatever they could.

After doing some serious networking, Zinnar texted two stores as well— Modernly Modest and Japparel. Much to her surprise, both were eager to donate to the cause.

“I felt like I was such a burden—who was I to ask for anything?—but thank G-d I didn’t listen to that inner voice,” said Zinnar. “They gave me beautiful things and all I could think was ‘this is new; this stuff even has tags!’ which gave me more motivation.”

By the time Zinnar ran her first annual Bat Melech clothing drive in

her aunt’s backyard in the Five Towns in August 2022, she had accumulated a nice collection of gently used and new clothing. Around eighty young women came to the Five Towns boutique, with most astonished to find that everything was stylish, modest and above all, free.

Bat Melech’s first boutique generated a huge response, and Zinnar heard from people who needed clothing as well as those who wanted to offer their help. She estimated that between collecting clothing, arranging logistics and finding volunteers, she spent months planning Bat Melech’s most recent event, held in April 2024 at a shul in the Five Towns. Zinnar reached even farther beyond her comfort zone, making face-to-face donation requests.

“It was petrifying to go into the first store,” recalled Zinnar of her foray into Eshet Chayil Boutique on Central Avenue in Cedarhurst, New York. “I told the man behind the cash register my story and that there was no pressure, but he told me to go to the sale rack and take whatever I wanted. He even gave me a card and told me to tell people to use the code ‘Tamar’ to get ten percent off their purchases.”

Close to 200 people came to Bat Melech’s most recent drive.

“You never know who’s walking in,” said Zinnar, who is twenty-one years old. “We try to help everyone.”

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Zinnar has been touched by the stories of many of the young women who have come to her boutique. There was Malky,* who had lost her father, fell into a deep depression and gained a significant amount of weight. Not being able to buy new clothing that fit was taking a toll on Malky’s self-esteem, and she walked out of Bat Melech with a spring in her step.

“She left so happy, and her smile left an imprint on our hearts,” said Zinner.

As someone who was paying for her own seminary year, Adina was overjoyed to hear about Bat Melech, because asking her parents to pay for the clothing she needed just wasn’t an option.

“I didn’t have any clothing I felt good in, and I got a lot of the basics—a black long-sleeved shell, some cute skirts and sweaters,” she says. “Everything I got I took to Israel with me, and I got such good use out of it all.”

Personal experience has shown Zinnar how clothing can play an important role in a young woman’s spiritual journey. She spent summers in Camp Nageela, a kiruv camp run by JEP, where at the end of the season, counselors gave their own clothing to their campers to ensure that they would have modest items in their wardrobes.

“I would wear those skirts and it made me feel like a part of real true community,” explained Zinnar. “I felt like I had a piece of my counselors in me and that gave me permission to act like them.”

That sentiment is at the very heart of Bat Melech, where Zinnar is a counselor, big sister and role model, all bundled up into one, providing the guidance she wished she had had just a few years earlier.

“I want to tell these girls, let me be your big sister just for this one day,” said Zinnar. “I have a big closet and I want to give you these clothes, not for style or fashion, but to help you be part of something, become the ultimate you, and connect you to a community where being in touch with other women is the most empowering thing.”

*Not her real name

HOLDING JEWISH HISTORY IN YOUR HAND

A unique collection brings 2,000 years of Jewish life alive

By David Olivestone

Bergen County, New Jersey encompasses the well-known Orthodox communities of Teaneck, Bergenfield, Englewood, New Milford and Fairlawn. The range of elementary and yeshivah high schools in the area is among the finest in North America. Opportunities for Torah study for men and women of all ages abound on every level. People often ask whether, if you count them, you will find more shuls or more kosher restaurants there.

But what is not generally known is that one of the typical, charming Teaneck homes, belonging to Rabbi Benjamin Yablok and his wife Aviva, contains an extraordinary assemblage of Jewish historical treasures, dating from Temple times to today, that is one of the most fascinating such collections in private hands anywhere.

Most people would picture a Judaica collection with large display cases full of ritual silver objects or rare books, which could hardly be contained in a private home. But although it consists of upwards of 5,000 items, Rabbi Yablok’s collection is stored in several dozen binders and boxes that fill only a few bookcases and some shelves.

That is because the artifacts in this collection consist of coins, stamps, documents, photographs, badges and other ephemera. When viewed individually, each of the items holds its own significance; as a collection they present an extraordinary wide-lens overview of Jewish history.

Rabbi Yablok was born in a small town in Ohio, where his father was in the scrap business. “He would occasionally bring me home a coin that he had come across,” Rabbi Yablok recalls, “and when I was nine or ten I got the bug and started collecting them.”

By the time he came to study at Yeshiva University, he had become interested in

Rabbi Benjamin Yablok’s collection is an extraordinary assemblage of Jewish historical treasures dating from Temple times to today.

Photos: Abbie Sophia Photography/From the collection of Rabbi Benjamin Yablok

David Olivestone served on the staffs of the British Museum and of the Encyclopaedia Judaica, and as the OU director of communications.

the coinage of several countries. “I would sometimes skip lunch in order to save money to buy coins that I wanted,” he remembers. Since he was in Manhattan, he would go to visit the various coin dealers located around Times Square. He befriended the dealers and other customers who were fellow collectors, and began to learn the ins and outs of how to buy and trade, and how to build a collection.

After he graduated and received semichah, he married and moved with his wife to Seattle, Washington, where he taught for eight years and obtained a master’s degree in school administration. This was followed by four years as a principal in Scranton, Pennsylvania, and then in 1990 he moved to Teaneck, having been appointed as associate principal of Manhattan Day School on New York’s Upper West Side, a post he happily held for twenty-five years until his retirement.

But having spent time in Israel and been exposed to its history, having visited the Israel Museum, Yad Vashem and many of Israel’s other remarkable storehouses of knowledge, Rabbi Yablok decided there was a whole Jewish world to collect, and so he began to concentrate on Jewish coins. “I still have,” he says, “the first ancient pruta coin that I bought in the Old City, probably for about three dollars—and it’s not worth a whole lot more today—but that got me started.”

Eventually, he was able to collect samples of all the coins minted by the various regimes that dominated the land of Israel through the ages. He notes that while many of them do exist in multiples, they are often hard to come by. Others are quite rare and of important historical value. “If I tell people that I have coins and weights from the time of the Beit Hamikdash,” he says, “they are very skeptical.”

But Rabbi Yablok’s fascination with collectibles has by no means been limited to coinage. His binders are carefully divided into a dozen other topics, such as shuls depicted on postage stamps; pre-State land of Israel; Sephardic Jewry; Jewish campaign buttons; World War I; autographs of all of Israel’s prime ministers; the Shoah and more.

The many artifacts from the Shoah range from the startling to the horrific: paper money issued by the Nazis to be used by Jews incarcerated in the ghettos; a letter that says, “Je ne pas Juif,” so a potential employer could know it was

Before coins were minted in about the sixth or fifth centuries BCE after the destruction of the First Beit Hamikdash, merchants would weigh payments of silver and gold on a balance scale. Weight stones were used to indicate to marketplace vendors and their clients the relative worth of their items. The Torah discusses the need for honest weights and measures in Vayikra 19:36: “You shall not falsify measures of length, weight or capacity.”

Seen here, three scale weights (avnei tzedek) from the era of the First Beit Hamikdash, inscribed in ancient Hebrew. From left: Beqa, pim and netzef Beqa is mentioned in Shemot 38:26 referring to the weight of a half shekel.

Shekel and halfshekel coins from the time of the first Jewish revolt against the Romans, 67-70 CE.

okay to hire this person because he’s not Jewish; a passport with a big red J on it for Jude; and a heter me’ah rabbanim granting halachic permission to remarry to a man whose wife was taken to the Belzec extermination camp but whose death no one actually witnessed.

Aviva Yablok once challenged her husband as to why he thought it was right to hold on to items such as these, that should really belong to the families of the victims. He pointed out that most survivors didn’t want any remembrance of what they had gone through, and they discarded their yellow stars and their red stamped passports. Many of these things became collectors’ items. “If the families wanted them,” he added, “they would have kept them. But this way I can use them in my teaching and share their significance with my students.”

Some families do have a sensitivity and want to hold on to everything. But when one of Rabbi Yablok’s colleagues learned what he was doing, he gave him one of two yellow stars that his late mother had kept from her time in the Drancy camp in France. “Dedicated collectors,” Rabbi Yablok observes, “can get excited about something like that, even though what it represents is horrible.”

The more than 500 Sephardic documents and photographs in the collection originate from twelve different communities all over the Middle East. Some are written in Ladino and some are in Solitreo, the standard Sephardic Hebrew script used for Judeo-Spanish in the Balkans and Turkey. Rabbi Yablok’s sister married into a Sephardi family, and so he knows where to turn if he needs something translated. “In fact, the whole collection,” he says, “has been my portal to learning about languages, about alphabets, about monarchs, and about Jews around the world.”

After October 5, 1938, the passports of all German Jews were marked with a red “J” for Jude/Jew, which limited their options to travel and escape.

Currency, in half to fifty-mark denominations, printed May, 1940 for use in the Lodz Ghetto. This was token money issued when the internee’s real German money was confiscated. Nicknamed “Rumkies” after Chaim Rumkowski, the ghetto leader who signed them, they were worthless outside the ghetto walls.

Rabbi Yablok has about one hundred postage stamps that feature shuls. Interestingly, only about a dozen of them, which mostly depict the ruins of ancient synagogues, are from Israel, and only one is from the United States. But several countries in Europe and in the Far East have issued stamps portraying synagogues, some as part of sets celebrating national architecture, others honoring the local Jewish population. A few commemorate special events such as major renovations or important visitors, or synagogue buildings destroyed in the Holocaust. (One problem that Rabbi Yablok has encountered when using these images in his teaching is that many young people today have no idea what a postage stamp is used for.)

The 700 buttons in the collection were worn to identify with and to promote political campaigns, social issues or other causes. Before social media, many people wore buttons as a means of self-expression, and “Jewish” buttons, according to Rabbi Yablok, proliferated in the 1960s as the cause of Soviet Jewry inspired dozens of designs. To reach immigrant Jewish populations, political campaigns would hand out buttons with translations of their slogans into Yiddish (such as “Ich gleich Ike” for Dwight D. Eisenhower’s “I like Ike” 1952 presidential

campaign), or would simply transliterate the candidate’s name into Hebrew characters. Buttons were also popular to identify affiliation with youth movements (“Real happiness is NCSY”), protest movements (“Free Pollard Now!”), and for religious messages (“Be happy, it’s Adar”).

Once Rabbi Yablok reached the point where he felt he could make coherent presentations on Jewish history showing the actual items or their images in PowerPoint presentations, he began speaking in shuls and schools across the country. He found that the immediacy of showing the actual item he was teaching about would have a huge effect.

For example, he cites Rashi on Shemot 21:32, where the Torah specifies a payment of thirty shekalim for damage done to the property of others. In order to convey to his contemporaries the worth of a shekel, Rashi mentions the medieval European standard for silver, which was based, he says, on a coin struck in Cologne. “I have the actual coin that Rashi refers to,” says Rabbi Yablok, “stamped with the word ‘Colonia,’ and when I show it, it makes Rashi come alive.”

Without hesitation, he rattles off in quick succession the names and the relative values of all the coins mentioned in the Talmud, and of all the coins minted by the rulers of Eretz Yisrael in successive eras. He has researched the historical background of each example and has labeled them accordingly.

Before social media, many people wore buttons as a means of self-expression, and “Jewish” buttons proliferated in the 1960s as the cause of Soviet Jewry inspired dozens of designs. To reach immigrant Jewish populations, political campaigns would distribute buttons with translations of their slogans into Yiddish, such as “Ich gleich Ike” for Dwight D. Eisenhower’s “I like Ike” 1952 presidential campaign.

