Bikkurei Ramaz 5784

BIKKUREI RAMAZ

Judaic Studies Essays from

Ramaz Upper School Students & Faculty

Shavuot 2024

In Honor of the 60th Yahrzeit on Erev Shavuot of Daniel Schacter,

Father of Four Ramaz Alumni

Grandfather of Eight Ramaz Alumni and

Great-Grandfather of Four Ramaz Alumni and Six Current Ramaz Students

Rabbi Kenny Schiowitz, Associate Principal

Rabbi Aaron Frank, Principal

Jacob Archibald '25

Rachel Buller '25

Jordana Fuzailof '25

Leo Eigen '25

Serena Olshin '25

Avi Flatto-Katz '25

Stella Hiltzik '25

Gabrielle Silverberg '25

Ashley Rechtschaffen '25

Yonatan Shasha '25

Maya Puterman '25

Introduction

When We Feel Like We’ve Been Counting Forever:

The Chinuch, Rav Mirsky, and the Omer in 5784 (2024)

The Heart of Prayer

Adam and Darwinism: A Contradiction?

The Sin of Mei Meriva

Dina de-Malkhuta Dina: Tension Between Halakha and the Law of the Land

The Mystery of Moshiach

Zionism Through the Lens of Halakha

Is it a Mitzvah to Live in Israel?

One Jewish Wife is Enough

Kol Isha: Can’t We Just Agree to Disagree?

Romance in Judaism

The Jewish Afterlife

Words of Introduction

Tradition tells us that Sinai was chosen for the giving of the Torah because it is the smallest of mountains and symbolizes the centrality of the virtue of humility in our Torah. Moshe Rabbenu, who brought the Torah to us, also personified this quality, as the Torah testifies (Bamidbar 12:3) that “the man Moshe was exceedingly humble”. However, I believe that there is an additional lesson to be learned from the choice of this lowly mountain.

In order to actually hand the Torah to Moshe, Hashem descended upon the top of the mountain: “Hashem came down to the top of the mountain and called out to Moshe to ascend” (Shemot 19:20). Thus, by choosing Sinai, Hashem did most of the “commute,” traveling all the way down from heaven, while Moshe merely climbed this small mountain.

Perhaps this is meant to demonstrate that Hashem will always make the effort to meet us, when we make the effort to climb towards him. Despite the seemingly enormous gap between Hashem and humanity, God will shorten this distance and demand only that we make the effort. This is true about spiritual growth in general, and Torah study in particular.

In this volume, students have researched topics that they are personally intrigued by, and have collected and composed their research and thoughts. While we, as humans, are certainly limited in our ability to fully climb the mountain of Torah and uncover her truths, we hope that through this effort, Hashem will open our eyes and support us through the rest of this journey. We present this volume to you and invite you to join us in this learning process. We hope that you will enjoy these essays and will be enriched by them.

Best wishes for a Chag Shavuot Sameach.

Sincerely,

Rabbi Kenny Schiowitz, Associate Principal

When We Feel Like We’ve Been Counting Forever:

The Chinuch, Rav Mirsky, and the Omer in 5784 (2024)

Rabbi Aaron Frank, Principal

This year, we didn’t have to remember to begin counting. Because it seems like we have never stopped. For more than thirty-one weeks, with tears, frustration and broken hearts, we have taken out our sharpies and taped on a number representing the days since the dreadful day that changed us forever.

During this time after Pesach, we have always asked ourselves questions about the Omer. And yet, just like everything else since October 7, these questions look different for our people as we see things through a different lens.1

Why count days and weeks?

The Torah points out two mitzvot related to the counting of the Omer. We are told to count days and also count weeks:2

The Sefer HaChinukh quotes the Rambam, who points out that one may think that these are two separate mitzvot. However, as we know, the mitzvah is combined.

And do not be misled by thinking…that they are two commandments. The intention of this is not to say that it be a commandment on its own, but [rather] it is a part of the [different] parts of the commandment.3

We count days and weeks in one mitzvah. This teaching made me think of the distinction between the rhythm of days and that of weeks. On the one hand, days are natural: the sun rises, the sun sets. Weeks, on the other hand, are created. If you look out the window, you know if it’s day or night, but you don’t know if it’s Tuesday or Wednesday.4

1 Much of the halakhic content for this essay came from the Sefer HaChinukh, Mitzvah 306 and R. Yitzhak Mirsky’s reflections in his Hegionei halakhah, Vol 2, pp. 214-233.

2 Vayikra 23:16 and Devarim 16:9.

3 Sefer HaChinuch, Mitzvah 306.

4 This dynamic is the backdrop to a famous discussion in the Talmud (Shabbat 69b) about being lost in the desert and having to decide on one’s own when to observe Shabbat. Joe Pinsker, in his review of Ramaz alumnus (‘83) and UC Berkeley professor David Henkin’s book The Week: A History of the Unnatural Rhythms that Made Us Who We Are (New Haven, 2021), writes that “the week as we know it—a repeating cycle that has seven distinct days and divides work from rest—has been around for about 2,000 years, since ancient Roman times” (https://www.theatlantic.com/family/ archive/2021/11/weeks-seven-days-david-henkin/620712/).

Of course, the week has its roots in the Torah. The difference between days and weeks is also echoed in the first perek of Bereshit. ".רֶקֵֹבֻ

" (“And there was evening and there was morning.”) Days unfold, and while God certainly makes it all happen, the term vayehi in some way feels more passive. It seems that the day, thanks to the rotation of the earth, even – kivyakhol – “happens” to God.

Weeks, on the other hand, are completed consciously. There is no "יִהיֽ�ַוְ " when it comes to Shabbat and the end of the week. With the end of the week, we read, "םיִהלֱֹאָ

יוְ." God put down His divine work. God rested, and blessed and sanctified the seventh day. (Bereshit 2:2-3):

God ceased on the seventh day…And God blessed the seventh day and declared it holy.

This dynamic reflects life as well. As we walk through life, there are moments in which it feels that time is imposed upon us. The sun has risen and it has set, life has happened to us.

And then there are active moments, symbolized by the week – moments where we can be more impactful, working to create a world where our actions can matter.

Counting both days and weeks can lead us to remember that life is both passive and active, and that this is an inescapable part of the human condition.