Whether it be a coin or a document, from the specific time and place that you’re talking about, you show people something that was actually there—that to me is better than five lectures or six encyclopedias. That’s the point; it’s that feeling.

When he retired, Rabbi Yablok set about creating a website, www.virtualjewishmuseum.com, photographing every item and posting a description of each. He sees this as another way in which he can share his collections with others. “Also,” he adds reluctantly, “I knew the time would come for me to part with it all, and this way I could still look lovingly at the things I have collected over more than fifty years.”

And indeed now, having reached his middle seventies, Rabbi Yablok is ready to divest himself of most of the collection, although he is set on retaining a few favorite items. Like most serious collectors, he does not want his beloved treasures to be dispersed piecemeal, but rather that they find their way to other collectors who will really appreciate owning them. “In all the years,” he remarks, “I haven’t yet come across anyone else out there who does exactly what I have done.” But today collecting has become much more widespread and there are many auction houses with weekly online sales of Judaica items.

Rabbi Yablok continues to give presentations to shuls and schools, triggering intense interest and often amazement in audiences young and old alike. His collections have forged a continuous link from the ancient Hebrew writing on the first pruta coin that he purchased to the digital images on his website. His passion for bringing Jewish history alive has suffused his own life, and it is a passion that he has used to enrich the lives of others.

“You hold something in your hand,” says Rabbi Yablok with his trademark enthusiasm, “whether it be a coin or a document, from the specific time and place that you’re talking about, you show people something that was actually there—that to me is better than five lectures or six encyclopedias. That’s the point; it’s that feeling.”

To see Rabbi Yablok’s collections online, visit www.virtualjewishmuseum.com.

Is Compromised Tzenius the Cost of Being A Communal Leader?

By Moishe Bane

Tzenius was never really on my radar screen when I was a pre-teen. If mentioned at all, it was referenced as a dress code, most pertinent when in school or shul and, even then, only for girls. When my classmates were having bar mitzvah parties, there was chatter regarding tzenius rules for girls. It left me with the impression that tzenius is a set of attire restrictions intended to frustrate the provocation of promiscuity. In my thirteen-year-old mind it struck me as similar to the restrictions of muktzah, which I had learned were rabbinically introduced to impede the violation of the Biblical prohibitions of Shabbos.

While attending the all-boys Ner Israel high school, I was taught that tzenius, in addition to being a set of rules, is a character virtue. But unlike other traits like anivus (humbleness), hasmadah (diligence) and chevrashaft (fraternity), tzenius was only sporadically mentioned. During those early yeshivah years I

primarily encountered tzenius when overhearing the older bachrim reference a proposed shidduch candidate’s tzenius practices as reflecting her degree of alignment with the lifestyle values of the bachur. Tzenius evolved in my mind from being a tool for behavior modification to a tool for judging people, women in particular.

Little did I imagine that decades later I would be grappling with the esoteric religious value of tzenius when pondering whether to assume the role of OU president.

Uncovering Tzenius

Over the years I began to awaken to the nuanced mindfulness and behavioral choices contained within the ethos of tzenius. In small incremental steps and by arduously discarding prior misimpressions, I gradually discerned the expansiveness and import of tzenius Most unexpected was discovering the significance of tzenius in accessing spirituality.

The first indication that tzenius was more than about criticizing sleeve lengths and tight garments was when I noticed that the word tzenius was also being employed to criticize many other behaviors and practices, such as materialistic opulence and personal swagger. Before delving into why those types of behaviors were criticized as tzenius violations, I had to consider the possibility that tzenius is simply a word appropriately used whenever conveying disapproval.

The next route was exploring the

commonality among the types of behavior that elicited tzenius grievances. My first observation was that, though frowned upon for other reasons, extravagance and lavishness are not criticized as being “un-tzeniusdik” when they are indulged in privately, but suffer such criticism when conducted deliberately for public display. Similarly, pride in extraordinary personal accomplishments is encouraged when shared with friends and family but may be castigated as “un-tzeniusdik” when broadcast publicly and loudly for all to hear.

It became evident to me that, as I had been taught in yeshivah, tzenius itself is actually a character trait. By its nature, it encompasses certain areas of halachah, but it is much more than that. And most certainly, the trait of tzenius applies to men as well as to women, as reflected in its Biblical source, “U’mah Hashem doresh mimcha ki im asos mispat, v’ahavas chesed, v’hatznei’a leches im Elokecha— And what does G-d require of you but to employ justice, and to love goodness and to walk modestly with your G-d” (Michah 6:8). Not only are there no gender allusions, but the pasuk is understood by the Talmud in Makkos (24a) as the prophet Michah providing the basis of all 613 mitzvos, not just those that are applicable to women.

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

Three Dimensions of Jewish Focus

As reflected in Pirkei Avos (1:2, 2:11 and 4:21), Judaism sees personal religious development in three facets: our relationship with others, our relationship with Hashem and our relationship with ourselves. In addition to being applicable to our overarching religious growth, this three-dimensional view of Judaism applies equally to each character trait that demands our attention, whether it is a personal strength that we are charged with harnessing for growth or a personal weakness that we are challenged to overcome. Tzenius must therefore be studied in all three dimensions.

When contemplating the assumption of the OU presidency, I recognized that the implications and impact of tzenius are particularly acute for those assuming highly visible communal roles. I realized that this same challenge is posed to anyone undertaking a high-visibility professional communal position such as a rabbi, educator or politician. Needless to say, entertainers are particularly vulnerable to tzenius challenges. I therefore explored from each dimension the tzenius implications for public figures.

Dimension 1: Relating to Others through Integration

Curiously, although we are introduced to tzenius by a pasuk addressing only our relationship with Hashem, we confront tzenius most often in the way we appear to or communicate with others. Recognizing the exact types of behaviors or language that can result in a breach of modesty may identify those social dynamics that the trait of tzenius is intended to influence.

While provocativeness and inciting envy are two commonplace examples of immodesty, they are merely representative of numerous actions or behaviors that violate tzenius when employed to purposefully draw attention to oneself. Even when not provocative, being inordinately loud and boisterous, adopting attention-grabbing antics and

wearing flashy, outlandish clothing may all be considered violations of tzenius My father, a”h, once observed that drawing attention by driving a strikingly beat-up jalopy (when you are well-to-do) may be as much a deficiency in tzenius as another fellow driving an exceptionally flamboyant sports car.

What is common to all these immodest behaviors? They all relate to whether the individual is seeking to meld into the community of Klal Yisrael or be distinct and apart.

Identifying oneself as an integrated member of our community is core to being a Torah Jew and our character and behavior should advance this goal. Dereliction in the middah of tzenius compromises this identity by allowing our actions or behaviors to create detachment and distinctiveness. This should not be misinterpreted to suggest that the Torah discourages individuality. However, our personal uniqueness is intended to serve as a part of the collective fabric of the tzibbur. The ethos and behavioral parameters of tzenius provide guidance on how to cultivate our individuality while remaining interwoven with our peers and thereby with Klal Yisrael. Admittedly, I have always been somewhat idiosyncratic and have often been taught by my rebbeim that we each have a personal life mission. But I have also cherished being part of a chevra and have embraced my primary identity as being a member of Klal Yisrael. So I worried that the exaggerated degree of visibility and distinction often caused by adopting a public role, such as that of OU president, could be exactly the kind of compromised tzenius I was schooled to avoid.

While certain highly visible communal leaders become pompous and arrogant, the majority of rabbis, public speakers and communal leaders retain their integrity and wholesomeness (for the most part) and avoid forfeiting their essential identity as a communal member. How do individuals perpetually in the communal spotlight retain their sense of tzenius and the connectivity with others that tzenius nurtures?

Eventually I became comfortable with assuming the OU position

upon recognizing that, if performed appropriately, communal roles such as a pulpit rabbi or institutional head are actually opportunities to intensify one’s integration into the tzibbur, rather than to become distinct from it. Undoubtedly, if the position is exploited for selfaggrandizement, gratuitous visibility or personal benefits, the leader’s sense of self will inevitably drift from the rank and file he is serving. But when selflessly faithful to the mission, a community servant invests his essence into the klal, creating an unparalleled opportunity for genuine integration into Klal Yisrael.

The challenge of assuming a public profile is thus not the compromising of tzenius but rather the difficulty of staying mission-focused and overcoming the allure of entitlement that even minimal fanfare tends to generate.

Dimension 2: Relating to Hashem through Intimacy

Married life is launched with a wedding, incorporating our family and friends into our nuptial celebration. Thereafter, the relationship is enhanced by the couple being connected to both a nurturing extended family and a supportive community. But the marriage relationship truly flourishes through sublime and endearing spousal gestures of love, both physical and verbal.

The middah of tzenius dictates that such demonstrations of affection take place while in seclusion. Judaism’s emphasis on such privacy is not a reflection of prudishness. To the contrary, our Torah values encourage and celebrate these very expressions, albeit only when out of the sight of others. This dimension of tzenius engenders a most precious and treasured relationship, one that emerges from the intimacy achievable only while alone.

Nurturing a relationship with Hashem is no different. Just as in marriage, much of our avodas Hashem takes place in the context of community. Many mitzvos are collective communal functions, and even personal activities, such as prayer and Torah study, are encouraged to take place publicly, in a shul or beis midrash.

Personalized expressions to Hashem of gratitude, joy or grief also commonly and appropriately take place in the company of others.

But just as a married couple’s most intimate moments occur in a cocoon of privacy, significant religious experiences conducted beyond the observation of others are essential to our connection to Hashem. The trait of tzenius ensures that we include the community in our religious observances but refrain from flaunting them. The berachah on food that we recite while alone, the anonymous acts of charity, the private utterances to G-d when grateful or in need, and the discipline to resist improprieties in solitude are all acts of tzenius, and they are the foundation of the most precious aspects of spiritual intimacy.

Moreover, these unseen acts of devotion are essential to ensuring that our practice of Judaism is more than just a quest for social acceptance, and that our religious discipline is not merely fostered by an eagerness for respect and approbation. These messages may well have been the primary lessons conveyed by the prophet Michah when directing us to walk modestly with Hashem.

A disproportionate portion of the religious practices of rabbis and communal leaders is communal, with fewer opportunities to generate the particularly beautiful relationship with Hashem that can only be cultivated in private. Moreover, since the commitment they bear to mitzvah observance is so often under a watchful (and judgmental) public eye, they also have fewer opportunities to crystallize the purity and sincerity of their devotion.

While contemplating whether to assume the OU presidency, this challenge initially concerned me. Honesty and self-awareness, however, compelled me to acknowledge that the private, intimate aspects of a relationship with Hashem had never before been my focus, and thus, greater communal visibility would introduce little downside. If anything, I mused that the weight of communal decisions might actually cause me to increase instances of turning to Hashem in private supplication.

In any event, as it turned out, I spent about a quarter of my presidency in Covid-induced yechidus (seclusion), alone with either my wife and/or the Creator. I wonder whether there was another period in recent memory in which each of us was afforded such an extended opportunity to walk with Hashem with tzenius

soul, his neshamah, serves as the basis of his connection to Hashem, and a neshamah cannot be twisted, adulterated or misrepresented. Connecting to spirituality relies on sincerity and genuineness. The trait of tzenius, perhaps above all else, ensures that we retain and hone our authenticity by shedding efforts to focus on the external, rather than our inner self. The trait of tzenius should help us be “real.”

As noted earlier, public visibility, and certainly celebrity, risk both disorienting our relationship with G-d and tainting the realness and connection we might otherwise achieve with others. But the greatest damage might be that of jeopardizing one’s own authenticity. Each of us struggles with balancing our natural concern for how others see us and our eagerness to remain true to ourselves. But the role of highly visible communal leaders actually demands that they deliberately project an appropriate image and make lifestyle choices that accommodate public expectations. I worried that assuming such a role would make me particularly vulnerable to losing touch with my real self.

Individuals in high-profile communal roles are particularly challenged in ensuring that their avodas Hashem is conducted with the trait of tzenius .

Dimension 3: Relating to One’s Self through Authenticity

Tzenius’ greatest impact, subtle and often overlooked, may be on our relationship with ourselves. Tzenius violations of all types, whether in action, behavior or demeanor, are all efforts to affect how one is viewed or perceived by others. Eye-catching opulence, seductive attire or simply making a spectacle of oneself are all efforts to frame one’s identity through the eyes of others, rather than by one’s true inner self.

An essential, in fact, foundational, prerequisite to being a pious Jew, an oved Hashem, is authenticity. One’s

I never fully resolved this concern, and remain wary of the risk of a highvisibility role deluding even the most sincere individual into confusing his authentic self with his public self. But this concern extends to all of us, whether or not we play a public role. We receive mixed rabbinic messages, with many teachings directing us to be mindful of appearances and others urging us to be indifferent to the perceptions of others.

But what I ultimately realized (and what I suspect many rabbinic and lay leaders similarly conclude) is that if my strengths and the opportunities afforded to me introduce avenues to significantly advance the needs of the community, I cannot justify evading that duty due solely to the risks it poses to my personal needs. Moreover, if my strengths, skills and passions dictate adopting a visible public role, assuming that role may actually be the most authentic expression of my personal mission.

A LIFELINE FOR ISRAELI TEENS

By Chaim Pelzner

Israeli youth have a lot of time on their hands. The national school day ends early and youth, particularly in economicallydisadvantaged areas, are left to fend for themselves. This often leads to unfortunate results. There also are significant pockets of time on Fridays, weekends and vacations. Some teens fill the time by joining youth movements. Unfortunately, 83 percent of Israeli youth do not.

This is the primary reason we at OU Israel established Makom Balev, housed in OU Israel Teen Centers in some of the nation’s toughest areas in the north and south. Modeled after the OU’s highly successful NCSY youth movement, Makom Balev provides programming for boys and girls, where they gain leadership skills and are empowered to believe in themselves

and take charge of their lives. We also initiated the Jack E. Gindi Oraita Program, which aims to take at-risk teens off the street, guide them through their life challenges and help them prepare for a successful future.

We currently serve more than 2,000 youth, and operate neighborhood Teen Centers in twenty communities, from Kiryat Shemona to Dimona. A significant number of our teens are native Israelis who thrive when given a lifeline out of poverty. Others are immigrants from Russia, Ukraine and Ethiopia; still others are Anglos who struggle with adjusting to Israeli culture. We also have members from the Bnei Menashe community.

Equipped with pool tables, games and even a beit midrash, our centers offer teens a warm, safe refuge. We build young people’s self-esteem by providing opportunities for success. We want these kids to become independent, to learn how to create, how to give and, eventually, how to lead.

Even something as simple as meal preparation is an exercise to learn skills and responsibility. Instead of getting Bissli or Bamba at our Teen Centers, a hungry teen will find plenty of ingredients in the kitchen to make soup, shakshouka or grilled cheese.

Serving in the IDF is one of the most important ways for our teens to break the cycle of poverty and become contributing members of Israeli society. On average, 94 percent of our alumni enlist in the IDF and National Service, where they gain self-esteem and skills that help them succeed as well as acquire social connections that can propel them forward professionally.

Whenever possible, we encourage teens to attend yeshivot hesder, or prearmy preparatory religious mechinot

rather than go straight into army service. Graduates of these programs are more likely to stay religious in the army. Since these programs can be costly, we help teens secure financial aid so they can build a stronger connection to Torat Yisrael, Am Yisrael and Eretz Yisrael.

Our programs’ success is based on our exceptional cadre of madrichim, the dedicated religious men and women who serve as role models and mentors. Many are themselves alumni of our programs, who want to give back to help the next generation. They form deep and meaningful relationships with the teens and become an integral part of their lives.

When we first started our youth programs in the 1990s, we tried to recruit students by working within the schools; however, not every school would let us in. About ten years ago, a secular high school accused us of hadata (religious indoctrination), and the principal asked us to leave. Then, one of the students, who had attended our programs, lost his father. He had a difficult time coping with the loss and ended up in jail. Sadly, when he was released from prison, he simply couldn’t adjust to society and took his own life.

During the shivah, our madrichim organized prayers and meals for the family and brought the young boy’s friends to be menachem avel. The principal who had previously forced us to leave was so overtaken by the warmth and devotion she saw that she let us back into the school. Now she says she won’t do anything without OU Israel.

She’s not alone. Because of our caring and commitment to each child, we have a waiting list of schools and communities asking for our programs. Communities resonate with another aspect of OU Israel’s approach. We

Chaim Pelzner is director of programs for OU Israel’s Makom Balev and the Oraita Program for youth.

Ten of our centers were located in bomb shelters—so we can’t use them.

encourage our teens to have knowledge of and pride in their unique cultures and heritage. For example, in Kiryat Gat, we are based in an Ethiopian neighborhood, so we encouraged the teens to build a Beit Gujo, the traditional mud huts where Ethiopian Jews lived to avoid assimilation. Teens, residents and guests from Israel and abroad now come to meet the teens and learn about the Ethiopian culture.

The events of October 7 and the resulting war turned the lives of Israelis upside down, particularly our vulnerable at-risk teens. The war has only intensified their challenges, and they are struggling. They want to know where G-d was on October 7. They want to know why the IDF didn’t protect them. Some have lost family and friends in the war, and they are grieving their losses. Many of their fathers and siblings have been called up to the reserves. Many teens from border towns in the south

and north have been evacuated to hotels scattered throughout the country, with no certain date of return.

Despite one-third of the OU Israel staff being called up to the IDF, our madrichim have been showing up for our teens from the start. They are keeping in regular contact with each of their students, and organizing events, meetings and get togethers in evacuee hotels and our centers when possible. Ten of our centers were located in bomb shelters—so we can’t use them. In some towns, we’ve relocated to private homes, synagogues or schools.

We also offer teens age-appropriate therapy, such as photo therapy, where they explore and express their emotions through photography; and dog therapy, which involves interactions with trained animals, providing comfort and support. The logistics of running programs for evacuees are extremely challenging. Our teens are scattered in over 100 locations.

We recently ran two Shabbatons, one for boys and one for girls, for 150 displaced youth and fifty staff members that required picking up teens from dozens of locations. On Purim, the head of our Kiryat Shemona center traveled to twenty hotels to distribute mishloach manot. Contrary to what many think, extended living in evacuee hotels is not fun. The disruption of regular family life is detrimental to everyone, particularly to parents and teens. They often live on different floors and have limited common spaces to be together, which contributes to a communication and relationship breakdown. In fact, a fifteen-year-old evacuee living in a hotel just told us that she hasn’t seen her mother for a week. There is very little for teens to do, and often no friends nearby. That’s why we added an extra layer of teen support with the opening of a hotline where teens have a caring, trained adult ready to speak with them about their many challenges including loneliness, sadness and even suicidal thoughts.

I’ve been with the OU since 1999 and I don’t remember a time as challenging as this. We are inspired and unceasing in our work because we believe each and every teen deserves a strong future. I’m proud to be part of the OU family doing this work now. Am Yisrael Chai

OU Israel Teen Centers serve more than 2,000 youth in twenty communities from Kiryat Shemona to Dimona. Equipped with pool tables, games and even a beit midrash, the centers offer teens a warm, safe refuge that provides opportunities to build young people’s self-esteem. “We want these kids to become independent, to learn how to create, how to give and, eventually, how to lead,” says Chaim Pelzner, director of programs for OU Israel’s Makom Balev and the Oraita Program for youth.

High Steaks: The Kashrus of Lab-Grown Meat

Talking with Rabbi Menachem Genack, CEO, OU Kosher

Jewish Action:

What exactly is lab-grown meat?

Rabbi Menachem Genack:

Lab-grown meat, also known as synthetic or clean meat, is essentially “meat” grown in a lab from animal cells, resulting in a product genetically identical to conventional meat. Clean meat companies, still in the start-up stage, are working on developing this technology.

JA: Is clean meat kosher?

RG: It has the potential to be kosher—but it depends on a few factors.

Firstly, if the animal cells are derived from a non-kosher animal, the end product will be non-kosher as well. This is based on the principle of yotzei min hatamei tamei, anything derived from something that is non-kosher is non-kosher. Thus, the OU’s position is that clean bacon is not kosher, since the original cells of the pig serve as the source. Secondly, some clean-meat companies prefer to extract cells from live animals. The OU’s position is that this presents a problem of eiver min hachai (eating a limb torn off a live animal). Therefore, a kosher animal would need to be slaughtered before its

cells could be extracted for the purpose of growing them in a lab.

Finally, the shechitah would need to take place under reliable kosher supervision.

To summarize: in order for clean meat to be kosher, the original cells must come from a kosher animal that was slaughtered under reliable kosher supervision

It is worth noting that given the sensitivity of creating kosher meat in this manner, it will undoubtedly require close monitoring and a high level of kosher supervision.

JA: Does lab-grown meat have the status of meat or pareve?

RG: On the face of it, one would assume such meat would be pareve. Modern science is able to reconstruct the host environment, allowing the stem cell to grow and multiply. Thus, most of the growth takes place outside of the animal, which perhaps suffices to render the product pareve. Furthermore, the original biopsy is miniscule compared to the final product. Additionally, just because something is derived from meat doesn’t necessarily give it the status of meat. The most dramatic example of this is, of course, milk: milk comes from an animal, but it obviously does not have the status of meat.

We turned to many posekim within the OU orbit with these questions. Some rabbinic authorities ruled that clean meat is pareve, while others determined it to be fleishig

Rav Asher Weiss, a leading dayan in Israel and halachic advisor for OU Kosher, maintains that lab-grown meat is halachically identical to meat. In his view, if it looks like meat and has all the characteristics of meat, it is meat.

Rav Hershel Schachter, rosh yeshivah at Yeshiva University and halachic advisor for OU Kosher, maintains that lab-grown meat is not meat on a Biblical level (deOraisa), but it does have the status of meat on a rabbinic level. In other words, lab-grown meat has the same status as poultry. From a Biblical perspective, it is not forbidden to eat or cook poultry with milk. The rabbis forbade it due to poultry’s similarity to meat, in order to avoid confusion and the potential violation of a Biblical prohibition. So too, due to its similarity to conventional meat, lab-

Rabbi Menachem Genack has served as CEO, OU Kosher, since 1980. Special thanks to Rabbi Gavriel Price, rabbinic coordinator, OU Kosher, for his assistance in preparing this article.

In the past five years, billions of dollars have been spent on developing the 100plus startups in the [lab-grown meat] industry.

cells and the resultant meat are kosher. No shechitah is necessary in this case, because the cells come from eggs, not animals.

After a series of in-depth halachic discussions and scientific reviews, the OU determined that SuperMeat's chicken cell line adheres to kosher meat mehadrin standards. These reviews focused on avian embryogenesis and stem cells, including observing the drawing of embryonic stem cells from a fertilized chicken egg prior to the appearance of blood spots.

livestock production plays a huge role in contributing to the world’s greenhouse gases annually. The carbon footprint, they contend, would be greatly diminished if we move away from slaughtering cattle. There is also a tremendous need for new sources of protein. As the world population grows, and companies and governments search for new sources of protein, clean meat is increasingly being viewed as a way to stabilize a source of protein for future generations.

grown meat is, in Rav Schachter’s view, considered meat on a rabbinic level and is therefore subject to the same rabbinic prohibitions as poultry.