Yes, on some level Oct. 7 happened to us, those 200+ days ago. We were taken by shock, outrage, and surprise. But what we have done with the 29 weeks since, for good and for bad, has been defined by the deeds and the words of us and our people. It is what we do that will define much of the time going forward.

Rabbi Avi Weiss notes that “Rav Yosef Dov Soloveitchik makes this very point when distinguishing between ‘fate’ and ‘destiny.’ Fate casts each of us into a dimension of life we cannot control. Destiny, on the other hand, is an active existence. Humanity’s mission in this world is to turn fate into destiny, an existence that is passive and influenced to an existence that is active and influential.”5

Verbally counting days and counting weeks teaches us about fate and destiny, the dual aspect of our human reality.

Why does the Torah call the complete weeks temimot and not shleimot?

The Torah tells us that the weeks must be complete (Vayikra 23:15):

You shall count off…seven weeks. They must be complete.

When we count in the Torah, says Rav Mirsky, we want to get an accurate and complete number.6 We therefore typically use the term shalem (e.g. eifah shleimah, even shleimah), because it means complete. Since in the

5 R. Avi Weiss, “Our Mission to Turn Passive Fate into Active Destiny” (May 21, 2016), (https://library.yctorah. org/2016/05/our-mission-to-turn-passive-fate-into-active-destiny/).

case of the Omer we are also counting a specific quantity, namely 49 days, this term would also appear to be appropriate here. Why, then, does the Torah instead speak of “sheva Shabbatot temimot”?

According to Rav Mirksy, this is because in counting the Omer we are primarily concerned with character or quality, and not number. For this reason, the Torah uses the term tam. Noah was an “ish tsadik tamim” (Bereshit 6:9); Yaakov was an “ish tam” (Bereshit 25:27). These people were role models of virtue and value. With respect to the Omer, the use of tam teaches us that the time for sefira is not simply a period of counting numbers, it is a time of improvement of our personal qualities. When the Jewish people left Egypt, they were on a very low level of purity (mem tet shaarei tumah) and each day of the 49 they removed one level of impurity in order to receive the Torah. The counting of temimot is a statement of progress in the quality of character.

We, too, must use this time of the Omer for tikkun middot, for improving our personal selves and relationships. Rav Mirsky points out that both the terms Kel chai (living God) and lev tov (good heartedness toward others) have the gematria of 49. They are thus important goalposts on the way toward achieving self-improvement.

While faith is never simple, for many it has been especially challenging post October 7th. Our faith in humanity and our faith in God’s protection have both been put to the test. At this time, it is acts of chesed, of learning and tefilla that must take place at their most intense level in order to strengthen our commitment to others (lev tov) and to our relationship with God (Kel chai).

Why must each of us count individually? Why can’t others do so for us?

R. Mirsky discusses the two different approaches to fulfilling the mitzvah of the Omer. There are those such as the Orchot Chayim who treat the reciting of the Omer like many other mitzvot. According to this understanding, just as one can recite havdalah or kiddush or many other berakhot on behalf of others through the principle of shomeah k’oneh (“hearing is fulfilling”), so too, with the Omer. Listening to another reciting the blessing and counting should be enough.

However, the Lvush and others feel that the Omer is different. By virtue of the fact that the pasuk states,

, “you must count,”7 hearing alone is not enough. Each person has to count the Omer for themselves in order to reach the state of purity that the Omer asks us to attain.8

Each person must verbally count each and every day in order to internalize the journey toward the Torah and the commitment to personal growth.

There is one additional point: From the tragedy of R. Akiva’s students to the Crusades to the Cossack riots, the Omer has historically been a time of trouble for our people. Sadly, these days, we need not be reminded of the challenging times that we are in. Each day, each of us, must count the days of the Omer and each of us must count the days out loud since October 7.

6 R. Mirsky, Hegionei halakhah, p. 225.

7 Vayikra 23:15.

8 This is similar to niddah, when one has to personally count in order to go to the mikvah to become tahor.

Rachel Goldberg, the mother of Hersh Goldberg Polin, says about her daily tally since Oct 7, “I find it so remarkable how nauseating it is every single time. And it’s good. I don’t want to get used to it. I don’t want anybody to get used to the fact that these people are missing.’’

For each of us, each day should be a personal moment of reflection and pain. No one could or should count that for us.

This year, it is not only a mitzvah to count the days since Pesach, it is a statement of unity and personal reckoning when we personally, “nauseatingly,” fulfill the obligation to count each day since October 7th.

So the counting continues.

Each night, I count the weeks and days – but that count will end on June 10, as we will celebrate with God and with our community Chag haShavuot.

And each morning, I also count. I will take out that sharpie, and count with tears, with questions, and with actions.

And I will certainly count with a daily prayer that this seemingly endless counting ritual will come to an end with a new day of life for our people and our land.

The Heart of Prayer

Jacob Archibald ’25

Prayer is an integral part of Jewish life. Observant Jews pray at prescriptive times throughout the day and week as part of their religious routine. Other Jews may pray only during major holidays or life cycle events. However, the urge to pray to God for help or comfort in times of extreme sorrow, suffering, or need, is nearly universal. Interestingly, there is a paradox intrinsic to praying to God in times of difficulty: if God is omnipotent, then He is the cause of our suffering, but still we pray to Him for redemption. As far back as the Tanakh and until recent history, there are many examples in which Jews astoundingly have turned to God in prayer during times of agony. Jews with a deep connection to God may find peace in knowing that God has a just and loving plan that is beyond their capacity to understand. The ability to set aside anger and blame and turn to God with hope and devotion in the form of prayer can be restorative and transcendent.

Hannah, depicted in ( 1 Shmuel 1), provides one of the earliest documented examples of the power of heartfelt prayer. One of the two wives of Elkanah, Hannah suffered from infertility and desperately desired

a child. The depth of Hannah’s despair is reiterated in the text. Elkanah questions why she weeps and does not eat, and Hannah is described as having “שפְנָ תרמַ,” “a bitter soul” (1 Shmuel 1:10), and “חֲוְר תשקֵ,” “a hard spirit” (1 Shmuel 1:15). Hannah desperately prays to God for a son. Her ardent manner of prayer, which included mouthing her words, was so unorthodox at the time that she was mistaken for a drunkard by Eli. The text depicts Hannah as “הבֻלָ לָעֹ תרבֻדמַ,” “speaking on her heart”(1 Shmuel 1:13). Regarding these words, Rav Hamnuna explains that powerful halakhot are derived from the verses describing Hannah’s prayer and, specifically, that “on her heart” teaches us that during prayer one must direct their heart to God (Berakhot 31a). Rabbi Elazar, in the name of Rabbi Yosi ben Zimra, offers a different interpretation, which is that “on her heart” refers to “הבֻלָ יקֵסְעֹ,” or matters of the heart (Berakhot 31b). From these discussions, we understand that in her time of suffering, Hannah was praying about something that deeply mattered to her with the full depth of her attention and heart.