After much consultation with posekim, the OU is taking a stringent position, and regards lab-grown meat as meat on a Biblical level. It should be noted, however, that even according to those rabbinic authorities who regard lab-grown meat as pareve, such meat would need to be treated carefully because of the halachos of maris ayin, that is, the prohibition against doing something that may cause another to think that one violated halachah. This is similar to the halachah [Shulchan Aruch, siman 87] stating that one who wants to cook meat with almond milk should place almonds or almond milk on the table to clearly indicate that he is not cooking or eating meat and milk together.

Incidentally, the issue of maris ayin also applies to plant-based burgers, such as the Impossible Burger. One eating an Impossible Burger with cheese should, for example, place the Impossible Burger package on the table.

There is a machlokes as to whether the issue of maris ayin applies even when one is alone in his home.

JA: Is there a way of producing kosher labgrown meat without requiring slaughter?

RG: SuperMeat, a leading cultivated meat company based in Israel, is developing chicken meat using an entirely different method—extracting stem cells of fertilized chicken eggs. If the cells are drawn from the egg before blood spots develop, the

The question then becomes: What is the status of chicken meat derived from the stem cells of fertilized chicken eggs—is it pareve or fleishig? The OU has yet to make a determination. (Interestingly, the CEO of SuperMeat told me that he would prefer that his product be considered meat, not for halachic reasons but because of marketing considerations—the company wants its products to be viewed by consumers as real meat.)

JA: Why all the excitement surrounding lab-grown meat?

RG: Clean meat is being hailed as a humane and climate-friendly solution to traditional animal agriculture. There are those who maintain that

JA: Does lab-grown meat offer any particular benefits to the kosher consumer?

RG: In traditional meat production, the kosher market can only make use of about 20 percent of meat—only about 40 percent of animals are glatt (i.e., free of adhesions in the lungs that may make them treif), and of the glatt animals, in the US we generally only use about half of the animal because the Ashkenazi custom is not to use the hindquarters at all since they contain the forbidden fats and sciatic nerve (cheilev and gid hanasheh). Lab-grown meat would not have these concerns, and therefore 100 percent of the meat would be kosher. Ultimately this could significantly lower the cost of kosher meat.

CHLOE SORVINO, “EVERYTHING YOU NEED TO KNOW ABOUT LAB-GROWN MEAT NOW THAT IT’S HERE,” FORBES, JUNE 27, 2023

phenomenon, an interesting possible parallel is discussed in the Talmud: meat produced by a miracle. In Sanhedrin 59b, the Gemara relates the following incident:

As Rabbi Shimon ben Chalafta was walking along the way, he encountered lions that were roaring at him. He said: “The young lions roar after their prey [and seek their food from G-d]” (Psalms 104:21). Two thighs [of an animal] descended [from heaven] for him. The lions ate one [of the thighs] and left one. He took it and entered the study hall, and inquired about it: “Is this a kosher item or a non-kosher item?” The Sages said to him: “Certainly it is kosher, as a non-kosher item does not descend from Heaven.”

Rav Asher Weiss cites this as support for

not meat at all. This must be because as long as it is indistinguishable from meat, even if it “descended from Heaven,” it is considered meat.

JA: When do you think synthetic meat will be available to the kosher consumer?

RG: Bringing lab-grown meat to market may take a number of years; government approval is required, and it must become financially feasible. But this technology undoubtedly has tremendous potential to change the way we eat. As we are the leading kosher agency in the world, companies are reaching out to us; they want to know how we would view such a product halachically. We

WHAT’S THE TRUTH ABOUT. . .

BOILING THREE EGGS?

By Rabbi Dr. Ari Z. Zivotofsky

MISCONCEPTION : When making hard-boiled eggs, there is a halachic requirement to boil at least three eggs at a time, so that if a blood spot is found in one of them, it will be nullified by the others, and the other eggs and the pot will remain halachically permissible to use.1

FACT : There is such a tradition, but it is not mentioned in the Shulchan Aruch or other classic halachic sources.

Background: Cracking eggs and checking for blood spots is a hallmark of a Jewish kitchen. The Kitzur Shulchan Aruch (46:1) succinctly summarizes the reason for this: “Blood found in eggs is prohibited and sometimes the whole egg is prohibited, and therefore, when making a dish with eggs, they should be checked.” But as will be seen, it is not actually so straightforward.

In multiple places, the Torah warns against eating blood, with the actual prohibition derived from Vayikra 7:26: “Do not eat any blood, from an animal or a bird, wherever you live.”

The Gemara (Keritot 21a) concludes that this does not include blood inside an egg. There is a debate as to which blood the Gemara is referring to when it says that egg blood is permitted, as there are two potential sources of blood in eggs, as will be explained.

The Making of an Egg

The fowl egg begins its journey in the ovary of the hen, where there is a cluster of developing ova or yolks. Once a yolk is fully developed— and this happens almost daily in modern layers (hens that are raised to lay eggs)—ovulation takes place,2 whereby the yolk is released from the ovary into the oviduct, a meterlong, convoluted tube made up of five sections, initiating an approximately twenty-five-hour-long process in which the albumen (egg white), shell membranes and shell are added and the egg is laid. It is in the first section of the oviduct, where the yolk spends a mere fifteen to eighteen minutes, that fertilization can occur. In a conveyorbelt-like system, the developing egg moves along, with the egg white added in after about three hours, then shell membranes are attached, and finally, in a twenty-plus-hour process, the shell is deposited around the egg, followed by the addition of a thin outer coating of mucus.

For the microscopic ovum to mature requires a great deal of nutrients, which are supplied via blood vessels

in a membrane that surrounds the developing ovum. When releasing the ovum during ovulation, the membrane ruptures along a non-vascular strip known as the stigma.

This explains the two potential sources of blood in an egg. One possibility is if the egg was fertilized in the first section of the oviduct.

Development of the embryo commences immediately and takes place over the next twenty-four hours. When the egg is laid, there are already hundreds of cells, all grouped in a small, whitish annulus on the surface of the yolk. The development process is put on hold until the egg is incubated, either naturally under a hen or artificially in an incubator. Incubation provides heat and oxygen, and soon after incubation begins, blood islands appear, which are the precursors of the vascular system. Thus, in a fertilized egg that was incubated for at least a day after being laid, blood may be the start of the circulation system in a developing chick.

A second possibility for the source of blood in an egg is if the rupture of the vascular membrane during ovulation did not occur precisely along the stigma and a blood vessel broke and leaked some blood onto the yolk. When the rest of the components of the egg are laid on top of the yolk, this blood remains inside the egg. That is the source of blood in unfertilized eggs and in fertilized eggs that were never incubated.

Because the blood is either from a developing chick or from a bad break at ovulation, it makes sense that blood

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

spots are usually found on or near the yolk, the location where the embryo develops and the place where a broken vessel would leave blood. In a less common scenario, a blood vessel in the wall of the oviduct can rupture, resulting in blood in the albumen.

Egg Blood in Today’s Eggs

Halachic literature is replete with discussions of finding blood in hardboiled eggs. Yet, in my experience (and I suspect in others’ as well), while I have seen blood spots in raw eggs, I do not recall seeing blood in a hard-boiled egg. The reason for this, I discovered, is because all commercial eggs today are candled and any egg with a large amount of blood is discarded (so as not to turn off consumers!). Thus, any egg reaching supermarket shelves in the Western world has, at most, small blood spots, which when hard-boiled are barely noticeable. This was not the case a few generations ago. To simulate what our grandparents experienced, Dr. Elyakum Berman, a veterinarian formerly in charge of Israeli egglayers with whom I consulted for this article, procured eggs that were slated for disposal from a large Israeli egg-sorting facility. We opened some raw ones and found large amounts of blood—larger than a “blood spot” that we might find in our supermarket eggs. We then hard-boiled some and lo and behold, in many of them we saw easily discernable, large amounts of blood, probably similar to what our ancestors had seen. Prior to the commercialization of eggs, blood was found in eggs more frequently and in larger quantities; this occurred in hard-boiled eggs as well.

Returning to the statement in Keritot that the prohibition against blood does not include egg blood, and contrasting it with Chullin 64a that prohibits some egg blood, there are multiple opinions regarding how to understand the two statements (Beit Yosef, YD 66; Aruch HaShulchan, YD 66:6-16).

One explanation (Tosafot, Chullin 64b, s.v. v’hu, first option) is that blood found in an egg is Biblically permitted, even if it was from a developing chick, but the rabbis

prohibited blood from a developing chick. The rabbis also forbade blood from an unfertilized egg but only because of marit ayin (and thus some Rishonim even ruled that the blood is permitted in some instances—see Tur, YD 66). Another position is (Tur, YD 66) that blood of a developing chick is Biblically prohibited, while blood in an unfertilized egg is rabbinically forbidden. The Shulchan Aruch (YD 66:2–3) seems to rule like this, stating that if the blood is found on the yolk, indicating it is the beginning of embryo development, then the entire egg is prohibited; if a blood spot is found in the albumen, indicating it is an unfertilized egg, the blood needs to be removed and the egg is permitted. The Pri Megadim (Siftei Da’at 66:14) rules that in an unfertilized egg, irrespective of where the blood is found, the blood is rabbinically prohibited and must be removed and the rest of the egg is permitted. Due to the multiplicity of opinions regarding how to determine the origin of the blood based on its location within the egg, the Rema (YD 66:3) says that the custom is to prohibit any egg in which blood is found. However, if it is known that the egg is unfertilized, the blood spot is removed and the rest of the egg may be eaten (Shulchan Aruch, YD 66:7 with Shach 14).3

In most of the Western world today, commercial layers are isolated from roosters, and thus the chance of purchasing a fertilized egg is miniscule (unless stated otherwise on the packaging). Furthermore, even if an egg were to be fertilized, it would likely not be incubated after being laid, as the eggs are collected daily. The possibility that the blood found in an egg is from a developing chick is therefore close to zero.

In light of this reality, Rabbi Moshe Feinstein (Iggerot Moshe, YD 1:36, repeated in OC 3:61), writing in 1957, acknowledges that the overwhelming majority of eggs are not fertilized, but because a small minority are, and because throwing out an egg is not a significant loss for most people, it is proper to throw out any egg in which blood is found, even though that is

technically not required by halachah.4 Despite this stringency, if an egg with blood was cooked with another egg, even a smaller one, or alone in a pot, it does not prohibit anything else. Rabbi Ovadia Yosef (Yabia Omer 3:YD 2; Yechaveh Da’at 3:57), agrees with that general conclusion,5 but observes that in Israel eggs are more expensive; the egg may therefore be eaten after the blood is removed.

Historically, blood was found in only a minority of eggs, and today this is even more so due to candling.6 Thus, one may eat a roasted egg even though it cannot be checked (YD 66:8). There is no absolute obligation to check an egg before using it, but the custom is that if there is sufficient light, one should check an egg before cooking (Rema, YD 66:8), and it is an ageold practice to check eggs ( Tosafot , Beitzah 16b, s.v. ka mashma lan; Beit Yosef:YD 66).7 Post facto, if blood was found after an egg was mixed with other eggs, the blood should be thrown out with as much of the egg as possible, and if the egg was already cooked, Rabbi Feinstein would not use the pot for twenty-four hours (Iggerot Moshe, OC 3:61).

Eggs Boiled Together

What happens when eggs are cooked together? The Gemara (Chullin 64b) says that a kosher egg boiled together with an egg from a non-kosher bird does not become non-kosher if they are both in their shells. At face value this seems perplexing since the egg shell is naturally porous (to allow carbon dioxide and moisture to be released and replaced by atmospheric gases, including oxygen, during the chick’s development). This is demonstrable by noting that an egg cooked in cholent looks and tastes like cholent. Yet the Shulchan Aruch (YD 86:5) rules like this. But the Shulchan Aruch also rules that an egg with a developing chick or even a blood spot would prohibit another egg that was cooked with it. What is the difference? The explanation is that the plain non-kosher egg has a weak taste, called “maya d’bei’a b’alma” (mere egg fluid), while the developing embryo,

or the blood, has a real taste that is transmittable and can be absorbed from the “bloody egg” to the kosher egg or to the pot.8 To nullify an egg that is non-kosher because of blood from a developing chick, sixty-one other eggs would be required (YD 98:7). The need for sixty-one eggs is only if it is certain that the blood is from a fertilized egg; if the source of the blood is uncertain, then it does not prohibit the other eggs boiled together with it (Shach 86:17).