Despite her anguish, Hannah does not blame God. Interestingly, the story of Sarai, who was similarly infertile, serves as a counter-example. Sarai blames God for her barrenness, saying (Bereshit 16:2) “תד

(“Look, the Lord has kept me from bearing”) and does not pray. In contrast, Hannah feels a profound connection with God and prays deeply. The Lubavitcher Rebbe, Menachem Mendel Schneerson, explained:

Her prayer for a child was not an expression of "intoxication" and self-obsession. It was an outpouring of the innermost part of her soul – she knew that she was "standing before God"... Hannah was crying out from the innermost depths of her being, and her desire did not stem from desire for self-gain; but her entire existence was characterized by the yearning to be bound and united with God (Geffen, 2011).

Hannah’s actions demonstrate that the ability of prayer to transcend pain and create a deeper connection to God is powerful and restorative. God hears Hannah’s prayers and blesses her with a son, Shmuel, a prophet and leader of the Jewish nation. Hannah’s close bond and spiritual connection with God manifests in the physical realm in the direct communication that Shmuel, as a prophet, shares with God. Hannah’s story demonstrates that Hannah was able to look to God during her time of greatest suffering because she set aside blame, spoke to God from her heart, and trusted God unconditionally.

Throughout the Holocaust, many Jews turned to God in their despair. Having been taken from their homes, robbed of their belongings, separated from their families, starved, enslaved, and in perpetual fear for their lives and the lives of their loved ones, Jews turned to prayer as a source of comfort and hope. Understandably, some Jews who lived during the Holocaust could not reconcile an omnibenevolent God with the horrors of their lives; Eli Weisel is a classic example of this outcome. However, there is much evidence that many Jews imprisoned in ghettos and concentration camps found solace in prayer. In his diary, Auschwitz survivor Moshe Ha-Elion describes his experience with prayer on the evening of Yom Kippur in Auschwitz (“Prayer in a World…”). Ha-Elion describes that while he was at the infirmary, a lockdown was imposed, during which a long list of prisoners destined for death was read by SS soldiers. Ha-Elion, spared from the roster, recounts feeling “bewildered (and) stunned.” He continues, “I felt an inner impulse, impossible to stop, to raise my voice and to sing the liturgical hymn, which was always sung with great emotion and an inestimable devoutness by the congregation. It was the hymn “El Nora Alila” (“Oh God, Who Acts Awesomely”). A part of its stanza with

words inspiring hope seemed fit to be said at that time more than ever in the past…” Rather than question God’s benevolence and turn away from fasting and prayer, Ha-Elion declares his devotion and trust in an almighty God. Maintaining faith in God, despite the worst of circumstances, is what enables Ha-Elion to pray, and the prayer, in turn, sustains him.

Similarly, Reuven Feldschuh, a Holocaust survivor, describes the power of communal prayer in the Warsaw ghetto (“ Prayer in a World…”). He explains that prayer is a form of escape, noting that “if you close your eyes for a moment and do not look at these people, at their gaunt faces... and listen only to the hum of their prayers, you would be sure you happened upon the synagogue at a time of peace and tranquility…” For Feldschuh, prayer allowed him to transiently shed the physical reality of his suffering and commune with generations of Jews who came before him and with God. He relates that, “the neshama [soul] is surrendered to exalted, supreme worship, in which the dwindling of the body takes no part…I was suddenly filled with a warmth… Someone, or something, had carried me from here, borne me, and planted me amidst the Jews from the Middle Ages.” Feldschuh is granted temporary reprieve from his suffering through prayer.

Whereas Ha-Elion and Feldshuh turned to traditional Jewish prayer in their greatest time of need, other Holocaust prisoners adapted prayers to reflect their experiences. The added relevance allowed them to connect more with what they were saying in order to add meaning and weight to their prayer. For example, the diary kept by Regina Honigman while in the Gabersdorf labor camp makes frequent comparisons to the Passover story (Kaye, 2023). She writes, “Avadim Hayinu: We were slaves in Egypt once and now in Gabersdorf again ... The triumphal day will come to Gabersdorf. The gates will open...” Honigman is able to take comfort in the redemption of the Jews in their rescue from Egypt and hope that the Jews will similarly be saved from their current plight. Ha-Elion, Feldshuh, Honigman, and their contemporaries turned to prayer in different manners - through private adherence to prayer traditions, communal prayer, and adapted supplications - but all found comfort, hope, and connection to the Jewish people through their communion with God.

Meaningful prayer is personal, heartfelt, and an opportunity for direct communication with God, according to an analysis of Pirkei Avot by Rabbi Dovid Rosenfeld (Rosenfeld, 2022). In the Mishna, Rabbi Shimon reminds us, it states (Pirkei Avot 2:13): “Be careful with… prayer; and when you pray, do not make your prayer something automatic, but a plea for compassion before God, for it is said (Joel 2:13): ‘for He is gracious and compassionate…’” These ideas tie closely to how Jews might reasonably pray to God in their most difficult moments. Rabbi Rosenfeld points out that, historically, prayer was impromptu. Only in relatively recent history did the sages create prescriptive prayers. However, even now, there is permission to add to prayers with personal supplications. The Shulchan Arukh treats the “תוְכָרבֻבֻ

ןיד”, “the laws of the one who wants to add prayers,” in the understanding that prayer may be deepened by such additions (Orach Chaim 119:1). For Jews in times of suffering, the importance of connecting to God in whatever way feels most meaningful - whether through the pre-existing prayer format or through personal additions - is paramount. Furthermore, the idea of praying from the heart to a compassionate God is what compels Jews to bare their innermost feelings and thoughts to God. Rabbi Rosenfeld ties in Taanit 2a:

which explains that the way in which we serve God with our heart is through prayer. These rabbinical interpretations of Jewish law regarding prayer match the experience of Jews throughout the ages; prayer offers a deeply personal way to commune with God.

Whether suffering alone, like Hannah, or as part of a communal experience, like the Jewish nation in the Holocaust, many Jews turn to God in prayer. Some pray straight from the siddur, creating a comforting link to the generations of Jews who have been redeemed by God through the ages. Others improvise their words or adapt pre-existing prayers in order to create a more personal experience. But for all to whom prayer provides solace in their darkest moments, prayer emanates from the heart from a place of hope and belief in God.

Bibliography

Geffen, David. “The Prayer of Hannah.” The Jerusalem Post, 19 October 2011, https://www.jpost.com/jewish-world/jewish-features/the-prayer-of-hannah.

Kaye, Hannah. “Adapting Jewish Prayers During the Holocaust.” Yad Vashem, 09 August 2023, https://www.yadvashem.org/blog/adapting-jewish-prayers-during-the-holocaust.html.

“Prayer in a World of Destruction.” Yad Vashem, undated, https://www.yadvashem.org/education/international-activities/jewish-world/educationalmaterials/prayer.html.

Rosenfeld, Dovid. “Chapter 2, Mishnah 18(a): Prayer-Internal.” Torah.org, 01 June 2022, https://torah.org/learning/pirkei-avos-chapter2-18a/.

Adam and Darwinism: A Contradiction?

Rachel

Buller '25

In Sefer Bereshit, we are introduced to the character known as Adam, Hashem’s creation of man. Adam is understood to have looked and acted like a human, requiring clothing and speaking with God. Likewise, Adam’s son, Kayin, has the cognitive ability to commit murder and understand that he needs to hide the evidence. According to the way that we view the first man, Adam seems to resemble a fully developed human being. In Charles Darwin’s theory of evolution, the first humans are believed to have evolved from ape-like creatures. Based on Darwinism, there is no way that the first man could have acted in the way that Adam did in the Torah. This is the first apparent contradiction between Judaism and scientific evolution. The second of these conflicts is Judaism's perception of the timing of the world’s existence. The Torah gives the impression that Adam was the first human being created around 5000 years ago; however, that assumption also poses an issue for the modern theory of evolution, which considers the world to be over 4 billion years old. The last challenge that we face is the conflict between Darwin’s beliefs and the notion of divine creation. The Torah explains that Hashem created the world through utterances and direct divine intervention. Jews believe that God single-handedly molded the world from tohu vavohu into the perfect world containing creatures made in the image of Hashem. Conversely, Darwin explains that species are the way they are due to natural selection, or survival of the fittest. He believes that organisms reproduce with each other, and the genes that survive are

passed down from generation to generation, creating the ideal version of the organism best suited to survive. However, in natural selection, God’s role in evolution seems negligible. These three contradictions raise an overarching question; namely, can Jewish sources and traditions be reconciled with the theory of evolution and, if so, how?

In order to begin to address this question, we must examine each point individually. Firstly, if Adam was the first human on earth, created around 5000 years ago, then how can humans have evolved from apes, millions of years ago? One theory is that the creation of Adam was not Hashem’s first attempt at the creation of the human. In fact, the Gemara introduces the idea that perhaps there were prior generations or attempts at the creation of man before Adam. As it states in Tractate Chagigah 13b:

It is taught in a baraita: Rabbi Shimon HeChasid said in explanation of this verse: These people “who were snatched away” are those nine hundred and seventy-four generations that were snatched away; they were to have been created before the creation of the world, but they were not created.

When referring to creation, the Gemara explains that the people who were “snatched away” were those 974 generations that Hashem was supposed to have created before Adam but never did. Similarly, Rabbi Aryeh Kaplan states in his book Immortality, Resurrection and the Age of the Universe, “Adam was merely the first human being created in the latest cycle. According to these opinions, it would seem that Man already had the physical and mental capacities that we possess as early as 974 generations before Adam.” Rabbi Kaplan builds on the Gemara to introduce the idea that these generations could be used to explain evolution and its reconciliation with Judaism. He proposes that perhaps these generations were the subjects in which evolution occurred, allowing this idea to be a part of the reconciliation of Judaism with evolution.

The next step in the resolution of the inconsistencies between Judaism and Darwinism is addressing the issue of time. Contemporary scientists discovered that the world is around 4.5 billion years old through radiometric dating techniques, or measuring the levels of radioactive elements in rocks and minerals. In contrast to this, according to the Jewish calendar, we are currently in the year 5784 since creation. This contradiction poses an obstacle to the reconciliation of evolution and Judaism. However, Rabbi Manning takes a mathematical approach to explaining this. Psalms 90:4 states:

For in Your sight a thousand years are like yesterday that has passed, like a watch of the night.

Rabbi Manning uses this pasuk and explains, “The pasuk in Tehillim states that one day to Hashem is like 1,000 years to us. Thus the mekubalim state that since our year is 365.25 days, each divine year is 1000 x 365.25 = 365,250 years.” This explanation reflects one of the many ways that commentaries understand the Jewish construct of time as more fluid. On the other hand, Rav Dessler reconciles the contradiction of time through a more spiritual route. He writes:

Creation, by definition, is outside our world and outside our frame of thought. If time exists only as a mode of our thought, then the act of creation is necessarily non-temporal - “above time.” Every non-temporal act is interpreted in our frame of thought as an infinite time-sequence. This is the reason why creation is interpreted by scientists as a process of evolution extending over vast eons of time. Unlike Rabbi Manning, Rav Dessler reconciles evolution by saying that it occurred “above” the Jewish concept of time. Either way, both ideas resolve the discrepancy of time.

A final challenge we face while attempting to explain evolution while remaining consistent with Judaism is Darwin’s concept of natural selection. According to the Oxford Dictionary, “Darwin’s theory of evolution states that things evolve through natural selection, or “survival of the fittest, the process whereby organisms better adapted to their environment tend to survive and produce more offspring.” At first glance, this idea seems to be antithetical to the fundamental principle in Judaism that Hashem is the creator and creates everything in its perfect form. However, Tzvi Freeman states the following:

While I’m at it, please allow me to point out that “natural” and “selection” are mutually incompatible terms. Natural implies blind necessity dictated by the consistent patterns of nature. Selection implies intelligence. I won't be the first to point out that this term is an oxymoron. What I propose, however, is that the choice of such a term indicates that scientists subliminally recognize that there must be an intelligence at work here. Which is my point: It's much more intuitive to believe that the primal substance of the universe is not matter, but intelligence.