Because eggs cannot be checked before being hard-boiled, and because of the concern that cooking one or two eggs at a time might lead to the other egg and the pot becoming prohibited should blood later be found in one of the eggs, various customs developed. Some people have a separate pot just for eggs. Others always cook three or more eggs at a time so that a problematic egg will be nullified by the others. These practices are not mentioned in the Shulchan Aruch or other traditional sources, and thus seem to be either unnecessary or a later innovation, or both. The practice of cooking three or more eggs at a time is mentioned by Rabbi Moshe Sternbuch (Teshuvot V’hanhagot 2:YD 384), who says that those who cook three eggs should remove them only after pouring cold water on them so that they can’t prohibit each other when they touch and are still hot.9

The mechanism by which boiling three eggs together helps is not at all clear.10 After all, while a majority (rov) can sometimes nullify an intermingled dry mixture of similar items (Shulchan Aruch, YD 109:1), in a liquid medium, the volume of kosher ingredients needs to be sixty times the volume of forbidden ingredients (Shulchan Aruch, YD 109:2). Various explanations are offered for why boiling at least three eggs together helps, but the accepted halachah is that it is not required to boil three eggs together and despite the reasoning being uncertain, if multiple eggs are boiled together and some are then found to contain blood, the eggs without blood are permitted to be eaten.11

Because of the concern that when boiling many eggs together, some would have blood, various communities came up with other solutions. The Ben Ish Chai (year 2: Behar-Bechukotai:12) reports that in Baghdad they would add some ashes to the water, which technically “spoils” any taste and thereby prevents the taste of the potential bloodied egg from making the kosher eggs prohibited.

The health benefits of eggs were recognized by Chazal. The Gemara (Berachot 44b) records that Rav Yanai said in the name of Rebbi that for its size, a [boiled] egg is the healthiest food, except for meat. The Gemara then extols the benefits of lightly roasted eggs and fully roasted eggs.

Although we have greater access to eggs and observing the kashrut laws related to eggs has never been easier,12 for millennia Jews have been enjoying the health benefits of eggs while ensuring they meet halachic standards. Eggs are often associated with mourning and are served to mourners at the seudat havra’ah because they are round and represent the cycle of life. But they also symbolize rebirth. Rabbi Yaakov of Izhbitz (Seder Haggadah shel Pesach im Sefer HaZemanim, 5770, p. 109) explains that the custom to eat an egg at the Seder is because an egg appears to be a complete creation, when in reality it is the preparatory stage for a new life. The Exodus from Egypt—while appearing to be a full redemption—was merely the preparation for the future redemption. May it be speedily in our day.

Notes

1. Special thanks to Dr. Elyakum Berman, a veterinarian, for educating me about eggs and reviewing the material in this article.

2. Hens ovulate whether a rooster is present or not. Roosters do not stimulate hens to produce more eggs. The increased egg production seen today is accomplished by selective breeding and clever manipulation of the timing of lighting in the hen house, not by feeding or injecting hormones (synthetic or natural) into hens.

3. Rabbi Yosef Kapach’s interpretation of Rambam on this topic (Ma’achalot Asurot 3:7 [10], 6:4 [8]) is that the

location of the blood is unrelated to fertilized versus unfertilized, egg blood is a Biblical prohibition, and modern farming techniques do not impact the halachah.

4. He explained that because this is a legitimate chumrah, it is not bal tashchit (Mesoret Moshe [5773], p. 213).

5. Mishneh Halachot 4:96 agrees as well, but is concerned that people may not understand this new leniency. Rabbi Moshe Sternbuch (Teshuvot V’hanhagot 2:YD 384) says that in reality the eggs are permitted, but the custom is to be strict and he thinks that is correct and that one should not deviate.

6. In addition to blood, there are other “impurities” that can be found in eggs. Protein spots are clumps of protein found in the albumen. Rabbi Yisroel Belsky, zt”l, who served as OU senior halachic consultant, felt they are permitted but was uncertain if they are included in the custom mentioned by the Rema to remove blood spots, while yibadel l’chaim, Rabbi Hershel Schachter, OU senior halachic consultant, agreed but thought the custom is to remove them (OU document I-184). Meat spots form when small pieces of the wall of the oviduct are sloughed off as the developing egg is passing through. Rabbi Belsky felt they are prohibited as basar min hachai. Rabbi Moshe Feinstein (Iggerot Moshe, OC:3:61) raised the concern that the spots may actually be meat from a developing chicken, but concludes that they just look like meat but are actually “farbakkene ey—premature egg” and are permitted. Note that most scientists consider meat spots and protein spots to both be tissue sloughed off from the oviduct. While it may seem strange that meat spots should be permitted, it actually makes sense. Blood from a ruptured vessel would have been Biblically prohibited while in the hen, and the developing yolk would be basar min hachai if taken straight from the ovary, but both become permitted when naturally encapsulated in the egg. Thus, it is reasonable that the sloughedoff meat that would be basar min hachai if taken directly from the oviduct is kosher within the finished egg.

7. Rabbi Yisroel Dovid Harfenes (Vayevarech Dovid 1:YD 92) shows that based on fundamental principles, there is no obligation to inspect eggs for blood today, and that if it is very inconvenient, such as in bakeries or restaurants, it does not have to be done. He notes that when buying in a farmers’ market or non-Western country, the halachah may be different.

Rabbi Yosef Molcho (d. 1768; Shulchan Gavoha, YD 66:21) quotes an amazing report from the Knesset HaGedolah that there are people who

checked eggs for blood before hard boiling them by making a small crack in the shell, emptying the contents into a bowl, checking, reinserting the liquid into the egg, closing the opening and hard-boiling. Rav Molcho views this practice as strange.

8. It is because of this porousness that an egg boiled in a non-kosher pot, e.g. a hard-boiled egg in a non-kosher restaurant, is problematic. That is in addition to the prohibition of bishul akum (YD 113:14).

9. Rabbi Shlomo Kluger (HaElef Lecha Shlomo, YD 121) does not mention the custom of cooking three or more eggs, but comments that if eggs were boiled together and were removed when hot with a spoon, or the water was spilled out when hot and blood was found in one, the spoon and all the eggs are prohibited. Rather, he says, the water should be left to cool or cold water should be spilled into the pot. Maharsham (1:212) disagrees and says even if the eggs were removed individually when hot, the pot and other eggs remain permitted.

10. The case of multiple uncooked eggs in a bowl or eggs mixed with other ingredients and then blood is found

in one—discussed in elsewhere—is more complicated and will not be discussed here.

11. For a discussion of the halachic justification, see Teshuvah

The Shach says even if just two eggs are boiled, the clean one remains permitted, and the Maharsham (1:137; YD 66:4) agrees with the Shach. Rabbi Shlomo Zalman Auerbach ( Shlomo

out of three eggs has a blood spot, the pot should not be used for twenty-four hours, and he is uncertain about the status of the rest of the food in the pot. But regarding the eggs, even if two out of three have blood, the other is permitted. Similarly, the Chazon Ish ( 26:2) says that third egg is kosher even if two eggs have blood, but the pot needs to be

(Ma’adanei Asher

Chazon Ish was discussing when the egg may have been fertilized. If it was definitely not fertilized, at most the pot needs to remain unused for twenty-four hours, but it certainly does not need to be kashered

12. Due to both the isolation of hens from roosters and commercial candling.

Jewish Action on Social Media and Never Miss a Beat!

THE CHEF’S TABLE

Taking it Outdoors

By Naomi Ross

Walking outside on a Sunday evening, you can’t help but pick up the subtle yet unmistakable scent of BBQ in the air. The aroma gets our mouths watering, while conjuring a million memories of past summers enjoying the company of family and friends over the delicacies of the grill. In some ways, outdoor entertaining is a lot easier than eating indoors. Quicker clean-up and less prep time (since half of the food is prepared outside) certainly make for a more relaxed kind of entertaining, and a much cooler kitchen is also welcome in the hot summer months. Here are some quick tips to help you make the most of your outdoor cooking escapades: Prepare your equipment. Make sure last year’s grilling equipment is in check: propane tank should be refilled (if you have a propane grill); fresh briquettes if using charcoal; heavyduty long tongs for safe grilling; and steel brushes (or refills) for brushing and cleaning grates. A small side table or stacking tray is helpful to have next to your grill for extra work space.

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

Keep the critters away. Purchase candles made from real citronella oil to repel insects. Place them at the perimeter of your patio or outdoor dining area for extra protection. Mesh food domes are also a great item to have to protect your food from unwanted company. They come large enough to cover platters.

Designate a space (a closet, drawer or storage bin) to store all your outdoor entertaining paraphernalia: fun tablecloths, placemats, caddies for cutlery, et cetera. Entertaining is easier when you don’t have to go looking for all those items in ten different places.

Most of all, maximize the flavorful seasonal produce that abounds in summer, keeping your preparations simple enough to relax and enjoy these moments before summer is gone.

PomegranateTeriyaki

London Broil

London broil is a thick cut steak that is generally marinated and grilled and then sliced thinly crosswise. Because of the thickness, it can often be hard to gauge doneness. For best results, cook it slower on indirect heat and then give it a reverse sear over the flame at the end of cooking time. Definitely use your meat thermometer to test for desired doneness.

1 (2 lb.) London Broil (about 1.5–2 inches in thickness)

⅓ cup Sadaf pomegranate molasses (concentrate)

¼ cup soy sauce

2 tablespoons honey

1 tablespoon rice vinegar

1 teaspoon sesame oil

1 teaspoon grated ginger root

1 teaspoon minced or crushed garlic (about 1 clove)

⅓ cup olive oil

Freshly ground black pepper, to taste

Rinse and pat meat dry.

Whisk together remaining ingredients until well blended. Pour off and reserve about ⅓–½ cup mixture for serving time.

Marinate meat in remaining mixture for at least 6 hours (or overnight).

Preheat grill. Set up the grill for indirect heat: 1 zone off, 2 zones on (if grill has 2 zones, leave 1 zone on, 1 off).

Remove meat from marinade and pat dry. Place London broil on zone with no heat. Close grill lid and cook for 15 minutes. Flip meat and cook another 15 minutes to internal temperature of 133–134°F for rare (or until desired doneness is reached).

Move London Broil over to the lit zone and sear for about 1–2 minutes on each side, turning once. Remove from grill and allow London Broil to rest for about 10 minutes before slicing.

Slice thinly crosswise and serve with reserved marinade as a dressing/ dipping sauce.

London Broil

Photo: Baila Gluck

Mango-Jicama Slaw

Photo: Baila Gluck

Mango-Jicama Slaw

A sweet alternative to coleslaw, this is a refreshing tropical accompaniment for any barbeque. A jicama is thick-skinned Mexican tuber root vegetable with a crisp and slightly sweet quality that pairs wonderfully with fruits.

1 large jicama, peeled and julienned

1 large mango, peeled, pitted and julienned

1–2 limes

½ teaspoon cumin

½ teaspoon coriander

½ teaspoon kosher salt, or more to taste

Freshly ground black pepper, to taste

Olive oil

Optional: 2–3 tablespoons fresh cilantro, minced

Combine jicama and mango in a large serving bowl. Squeeze the juice of 1 lime (or more as needed) over the jicama and mango. Add the spices and drizzle with olive oil. Toss to coat; season to taste and adjust seasonings if necessary.