Freeman explains that the “natural” aspect of Darwin’s theory is not truly natural, rather that is how Hashem manifests Himself in the process of evolution. Hashem is the one “selecting” the organisms who breed with one another to produce offspring with the ideal genes. Darwin doesn’t contradict the presence of Hashem but rather unintentionally proves His existence.

After examining several sources to reconcile Jewish principles with the modern theory of evolution, we are able to combine the pesukim, Gemara, and commentaries to answer our initial questions. We can infer that evolution occurred during the 974 “uncreated” generations that the Gemara mentions and that when Hashem reached Adam, humans had already evolved into beings with full cognitive abilities. Furthermore, the time in which this process occurs is accounted for by Rabbi Manning who instead of counting human years as literal years, counts in “divine years” which are much longer than human years. Alternatively, we also can explain that there is no need to reconcile the time in which evolution took place because, as Rav Dessler says, creation and evolution are “above time” and spiritual, and therefore can’t be accounted for mathematically. Finally, evolution can be explained through “natural selection,” understanding that the entity that is doing the “selecting” is Hashem. This analysis reveals that Jewish principles and modern evolution are not mutually exclusive, but can work in tandem to explain how Hashem's creations came to be as we know them today.

Bibliography

Rabbi Avraham Manning, “Issues in Jewish Contemporary Society: The Age of the Universe,” https://rabbimanning.com/wpcontent/uploads/2012/05/Torah%20and%20the%20Age%20of%20 the%20Universe.pdf

Tzvi Freeman, “Does the Theory of Evolution Jibe with Judaism,” https://www.chabad.org/library/article_cdo/aid/755394/jewish/Does-the-Theory-ofEvolution-Jibe-with-Judaism.htm

The Sin of Mei Meriva

Jordana Fuzailof ’25

Moshe Rabbenu was the greatest figure in the Torah. He was God’s right-hand man and had the most unique relationship with Him. If he was so extraordinary, why was he not allowed into the Land of Israel? Why put Moshe through so much hardship only for his ultimate dream to be crushed? Moshe had to deal with the Jewish people in their worst state. When he became their leader, they had just escaped Mitzrayim. Bnei Yisrael were stuck in a slave mindset, and because they were not mentally prepared, that generation was not allowed into Eretz Yisrael. But what was so bad about Moshe’s actions at Mei Meriva that caused him to end up with this same fate?

In Bamidbar 20:8 (Parshat Chukat), Moshe tells us that he pleaded with God, begging to cross the Jordan River into the Land of Israel. In response to his plea, Hashem tells him that he will not be allowed in and should stop pursuing the idea. Rashi connects these pesukim and the reasoning behind Hashem’s response to the story of Mei Meriva, where God instructs Moshe and Aharon as follows (Bamidbar 20:8):

Take the rod and assemble the community, and before their eyes order the rock to yield its water. Thus you shall produce water for them from the rock and provide drink for the congregation and their beasts.

In response to God’s command, Moshe turns to Bnei Yisrael and says (Bamidbar 20:10):

Listen, you rebels, shall we get water for you out of this rock?

What did Bnei Yisrael do to deserve a reaction like this from Moshe? Rashi provides us with a Midrash to fill in the blanks of the conversation. He believes that there must be something missing because Moshe’s reaction does not make sense otherwise. He writes that after Miriam’s death, the rock that had been Miriam’s well became just another rock, and disappeared. Due to the lack of water, Bnei Yisrael complained to Moshe and Aharon. After Hashem tells them how to get the water, Rashi says that the nation must have shown a lack of belief in God for they asked Moshe why he couldn’t get water from just any rock. Because of their behavior, Moshe says what was quoted above. He says this because how could these people not understand that he could not just get water from any rock without divine command? Rashi makes sense of the pesukim because why else would Moshe react like that to God’s command?

Ibn Ezra gives a similar answer. He says that because Bnei Yisrael seemed to be lacking faith in God, Moshe felt he had to prove God’s power, and therefore hit the rock. Moshe and Aharon acted in a way that could be viewed as disobeying God in Bnei Yisrael’s eyes, and that looks very bad for Hashem. Hitting the rock defied

9 God’s complete statement to Moses and Aaron from this verse reads in English as follows: “Because you did not trust Me enough to affirm My sanctity in the sight of the Israelite people, therefore you shall not lead this congregation into the land that I have given them.”

God’s command, and that is what was wrong with Moshe’s actions. It is not because he hit the rock, but because he did so in a provocative way that God knew did not look good.

The first time Hashem commands Moshe to get water from a rock, He tells Moshe to speak to it. Rashi says that in the Mei Meriva story, that is where Moshe went wrong, namely by not speaking to the rock, and hitting it instead. “יִנֵָשָׁ

(Bamidbar 20:12) means “to sanctify me,” and God is in essence saying to Moshe, “had you obeyed Me and spoken to the rock instead of hitting it, the nation would have a different level of respect for you and Me.”9 This is the next generation, and God wanted to be sanctified through their eyes since they had not seen Hashem’s direct miracles. Moshe’s sin, Rashi says, is that he made God look bad by hitting the rock rather than speaking to it, as he should have.

Rambam disagrees with Rashi’s approach. Rashi says Moshe’s sin was hitting the rock instead of speaking to it, but the Rambam focuses on the phrase “ה֗טֶַּ֗מִּה־תֶאָ

(“take the rod”). Why would Hashem command the two to bring a stick if not to use it on the rock? Taking the rod with them implies that they would need to smite the rock to produce water. There are times when God commanded Moshe to use his staff to do miracles, so why is it so unacceptable that he used his staff here?

Therefore, Rambam concludes that the sin has nothing to do with the rock. Hitting it was not the issue. The issue was when Moshe said, “Listen, you rebels, shall we get water for you out of this rock?” All God said was to gather up the nation and provide water for them. There was no sense of anger in His tone, and there was no implication that anything was wrong with their request. So, when Moshe called Bnei Yisrael rebels for a request that seemed understandable, something must have been wrong. Moshe is a role model. He is supposed to set an example for the people. He is supposed to be calm and collected. His anger, however, was unnecessary in that moment and caused the nation to see a different side of him. He could not keep his cool, and because of his unwarranted anger, he messed up and lost the one thing he dreamed of.

Every generation needs a leader that can relate to them. Moshe became less connected with the new generation. He overreacted to their very reasonable request for water for themselves and their animals. This reaction showed God that Moshe was not the fit leader for this new generation, hence that he was not the right person to enter the Promised Land with them.

A new nation is entering the Promised Land, and God wanted to make Himself known amongst them. By Moshe getting angry with them when it was not necessary, God’s plan was thwarted. As great as Moshe was, he was simply not fit for the role anymore. He had pent-up anger for the first generation, and it was not fair to displace that onto their kids. They’re a new nation with a new mindset. Moshe just could not see that.

There are many different explanations given by our respected parshanim about the severity of the sin of Mei Meriva and its consequences for Moshe Rabbenu. Rashi posits that the sin was hitting the rock rather than speaking to it, as Moshe should have done. Because of that, he was denied entry into Israel. Ibn Ezra reasons that it is because Moshe, trying to defend God’s name, hit the rock as a reaction to a lack of faith in Hashem on Bnei Yisrael’s part. Rambam, on the other hand, rejects these interpretations and comes to the conclusion that Moshe showed his anger to Bnei Yisrael. His anger was unprovoked and unjustified. Although Moshe was a fantastic leader, his role as leader for this generation had come to an end, and it was time for a new one.

Dina de-Malkhuta Dina: Tension Between Halakha and the Law of the Land

Leo Eigen ’25

In his famous letter to the exiled Jews of Babylonia, the prophet Jeremiah instructs: “Seek the welfare of the city to which I have exiled you and pray to God in its behalf; for in its prosperity you shall prosper” (Jeremiah 29:7, JPS translation). Jeremiah’s message predates the formal codification of the Talmudic principle dina de-malkhuta dina—“the law of the land is the law”—but its substance can be seen as the inspiration for this obligation.

Dina de-malkhuta dina was presented in the Talmud by the sage Shmuel. It stipulates—as a matter of halakha or Jewish law—that Jews abide by the civil law of the non-Jewish government under whose jurisdiction they reside. Dina de-malkhuta dina can also be understood as a means of legitimizing outside power to allow diaspora Jews to contribute to the broader society in exchange for religious autonomy and the ability to commit to halakha.

Though its intentions are important and its historical applications have been broad, the concept of dina demalkhuta dina is puzzling because of the apparent paradox it creates: the more that dina de-malkhuta dina is expanded, the more halakha is therefore minimized. An overzealous commitment to sovereign law can compromise halakhic adherence. This paper will analyze how our understanding of the role of halakha as a legal system can inform our idea of dina de-malkhuta dina—and how our view of its purpose can resolve this lurking tension.

I. Overview of Dina De-Malkhuta Dina

Shmuel introduced dina de-malkhuta dina when Jews were exiled from Israel after the destruction of the Second Temple. Presumably, he created the statute to confront the inevitable conflicts that arose in his day. Jews surely grappled with the question of whether to utilize a halakhic legal framework or non-Jewish legal framework to solve disputes while under constraint to submit to the new sovereign.

Leo Landmann, a scholar who served as dean of the Bernard Revel Graduate School of Jewish Studies at Yeshiva University, observed that unlike the overwhelming majority of other laws in the Talmud, dina demalkhuta dina was accepted without inquiry about its source or aim.11 Since the Talmud did not provide background, several schools of thought arose as to where dina de-malkhuta dina originates. Some have argued that it has as its basis the laws of a Jewish king extended to non-Jewish leaders, others believe that it is derived from hefker bet din hefker (the right of courts to expropriate property), and some contend that it was a rabbinic law with no direct biblical roots. Its provenance notwithstanding, dina de-malkhuta dina has been

10 Itamar Rosensweig, "Minhag Ha-Sochrim: Jewish Law’s Incorporation of Mercantile Custom and Marketplace Norms." Beth Dina of America, 2022. https://bethdin.org/minhag-ha-sochrim-jewish-laws-incorporation-of-mercantile-customand-marketplace-norms/#_ftn1

11 Leo Landmann, "Dina D’Malkhuta Dina: Solely a Diaspora Concept." Tradition: A Journal of Orthodox Jewish Thought 15, no. 3 (1975), pp. 89–90.

central to how Jews interact with the overarching government. It was especially relevant during the era of Jewish Emancipation in early modern Europe, when insular Jewish communities were integrated into the larger state. Communal leaders needed to determine how to uphold a level of halakhic observance in concert with newfound citizenship.

Finally, before discussing dina de-malkhuta dina more deeply, it is worthwhile to briefly mention a related principle: minhag ha-sochrim, marketplace custom concerning contracts and commercial agreements. In an article for the Beth Din of America, Rabbi Itamar Rosensweig addresses instances when halakha and commercial practices conflict, writing that in some cases, “commercial custom invalidates the halakhic mechanism [...] because, by doing business in a commercial environment, the parties implicitly rely on the commercial norms to execute the transfer…”10 As Rabbi Rosensweig points out for minhag ha-sochrim, there is some fluidity between halakha and external norms, especially when the parties implicitly submit to an outside authority. In his article, Rabbi Rosensweig also recognizes lingering questions that separate minhag ha-sochrim from dina de-malkhuta dina, the main one being that the former addresses even local commercial norms not codified in legal systems, while the latter concerns only sovereign law and thus is mainly directed towards the society as a whole. Minhag ha-sochrim is especially relevant to dina de-malkhuta dina because, just as commerce must be conducted by the overarching rules, so too must Jews live with non-Jewish law—and thus the question of how much weight should be afforded to the state is born.

Having addressed the precept of dina de-malkhuta dina and its fundamentals, it is now possible to consider the issue raised above: how can halakha be balanced with the law of the land without overly diminishing halakha? I will present two approaches to dina de-malkhuta dina and elaborate on how each perspective can elucidate this question.