Country Bliss Potato Salad

Yields: 6–8 servings

I am not a huge fan of overly mayonnaise-y, deli-style potato salad, which can be too rich and needlessly caloric. Try this lighter and healthier version at your next BBQ!

16 red bliss potatoes (about 3–4 pounds), washed, scrubbed and quartered

2 large or 3 small carrots, peeled and shredded

½ cup chopped red onion (½ small onion)

2 stalks celery, finely chopped

3 tablespoons fresh chopped dill (or 1 tablespoon dried dill)

¼ cup mayonnaise

¼ cup olive oil

2 tablespoons apple cider vinegar

1 tablespoon Dijon mustard

2 teaspoon prepared white horseradish

1 teaspoon dried tarragon

1½–2 teaspoons kosher salt or more to taste

Freshly ground pepper, to taste

Bring large pot of salted water to a rolling boil over medium-high heat. Add potatoes; return to boil and cook for about 15–20 minutes or until fork pierces potatoes easily (potatoes should not be falling apart). Drain and rinse with cold water.

Cut potatoes into 1-inch chunks and place them in a large mixing bowl with carrots, onion, celery and dill.

In a separate bowl, combine all remaining ingredients together; whisk to blend well. Pour mixture over warm potatoes and toss until well coated. Season to taste with more salt and pepper as needed. Serve at room temperature.

blended. Marinate pineapple slices in mixture for one hour, turning to coat once in a while.

Preheat grill to high. Oil the grill grates (using oil-soaked paper towels and tongs works well). Remove pineapple slices from marinade (reserve marinade).

Grill pineapple slices, about 3–4 minutes per side, brushing with reserved marinade to create a sticky glaze. Remove from grill and drizzle a little of the remaining marinade on top of pineapple slices. Serve hot or warm.

Yield: 6–8 servings

Delicious by itself, and spectacular topped with vanilla ice-cream! This recipe will also work with ripe peaches, pitted and halved.

1 ripe pineapple, rind removed and trimmed, evenly sliced into 8–10 half-inch rounds

½ cup dark brown sugar

¼ cup dark rum

1 teaspoon lime zest

½ teaspoon cinnamon

1½ teaspoon pure vanilla extract

Mix together brown sugar, rum, lime zest, cinnamon and vanilla until well

Grilled Vanilla-Rum Glazed Pineapple

FROM OU PRESS

SUMMER READING RECOMMENDATIONS

For those looking to relax this summer with a more intellectually stimulating volume than the stereotypical beach read, OU Press recommends picking up one or more of the following books.

The Return to Zion: Addresses on Religious Zionism and American Orthodoxy—The Karasick Family Edition

By Rabbi Joseph B. Soloveitchik

Translated by Shaul Seidler-Feller; edited by Joel B. Wolowelsky and Simon Posner

TBridging Traditions: Demystifying Differences Between Sephardic and Ashkenazic Jews

By Rabbi Haim Jachter

his volume is a translation of ten of Rabbi Joseph B. Soloveitchik’s keynote addresses delivered in Yiddish at major conventions of the Mizrachi Organization of America and Hapoel Hamizrachi of America. In these addresses, the Rav mesmerized his audience with his perceptive observations about the state of American and Israeli Jewry, as well as the nature of Religious Zionism. Delivered between 1939 and 1958 against the backdrop of the Holocaust and the newly emerging State of Israel, the Rav’s stirring and profound words are timeless and powerful messages of the unending drama of Jewish destiny.

Letters from Mir: A Torah World in the Shadow of the Shoah—The Correspondence

of Ernest Gugenheim

Edited by Claude-Anne Gugenheim; Associate Editor, Martine Bendavid

In 1938, Ernest Gugenheim, a young French rabbi, came from across a continent and a cultural divide to study in the Mir Yeshiva. Letters from Mir consists of the letters Rabbi Gugenheim wrote home to his family and friends describing his experiences, opening a window on a world that was soon to be destroyed. Rabbi Gugenheim’s letters are engaging and humorous, bringing readers into his experiences with the warmth, intimacy and honesty of family correspondence. His sharp eye and charming descriptions make this an unforgettable memoir of a poignant moment in history.

As the rabbi of a Sephardic synagogue for over twenty years who is himself of Ashkenazic descent and trained in Ashkenazic yeshivot, Rabbi Haim Jachter has a unique vantage point from which to observe the differences in customs and halachot between Ashkenazim and Sephardim. In Bridging Traditions, Rabbi Jachter applies his wideranging expertise to explicating an encyclopedic array of divergences between Ashkenazic and Sephardic halachic practice, while also capturing the diversity within different Sephardic communities. Throughout, Rabbi Jachter explains the opinions of both earlier and contemporary posekim and demonstrates how halachah unfolds in often unexpected ways. Bridging Traditions is essential reading for Jews of all origins who are interested in understanding their own practices and those of their brethren.

The

Anatomy of

Jewish Law: A Fresh Dissection of the Relationship Between Medicine, Medical History, and Rabbinic Literature

By Edward Reichman, MD

Rabbi Dr. Edward Reichman, a world-renowned expert in the fields of Jewish bioethics and Jewish medical history, is professor of emergency medicine and professor of bioethics and an attending physician in emergency medicine. In this novel and innovative work, Rabbi Dr. Reichman traces the medical understanding of anatomy, physiology, and therapeutics across time and genres of rabbinic literature. The accumulated literature of centuries of Jewish legal discourse on medical topics serves as the foundation for contemporary Jewish bioethics. As these writings span the chronological gamut of scientific and medical discovery, it is essential to view each source in its proper historical context. Rabbi Dr. Reichman demonstrates the importance of the historical dimension not only for medical halachic research, but to better understand the unique relationship of Judaism and medicine throughout the centuries.

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Rays of Wisdom:

Torah insights that light up our understanding of the world

By Rabbi Mattisyahu Rosenblum, zt”l

Eshel Publications

New York, 2022

548 pages

Reviewed by Rabbi Mark Gottlieb

Nearly a decade ago, a panel discussion of young and accomplished Jewish thinkers was convened to address a question on the minds of many, if perhaps not many enough: Where have all the Jewish theologians gone?

The premise of the panel was that in the mid-to-late twentieth-century American Jewish landscape, many prominent Jewish theologians were part of the popular discourse, and not merely writing from the academic or yeshivah margins. Some Orthodox and

some non-Orthodox thinkers, among them Rabbi Joseph B. Soloveitchik and Rabbi Eliezer Berkovits, were wellknown public intellectuals, household names in many circles. We might also include Rabbi Yitzchak Hutner and the Lubavitcher Rebbe—albeit writing in different styles than the preceding thinkers—in that list of prominent Jewish theologians of late twentiethcentury America. The question posed to the panel that afternoon was who would step up and take the place of the Jewish theologians of the previous generation writing to, and for, a broader public? Who would provide the intellectual guidance to those in the larger Jewish landscape searching for systematic ways in which their Judaism might address the realities of G-d, man and world in the twenty-first century?

For many, the late great Rabbi Lord Jonathan Sacks served as this theological lodestar over the past few decades. But another figure has emerged, dominant for some decades in the yeshivah world but now, like many recent spiritual trends, finding a place in certain segments of the broader Jewish world. While Rabbi Moshe Shapira, zt”l, the modern master of machshavah and undisputed heir of a particular sub-genre in the Lithuanian derech on Aggadeta, was a giant of Torah who had a profound influence on the contemporary yeshivah world, our focus here is on his reach beyond the walls of the beit midrash into his surprising but influential place in the intellectual conversations of the global Jewish community. With the publication of Rabbi Mattisyahu Rosenblum’s compelling collection of letters and essays, Rays of Wisdom:

Torah insights that light up our understanding of the world, Rav Moshe has another American-born, not to mention Yale-educated, popularizer to share his profound Torah worldview with contemporary Jews searching for meaning and depth in a world so obviously adrift. For the record, “popularizer,” applied in this case, is said without the slightest hint of a pejorative; Rav Moshe’s intellectually dense work, because of its richness and complexity, desperately needs unpacking for most, especially for those in the AngloAmerican Torah world.

The first to adapt Rav Moshe’s teachings for a wider Torah audience was the great kiruv educator, Rabbi Dr. Akiva Tatz. (For a useful Englishlanguage introduction to the life and thought of Rav Moshe, see the recently published Looking into the Sun: A Taste of the Torah, Life, and Legacy of Rav Moshe Shapira through the Lens of One Talmid by Rabbi Menachem Nissel.)

But more recently, Rabbi Rosenblum, because of his own intellectual virtuosity and moral excellence, has become an ideal vessel for this task of translation and synthesis.

When Rav Moshe passed away just over seven years ago (10 Tevet 5777), his levayah saw tens of thousands of mourners lining the streets of Yerushalayim. This show of reverence is generally reserved for a gadol b’Yisrael, usually a prominent rosh yeshivah or posek. Rav Moshe was a different kind of gadol. His range and creativity in Torah scholarship was vast, encompassing even rarely studied corners of Seder Taharot but his unique imprint came through his shiurim on both the more esoteric

Rabbi Mark Gottlieb is chief education officer of the Tikvah Fund.

parts of Torah and the more theologically resonant sections of revealed Torah, making him a world-class leader to those seeking a coherent and complex worldview out of the sources of within traditional Jewish texts.

When Matthew Rosenblum, the youngest of five brothers from Highland Park, Illinois, graduated Yale College in the mid-1980s, the call of Orthodoxy was already strong in his family. Several of his older brothers including Jonathan, who would go on to a distinguished career in journalism and publishing, were paving the way for a re-engagement with serious and observant Judaism that had eluded the boys while growing up in the upper-middle class suburbs of Chicago. As Matthew became Mattisyahu, two of Rav Moshe’s closest talmidim—Rabbi Ahron Lopiansky, now rosh yeshivah of the Yeshiva of Greater Washington, and Rabbi Beryl Gershenfeld, one of the leaders of the modern kiruv movement and co-founder of Machon Yaakov where Rabbi Rosenblum studied and later taught for many years—saw great promise in the young man and put his mind to work on behalf of the world of authentic Torah thought.

But as much as the intellectual culture of Yale receded into the distance for Rabbi Rosenblum, the move to Har Nof did not excise his ability to deploy Western thought in the cause of kavod Shamayim. Indeed, the powerful dialectic of Jerusalem versus Athens, of faith versus reason, of the experiential and intuitive versus the cognitive and self-conscious, are prominent themes in the book under consideration. And while the work is obviously inspired by the teachings of Rav Moshe, it is inflected and channeled through Rabbi Rosenblum’s own intellectual pedigree—with all the tension and complexity one would expect of a talmid chacham engaging the West in a bracing and unapologetic fashion, in the fashion of a true ish emet.

Tragically, Rabbi Rosenblum’s ability to champion the teachings of his rebbeim in machshavah was cut off too soon when he succumbed to cancer three years ago. But the new book gives readers not only a taste of his great teacher’s Torah but a sense of the humanity—and humor—of this devoted disciple.