II. The First Approach: A Halakhic Balancing Act

If we assume that halakha and foreign law are two entirely different systems, then we must also recognize that the two will, occasionally and unavoidably, clash under certain conditions. Dina de-malkhuta dina thus stipulates that non-Jewish law is incumbent upon Jews, but halakha should still be observed to its fullest extent possible, as well. This approach basically charges Jews with the task of living with both. Dina de-malkhuta dina is a functional measure because it allows Jews to legitimize the authority of outside governments and to form halakhic lives around it.

Rabbi Jacob J. Schachter of Yeshiva University seems to advance this perspective on dina de-malkhuta dina. He writes that, “Scattered throughout the Diaspora, [Jews] instinctively recognized that any semblance of unity would be impossible if they were to be subject to the arbitrariness of the local officialdom of each community in which they lived.” Thus, Rabbi Schachter writes, dina de-malkhuta dina was an effective mode of forming a symbiotic relationship with non-Jewish authorities, as “Jewish law reflected the overriding importance attached to this fundamental vertical relationship.”12

This approach to the question is satisfactory in how it frames our mindset towards dina de-malkhuta dina; however, we are still left with the lingering uncertainty of how the minimization of halakha can be avoided.

12 J.J. Schachter, “Dina de-Malkhuta Dina: A Review,” Diné Israel 8 (1977), p.77.

Rabbi Schachter addresses this concern, writing that:

excessive acceptance of the king’s authority might jeopardize those very rights [the Jews] were striving to insure: personal freedom and communal autonomy. [...] That this concept existed is understandable; it is the tension created by those areas wherein the Jews refused to surrender to the authority of the king and stubbornly insisted upon maintaining what they believed to be their basic rights and privileges, which provides the drama of the interaction between a morally just halakhic system and the historical arena within which it operated.13

According to Rabbi Schachter, dina de-malkhuta dina necessitates a continual balancing act between halakha and non-Jewish law to ensure that halakha does not dwindle in the quest to fulfill the will of the surrounding government. Regarding our question, a potential solution would be to enumerate which areas of law are reserved solely for halakhic jurisdiction and which can be shared with the non-Jewish government. Taxation, for example, is an area of law where the surrounding government can assert supremacy, but in matters related directly to Jewish practices, halakha should be the authority. Nowadays, in the United States, when the First Amendment prevents the government from declaring a state religion through the “Establishment Clause'' and compels the government to allow citizens to practice their own religion through the “Free Exercise Clause,” this solution to the tension seems more accessible than ever. Giving deference to the surrounding government does not automatically mean the cessation of leading a halakhic lifestyle—and dina de-malkhuta dina refers only to the surrounding government.

III. The Second Approach: Is Halakha All-Encompassing?

So far, we have taken for granted that halakha and non-Jewish law are mutually exclusive entities. The previous approach essentially states that erosion of halakha can be avoided by adapting it to fit alongside the obligations of the foreign leadership. Yet if we shift our thinking on this front, it is possible to provide another answer to this question.

In his commentary on the Talmud, Rashi makes the claim that since non-Jewish courts are a fulfillment of the Noahide commandment to form justice systems, halakha and surrounding law are not entirely at odds. In fact, when the two converge, it is even possible for Jews to defer to non-Jewish law. Thus, the two systems of law are clearly distinct, but by the very nature of law will inherently overlap—and this isn’t necessarily an issue. Professor Suzanne Last Stone, a legal theorist, writes that, “The implication of Rashi’s rationale is that large portions of the halakha are, in fact, replaceable by the law of other civilizations, thus shrinking the scope of halakha to matters of ritual and religious prohibition.”14 This approach certainly challenges accepted norms of halakha, yet it builds on foundational Jewish sources. In addition to Rashi’s comment, another potential support for this universal approach is the fact that Rabbi Yosef Caro, author of the the Shulchan Arukh, the authoritative halakhic code, writes several times in his work that certain laws are no longer relevant because of dina de-malkhuta dina—the surrounding government has filled the gap. As such, he uses dina de-malkhuta dina as the rationale for some of his rulings, including his statement on the prohibition on tax evasion, when he

13 Ibid., p.79.

14 Suzanne Last Stone, “Religion and State: Models of Separation from Within Jewish Law,” International Journal of Constitutional Law 6, no. 3-4 (2008), p.659.

argues it is improper because it violates the law of the land. It is significant that he includes an element of dina de-malkhuta dina as his explanation, and not just Jewish prohibitions.

This approach resolves the conflict by arguing that observing dina de-malkhuta dina does not reduce the scope of halakha since halakha itself is a system that overlaps with non-Jewish law in certain areas. Deferring to the non-Jewish establishment as part of dina de-malkhuta dina is not a “casting-aside” of halakha with negative consequences. Rather, halakha is but the Jewish legal code, and its norms shared by non-Jewish law fall under dina de-malkhuta dina.

As Rashi states, if non-Jewish legal systems are given as much validity as halakha because both were commanded by God, then the tension is no longer as problematic. Unlike the previous approach, this one states that Jewish civil law and non-Jewish civil law have a level of fluidity between them. We are not minimizing halakha by upholding dina de-malkhuta dina because ultimately, civil law systems share common ends, and the procedures by which we arrive there are not exclusive to halakha.

IV. Conclusion

These two approaches are both compelling. In certain ways, even these viewpoints overlap, since balancing legal systems is a nuanced and difficult task, and grappling with both might necessitate replacing halakha in certain realms, as well. I definitely recognize the merits of both views, yet Jewish tradition strongly indicates that halakha is the ideal code for Jews. Today, it is entirely possible to be an engaged, law-abiding citizen of the United States while living an entirely halakhic lifestyle in other areas. We are immensely fortunate that this perpetual give-and-take is sustainable in the modern state, where observance of halakha is attainable. I believe that the message espoused by dina de-malkhuta dina is an ideal in and of itself: Judaism can be lived out in all circumstances, under all authorities, and across all borders.

Bibliography

Landman, Leo. “Dina D’Malkhuta Dina: Solely a Diaspora Concept.” Tradition: A Journal of Orthodox Jewish Thought 15, no. 3 (1975), pp. 89–96.

Rosensweig, Itamar. “Minhag Ha-Sochrim: Jewish Law’s Incorporation of Mercantile Custom and Marketplace Norms.” Beth Dina of America, 2022, https://bethdin.org/minhag-ha-sochrimjewish-laws-incorporation-of-mercantile-custom-and-marketplace-norms/#_ftn1.