Tellingly, some of these tensions are acknowledged, some unacknowledged. In a chapter aptly titled, “Finding Truth in Other Traditions,” Rabbi Rosenblum observes, with a candor and authenticity that is refreshingly relevant, “Did you really hope there was nothing there [in the wisdom of the gentile world, specifically classical Greek culture] that you might find intelligent and compelling?” Rather than glibly claiming that the contributions of the West are a waste of time for a Torah Jew, Rabbi Rosenblum recognizes both the potential worth—and the possible danger—contained in these competing systems of thought: “Though in the long run our Torah does not have to be scared of any branch of secular study—we can use what is true and reject what is false—that does not mean that all of us as individuals are safe when entering such areas.” Rabbi Rosenblum’s ambivalence feels honest, a recognition of the genuine power of ideas and their ability to lead us to places we may not want to go. But there’s a paradox here, too, that sometimes feels lost to the author. Rabbi Rosenblum closes the chapter on a decidedly cautious, if not outright pessimistic, note, practically taking away the license he earlier gave to “find truth in other traditions.” In counseling his young charge, Jordan, to carefully navigate the college curriculum, Rabbi Rosenblum

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offers this cautionary conclusion: “But, honestly, wouldn’t you be just safer taking accounting courses?” And here’s the irony, likely not totally lost on the intellectually honest author, a description that is ubiquitous when talking to Rabbi Rosenblum’s many students and admirers: If Rabbi Rosenblum would have taken his own advice, the advice given by him to his talmid, Jordan, the book under discussion could not have been written—at least not in its current sophisticated, learned and literate form. This insight was surely not lost on the author. But it is not totally resolved, either.

Rabbi Rosenblum offers several incisive observations about the dangers of relativism and its place in contemporary academia. Citing the Zohar Hakodesh to the effect that Bilaam’s threat to Bnei Yisrael stemmed from his ability to darken the intellectual luminosity of Bnei Yisrael, Rabbi Rosenblum makes the following remark: . . . the success of our intellectual opponent comes not through successful argumentation but from his ability to remove all clarity and utterly dampen any intellectual flame. His goal is to lull us to sleep. Let us never forget that Bilaam completely failed to harm us except for the idea to send Bnot Moav—the daughters of Moab—to seduce Klal Yisrael into sin. Not exactly an intellectual attack . . . Bilaam is clearly doing well on campus. He then goes on to generously cite the 1987 bestseller, The Closing of the American Mind, by University of Chicago professor Allan Bloom: Professor Bloom already shows you the basic problem; if held consistently, moral relativism means that there is no basis to say that Mother Teresa is in some way inferior to Adolph Hitler. But this fact makes the idea no less dangerous; whatever its flaws are, relativism drugs most of our society into a complete moral and intellectual stupor.

One gets the sense that Rabbi Rosenblum already embraced Bloom’s critique of relativism before Rav Moshe gave him the gloss on Bilaam. Still, using Bloom as intellectual ballast is a powerful way to both help explicate the phenomenon in one’s own

Rather than glibly claiming that the contributions of the West are a waste of time for a Torah Jew, Rabbi Rosenblum recognizes both the potential worth— and the possible danger—contained in these competing systems of thought.

Torah parlance while presenting the apologetical turn to an intellectual rival or adversary not as dependent on Torah for guidance.

But perhaps Rabbi Rosenblum is at his best illustrating Torah concepts, enriching our hashkafic palate, and teasing out the contemporary implications of Ramban, Maharal, Ramchal, the Gra, Rabbi Chaim Volozhin, Rabbi Tzadok HaKohen and Rabbi Eliyahu Eliezer Dessler. Particularly noteworthy—and preternaturally prescient—is Rabbi Rosenblum’s unpacking of Rav Moshe’s concept of Galut Yishmael, the exile that in many respects supersedes Galut Edom, the war of the West on the Jews at the end of days. Understanding our enemies—not as cartoon characters but as complex and worthy adversaries—is something Jews have often struggled with. Rav Moshe’s teachings on this painful topic will allow us to better understand what we are really up against—spiritually, culturally and even strategically.

Finally, it’s possible that Rabbi Rosenblum’s epistolatory style—most of the present book is an exchange of letters between the author and a bright, Ivy-educated student of his from yeshivah—is less suited for the more systematic and architectonic elements natural to Rav Moshe’s teachings. In this respect, at least, the adaptations of another American-born interpreter Rabbi Jeremy Kagan, author of the 2012 National Jewish Book Awardee, The Choice to Be: A Jewish Path to Self and

Spirituality, among others, feel more reflective of the systematic sweep of Rav Moshe’s own work. This difference in method or articulation is largely a function of the respective intellectual training of these students of Rav Moshe’s prior to their aliyah. While Rabbi Kagan studied philosophy under the esteemed epistemologist, Karsten Harries, Rabbi Rosenblum studied political thought with famed classical historian, Donald Kagan. Every talmid chacham has his own distinctive signon, his own signature pedagogical style, and talmidim of Rav Moshe, whether trained formally as philosophers or political scientists, are no exception. More striking is that two of the most-celebrated American interpreters of Rav Moshe are both graduates of that ivy-covered college in New Haven, Connecticut. Or perhaps not surprising at all: When the narrative of Western civilization feels exhausted and so-called higher education delivers on neither promise, genuine seekers of meaning—seekers like young Matthew Rosenblum—find genuine sources of meaning and truth. We are all the richer for Rabbi Mattisyahu Rosenblum’s uncompromising quest for truth through the foundations of Jewish thought. Rays of Wisdom is the intriguing roshei perakim, the chapter headings, for that rich, sophisticated Jewish journey, a journey more of our generation may now be inspired to take.

GIVING: The Essential Teaching of the Kabbalah

Essays by Rabbi Yehuda Lev Ashlag, “Baal Hasulam” with Commentary and Insights for Living the Kabbalah

By Rabbi Avraham Mordechai Gottlieb

Translation by Aryeh Siegel

Urim Publications

Jerusalem, 2020

224 pages

Reviewed by Rabbi Yisrael Isser Zvi Herczeg

The Torah-observant Jew views life as an ongoing process of change and growth aimed at developing a deeper relationship with G-d—becoming more aware of His presence and directing the course of one’s life accordingly. This process takes place within the framework of the commandments of the Torah, but that framework leaves the individual great leeway to choose an approach to developing intimacy with G-d that is suited to one’s character and

needs.

The usual Kabbalistic approach requires years of study of difficult texts that employ abstract terminology to describe the relationship between the Infinite One and the finite world He created. However, even mastery of the information in these arcane texts may not guarantee its application toward the refinement of the Jewish soul.

It was the unique task of the modern master Kabbalist Rabbi Yehuda Lev Ashlag (1885–1954), author of the Sulam commentary on the Zohar, to demonstrate that the esoteric teachings of Kabbalah contain within them not only the key to the structure of the universe but also the key to the microcosm that is man. He interpreted them in terms that explain the human soul and psyche, and thereby, what man must strive for in order to attain emotional, psychological and spiritual fulfillment. The Baal Hasulam’s approach to Kabbalah enables each individual to experience the gradual refinement of his soul.

In 1933, Rabbi Ashlag wrote Matan Torah, short Kabbalistic treatises in which he extracted from the daunting corpus of the Kabbalah its most practical and quintessential concept. Aimed at all Jews, even non-believers, Matan Torah attempted to present the Torah’s conception of human perfection in a way that appealed to both the heart and the intellect: the portrayal of G-d as engaged exclusively in giving, His perfection not allowing even for the possibility of receiving. Man must model Himself after his Creator and become someone who

receives only out of necessity and whose actions are always with the intention to give. He thereby aligns himself with the Creator and makes possible the fullest perception of His Presence and the most intimate relationship with Him. This is the pinnacle of human perfection, which is accompanied by the greatest satisfaction possible.

Giving: The Essential Teaching of the Kabbalah consists of the first four essays from Matan Torah, along with the glosses of Rabbi Avraham Mordechai Gottlieb, the greatest contemporary expert on the thought of Rabbi Ashlag. An appendix consists of ten brief essays by Rabbi Gottlieb, elaborating on ideas contained in the main text.

In his essays, Rabbi Ashlag does not pretend that pure altruism is an easy task. As Rabbi Gottlieb notes, the goal Rabbi Ashlag sets for all of us is expressed in the words of the Vorker Rebbe, “Until I reach the point that I love the worst sinner of our nation just as I love my own son, I haven’t yet fulfilled the mitzvah of ‘Love your fellow as yourself.’ To fulfill this mitzvah, I must not feel any preference for my son over any other.” Rabbi Ashlag brooks no compromises: G-d demands that we always give priority to the needs of others over our own. This is the work of a lifetime. Rabbi Ashlag

Rabbi Yisrael Isser Zvi Herczeg is the author or translator of many Torah works including Keren David to tractates Arachin, Nazir and Makkot. He teaches at Sha’alvim for Women.

explains how it can be achieved only within the context of keeping all the mitzvot of the Torah, both the interpersonal and those that deal with the relationship between G-d and man. The gradual transformation of our character from our natural love of ourselves alone to love of others is the single objective of the Torah and of life itself.

Although the mysterious secrets of the Kabbalah bubble beneath the surface of Giving, the reader encounters no mention of sefirot, olamot or other terminology from the world of Jewish mysticism. Rabbi Ashlag’s language is flowing and clear, and indeed, accessible to its intended readership. How pleasantly surprising it is, then, to see that Rabbi Gottlieb uncovers ideas within it that would likely go unnoticed by most readers. He takes a sentence or phrase that seems unremarkable, and shows that it contains a wealth of ideas. His mastery of the works of Rabbi Ashlag allows him to expand on concepts mentioned in the text only briefly. His own essays elaborate on concepts touched upon in the book, some of which are especially timely, such as those that explain the deeper meaning of “women” and “non-Jews” as they appear in certain philosophical contexts in Torah literature. Taking these terms at face value can be missing the point entirely—they refer to aspects of the personality of every human being, which one must be aware of and deal with properly.

Giving contains within it a clearly explained and organized program for making one’s entire life a process of growth and fulfillment. One aspect that could have been dealt with in greater detail is the role of Torah study in development of character. Although Rabbi Ashlag does have a unique approach regarding Torah study “for its own sake,” we find no discussion of this in Giving. But that is understandable, as these essays are directed primarily at those who do not yet sit inside the walls of the beit midrash.

Aryeh Siegel’s elegant translation befits a work of such importance. His language is clear and articulate, as well as faithful to the original text. In addition, at the end of every chapter, Siegel presents a list of questions for review, focusing the reader on the chapter’s main points. The format of the book is especially user-friendly. Rabbi Gottlieb’s glosses do not appear as footnotes or endnotes. Rather, they are interspersed after every few paragraphs of Rabbi Ashlag’s text. The words of the two authors are clearly differentiated, but they mesh beautifully with each other to form a single coherent work.

To find his own path to G-d, every Jew must search the Torah and examine his life experiences with open eyes. We have been blessed with many teachers, both those who are living and those who have left us their instructive works, to help us find our way. It is unfortunate that Rabbi Ashlag’s ideas have not been more widely disseminated, for they would surely have resonated with many, bringing them guidance and clarity. Giving serves to make Rabbi Ashlag’s precious jewels accessible to a wider public.

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Reviews in Brief

By Rabbi Gil Student

THE JEWISH STATE: FROM OPPOSITION TO OPPORTUNITY

By Rabbi Doron Perez Gefen Publishing

New York, 2023

224 pages

October 7 changed the lives of every Israeli and every Jew throughout the world. While enduring the immense tragedy of both an injured son and a missing son (who was later declared dead), Rabbi Doron Perez, executive chairman of the World Mizrachi movement, inspired the world with his faith and leadership. Remarkably, a few months before the attack, Rabbi Perez had published The Jewish State: From Opposition to Opportunity—intended to mark Israel’s seventy-fifth anniversary—which examines the growing phenomenon of virulent, irrational anti-Zionism and offers practical and spiritual solutions.

In the first half of The Jewish State, Rabbi Perez cites the Vilna Gaon’s insight on antisemitism. In a comment on Chavakuk (3:14), the Gaon notes that Moab, Edom and the Philistines represent three types of antisemitism: spiritual, physical and political. Moab exhibits spiritual antisemitism, an antagonism to Jewish belief and practice; Edom attempts to physically destroy the Jewish people; and the Philistines

attempt to prevent Jewish sovereignty. While the first two types of antisemitism are familiar throughout history (e.g., Chanukah and Purim, respectively), political antisemitism is something we are not used to considering.

Rabbi Perez quotes Rabbi Lord Jonathan Sacks, who compares antisemitism to a virus. It is essentially one hatred that changes and adapts to fit the circumstances. A virus deceives the body in order to infiltrate it and multiply. Historically, antisemitism has spread by deceptively adopting the morality of its time. In the Middle Ages, it based itself on Christianity; in post-Enlightenment Europe, on (pseudo)-science; and today, on human rights. That is why the only fully functioning democracy in the Middle East, with a free press and robust minority rights, is the constant target for human rights accusations. Today, when religious bigotry and physical oppression are not much of an option, antisemites adopt the political approach, namely anti-Zionism.

Rabbi Perez’s solution is twofold. The State of Israel must be a light unto the nations by 1. vigorously preserving its democratic nature, 2. using technology to help other nations, and 3. serving as an example of moderation and integration in an increasingly polarized world. This last point is really a second prong of the solution: Israel must be an exemplar of unity, particularly Jewish unity. Despite all the divisions among the Jewish people, we must embrace each other not just in tolerance but in celebration.

How do we engage in this radical pluralism?

The first step to unity is following Rabbi Avraham Yitzchak HaKohen Kook’s approach of seeing the positive in everyone and everything. Rav Kook taught that the different perspectives in Israel can be classified as prioritizing either spirituality, nationhood or

universal morality, an insight that still rings true a century later. Rabbi Perez argues that “authentic, inclusive Torah Judaism” balances all three pillars and allows for unity to take priority over partisanship. We must make room for everyone because we all champion an important value.

I can already hear the critic questioning whether this can be accomplished in a way that still maintains fidelity to the Torah and presents a sufficiently compelling Torah life to retain the next generation. Moderation and compromise rarely inspire youth, especially when we are simultaneously praising alternatives. Additionally, how do these compromises look in the real world when primary priorities clash? Perhaps we have hit the rock bottom of polarization and are now prepared to do the hard work of building true unity. Rabbi Perez has masterfully presented a path forward to peace, but the plan leaves many important details to be worked out.

HAARETZ ASHER AREKA: MITZVAT YISHUV ERETZ YISRAEL (HEBREW)

By Rabbi Shnayor Burton

Self-published, 2023

195 pages

The textual basis of Religious Zionism and of anti-Zionism have been discussed for so many years—with numerous books and articles on the subject—that it is hard to believe anything new remains to be said on the subject. Yet that is exactly what Rabbi Shnayor Burton does in HaAretz Asher Areka. In a refreshingly

Rabbi Gil Student is a member of Jewish Action’s Editorial Committee.

original study emanating from the Yeshivish community, Rabbi Burton explores the theological implications of settling in the Land of Israel, while explicitly avoiding the political issues.

While Rabbi Burton quotes many sources and texts, his most convincing argument is logic. His first chapter discusses whether there is a mitzvah to live in Israel. He analyzes the different views and concludes that the majority believe it does not technically constitute a mitzvah. But then he takes a step back and points out that all agree that Judaism expects Jews to live in Israel if at all possible. That is the entire thrust of Tanach, Midrash and Talmud. Even if it is not a mitzvah in the technical sense, it is a fulfillment of the Divine will to live in the Land of Israel.

This conclusion leaves a number of texts that need to be resolved. For example, there are the “Three Oaths” that the Gemara and Midrash record, which include not moving to Israel as a large group. Does this mean mass aliyah is forbidden? Quoting the Rambam among others, Rabbi Burton concludes that these “oaths” represent a recognition of the historical danger of moving to Israel. When it is not dangerous, the “oaths” do not apply. When the facts on the ground have changed, when centuries of European pogroms turned into outright genocide, when people march through the streets of cities around the world shouting antisemitic slogans, it is hard to accept that Israel is more dangerous than anywhere else. One can argue that October 7 has proven that living in Israel is, in fact, dangerous. But I would respond that it is safer to walk through Tel Aviv wearing a yarmulke than Paris. More importantly, look at history. The “Three Oaths” didn’t prevent Ezra and Nechemiah from returning to Israel. Neither did it prevent the Ramban and the three hundred French Tosafists, all of whom made aliyah in the thirteenth century. Rabbi Burton addresses many more questions, such as: Is Israel only for the righteous? Why did many Jews remain in Babylonia? If we go to Israel ourselves, who will Mashiach bring to Israel? Rabbi Burton addresses all these issues on two levels. On the one hand, he treats these as textual questions that demand answers based on commentaries and related texts. On the other hand,

he discusses the basic logical flow of the arguments and their unproven assumptions. If we are in Israel, why do we assume there won’t be any other Jews for Mashiach to bring to Israel? And even if we go to Israel now, who says we will be there when Mashiach comes?

HaAretz Asher Areka offers new halachic approaches to the textual issues surrounding the State of Israel. To some extent, as Rabbi Burton himself writes, the facts speak for themselves. We are blessed to live in a time when a large portion of the Jewish people has returned to its homeland, as foreseen by the prophets.

FAMOUS GEMARAS: THE GEMARA’S INCREDIBLE STORIES COME TO LIFE

By Rabbi Gershon Schwartz Mosaica Press

Los Angeles, 2024 152 pages

The definition of a “famous” gemara is entirely subjective: “something that I’ve heard before.” But just because one person had a teacher who liked to quote a particular passage, or it was a frequently cited passage in one’s childhood circles, doesn’t mean everyone shared those experiences. What is famous to one person is obscure to the other and vice versa. It is the rare Shas Yid, someone who has rabbinic literature at his fingertips, who never feels awkward or insecure about his ignorance of a supposedly famous passage.

Rabbi Gershon Schwartz chose thirtytwo Talmudic stories in his collection of famous gemaras. While any selection of this nature is highly subjective, I suspect many people would make very similar choices. He includes the Chanukah story (Shabbat 21b); the tefillin-related miracle experienced by Elisha “Ba’al Kenafayim” (Shabbat 49a); Hillel freezing on the roof of the study hall (Yoma 35b); Rebbi on his deathbed (Ketubot 104a); and many more. Each story is presented

in the original Aramaic with English translation, and accompanied by “Points to Ponder” and “Ideas” based on classical commentaries. Beautifully illustrated, the book is an engaging read that is accessible to preteens as well.

On the story of Rabbi Akiva’s growth from a simple shepherd to a great Torah scholar (Ketubot 62b), Rabbi Schwartz offers a number of points to ponder. Why did so many great people work as shepherds? He quotes the Alshich, who says that this profession offers people time to meditate and grow close to G-d. Why was Rabbi Akiva’s father-in-law named Kalba Savua? Rashi quotes the Gemara in Gittin 56a, which explains that he was such a generous host that people entered his home hungry like a dog (kalba) and left completely full (savu’a). This offers a segue to discuss Kalba Savua’s attempt, which was thwarted by communal infighting, to store enough food for all of Jerusalem to survive any siege. Rabbi Schwartz adds a detail to Rabbi Akiva’s story that is not in the Gemara but in Avot D’Rabbi Natan (A:6), that of Rabbi Akiva deducing from water (something soft) dripping on a rock (something hard) and carving a hole in it that Torah (something hard) could penetrate his heart of flesh (something soft). Upon seeing this, Rabbi Akiva decided to go learn Torah. After his great success in learning, Rabbi Akiva had twenty-four thousand students. These are the same students who died because they did not show respect for each other (Yevamot 62b). The final point to ponder is that like Adam, who attributed his deeds to Chavah, Rabbi Akiva attributed his deeds to his wife, but for the good, crediting his wife for all his learning. Famous Gemaras will not make you an expert in Talmud, but it will give you easy access to many stories, along with commentaries and insights. It will introduce children to great figures of the Talmud in an enjoyable way. And it might remove at least some of your insecurity about not knowing a “famous” gemara. If someone tells you “everyone knows a certain gemara,” you can counter somewhat facetiously that any gemara not included in this book is obviously not a famous gemara!

MAH SHLOMCHA?

By David Olivestone

It’s the simplest of questions: “Mah shlomcha?—How are you?” But when your country is at war, how can you give the usual answer, “Baruch Hashem, hakol beseder—Thank G-d, everything is okay”? In fact, at our recent annual shul Shabbaton, an entire session was devoted to a discussion of possible responses, given the situation.

My wife Ceil and I were in Teaneck, New Jersey, on October 7, having gone to spend Sukkot there with family. We returned home to Jerusalem, as scheduled, about a week later, but we came back to a different Israel. When we left—despite all the political turmoil—we had been living through one of the most fortunate times for Jews in all of our thousands of years of history, in our own land, strong and confident. It’s going to be a long time until we will feel that way again.

Since Jerusalem was the target of very few Hamas rocket attacks (although Iran did try to kill us one night), life here has been pretty normal. But all along there’s been an underlying nervousness and even a sense of foreboding that things could get worse.* At first, we were hesitant to go out to enjoy ourselves because of the war, but then we realized that living a normal life is how you play your part on the home front, that you can’t let the enemy crush your spirit or make you cower in fright. Not only that, but the local cafes and other merchants need our support in order to survive.

It has been difficult to balance this normality with the constant reminders of the war. The TV and radio news programs focus on the stories of soldiers who have given their lives, and on how their bereaved

families are coping; on the fate of the hostages, whose faces are on posters on every Jerusalem street corner, and on the trauma of their families; on the difficulties facing the many thousands who were displaced from their homes near the borders; and on the scourge of antisemitism around the world.

All this serves to reinforce the idea that people in this country really do care for each other. A distraught mother was interviewed on TV while waiting in the ER for news of her son who had been seriously wounded in Gaza. She asked everyone to daven for him and gave his name. Within a minute, the reporter asked her to repeat the name as there were so many calls from people watching who didn’t catch it the first time.

A while ago, I noticed that a friend had begun to say Kaddish following Aleinu at each tefillah. He put me in touch with an organization that works to ensure that every chayal killed in action has someone to say Kaddish for him if there is no family member to do so. So now I, too, am saying Kaddish for a twenty-year-old soldier who fell in Gaza. I inquired where he is buried, and Ceil and I went to visit his kever in the small cemetery near his home in the Negev. His army friends had placed an IDF beret on the kever with the message “Shalom Chaver” written on it.

There have been so many funerals. Some neighbors lost their son in battle. As is the custom here, when they left for the levayah we lined up in the street outside the family’s home, holding Israeli flags aloft. Like many others, we visited a family whom we don’t know who were sitting shivah for their chayal son whom we had never met.

Everyone volunteers to support the war in their own way. We bought a big pile of toys for evacuated children living in a Jerusalem hotel and the store owner insisted on giving us a discount so that he too could participate. Ceil is one of those who cooks meals for displaced families. As for me, I am busy fighting the fight on social media and sending off what I hope are reasoned letters of protest to the editors of the New York Times and other such publications whose reports so frequently seem one-sided. I have no illusions that my letters will be printed, but it’s something that I can do, and they have to be placed on notice, at least, that the actual truth is often the opposite of what they print.

This year, Ceil and I plan to remain in Jerusalem for Simchat Torah. No one has any idea how the day will shape up to be. All I do know is that the many thousands of relatives—fathers, mothers, husbands, wives, brothers, sisters, sons and daughters—of the more than 1,200 Israelis murdered on October 7 will be reliving their violent deaths on that day, together with all of Israel, and that the simchah is certain to be impacted.

So, with all this—or rather, despite all this—how do I answer when I’m asked, “Mah shlomcha?” I say, “Etsli beseder Personally, I’m fine,” and, like everyone else, I leave the rest unsaid.

* This was written in early May. It is possible that much will have changed—hopefully for the better—by the time it is read.

David Olivestone is a member of the Jewish Action Editorial Committee. He and his wife Ceil made aliyah to Jerusalem in 2013.