Schachter, J.J. “Dina de-Malkhuta Dina: A Review.” Diné Israel 8 (1977), pp. 77-95.

Stone, Suzanne Last. “Religion and State: Models of Separation from Within Jewish Law.” International Journal of Constitutional Law 6, no. 3-4 (2008), pp. 631–66.

The Mystery of Moshiach

Serena Olshin ’25

Despite the concept of Moshiach or the Messiah not being explicitly mentioned in the Torah, the first five books of Tanakh, the idea is one that is central to Judaism. We are taught to yearn for his coming and we pray three times a day (at least) asking Hashem to live in a messianic world. But where does this concept even come

from, if it is not mentioned in the Chumash? The concept of Moshiach originates from the time of the Nevi'im and the later books in Tanakh. It developed originally from the promise that King David’s line of descendants will be on the throne till the end of time. This stems initially from Shmuel Bet (or 2 Samuel) 22:51, when David is praising and thanking Hashem for his victories over all of his enemies and this is said:

Tower of victory to His king, who deals graciously with his anointed, with David and his offspring evermore.

Even though the Davidic line might temporarily fall from the throne, this promise of the continuation of David’s monarchy laid the foundation for a messianic expectation centered around a future descendant of David.

We then see this foundation being built upon and the concept of Moshiach being used as a source of hope for Bnei Yisrael or the Israelites when there is significant political turmoil around them in the times of Yeshayahu and some of the other later prophets. During the time of Yeshayahu, the northern Kingdom of Israel had already fallen to the Assyrians in 722 BCE, and the southern Kingdom of Judah, where Yeshayahu primarily prophesied, was under threat from surrounding nations, particularly the Assyrian Empire. The situation was very difficult and many Jews in the southern kingdom, including leaders, found it hard to stay faithful to Hashem, so the prophecies that Yeshayahu got about a promise of a future redemption helped keep Bnei Yisrael hopeful. Yeshayhu not only instilled hope in Bnei Yisrael by prophesying about a messianic era when they much needed it, but the details of his prophecies also served to further develop the picture of the Moshiach and the messianic age. Some examples of this are (Yeshayahu 2:2):

It shall come to pass in the end of days, that the mountain of God’s house shall be set over all other mountains and lifted high above the hills.

And (Yeshayahu 11:12):

[God] will hold up a signal to the nations and assemble the banished of Israel, and gather the dispersed of Judah from the four corners of the earth.

Many other specifics are mentioned as well, not only about what will happen at this time but also about certain characteristics that this redeemer will possess (Yeshayahu 11:3):

He shall sense the truth by his reverence for God: he shall not judge by what his eyes behold, nor decide by what his ears perceive.

Then during the Second Temple period, Jewish beliefs about the Messiah began to further crystallize, influenced by historical events and messianic expectations. The Babylonian exile, followed by the restoration of the Jewish homeland under Persian rule, fueled hopes for a new Davidic king who would lead Israel to victory and establish an everlasting kingdom. However, during the time of the second Beit Hamikdash there

is a noticeable variety in views concerning the messianic age. For example, during the time of the second Beit Hamikdash, the notion of a human Moshiach was notably absent from the Amidah, and eschatological figures were often depicted as angels of God rather than a miraculous savior. Nevertheless, despite these slight differences, the majority of what we now believe in today regarding Moshiach was formulated before or around this period of the second Beit Hamikdash.

While there were many differences when it came to the view of Moshiach or “The Messiah” which began to develop historically during the times of the second Beit Hamikdash, there was indeed a consensus that emerged on about five things: the Moshiach will be (i) a descendant of King David; (ii) attain authority or rulership over the land of Israel; (iii) gather all the Jews from around the world, bringing them back to Israel; (iv) restore the total observance of Jewish law; and (v) bring world peace. Though consensus around these five characteristics became established around the time of the second Beit Hamikdash and remains with us until today, other, often divergent, details regarding Moshiach continued to be discussed and debated throughout the Talmudic period. Most strikingly, we see this in Massekhet Sanhedrin, 97-98, where the rabbis explore various facets of the messianic era, including the conditions necessary for the Moshiach’s arrival. They debate whether he will come in a generation that is entirely righteous or entirely wicked, suggesting that the timing of his coming is contingent upon the merit of the people. Furthermore, they consider whether the arrival of the Moshiach is predetermined or dependent on the people's readiness and repentance. These discussions also touch upon the role of the Moshiach in bringing about the ultimate redemption and the resurrection of the dead. Additionally, in these passages there is contemplation regarding the possibility of two Moshiachs, one from the tribe of Joseph and another from the tribe of Judah, each with distinct roles in the redemption process. However, it is also made clear that while all of these opinions and theories are discussed, there is definitely much controversy as to what is accepted in our tradition and what is not.

By the early Middle Ages and the time of Rambam, the idea of a Moshiach and a messianic age had become so deeply rooted in the Jewish tradition that the statement concerning Moshiach (“Ani Ma'amin”) became the most famous of Rambam’s Thirteen Principles of Faith. It states that we are to believe with a full heart in the coming of a Moshiach and we are to await his arrival. The concept of Moshiach was universally accepted, and remains profoundly with us until today. Many people believe that Jews even recited this belief aloud while walking into the gas chambers in the concentration camps. However, even in the Middle Ages when belief in a Moshiach had become so fundamental to our beliefs, ambiguity regarding the details of Moshiach’s arrival remained and became a heated topic of debate for some of the most famous Jewish commentators of the time. For example, Rambam’s interpretation of Yishayahu’s prophecy that “the wolf shall dwell with the lamb and the calf with the young lion” is that it was meant metaphorically (i.e. enemies of the Jews, likened to a wolf, will no longer oppress them). However, approximately 100 years later, the Ramban rejects Rambam’s rationalism and asserts that Yishayahu meant exactly what he stated, that in a messianic era even wild animals will become domesticated.

Amidst the multitude of perspectives surrounding the concept of Moshiach, maintaining a steadfast belief (“Ani Ma’amin”) can feel challenging, especially when the specifics of his arrival remain uncertain. How can we authentically yearn for something when the nature of that yearning eludes us? One approach to this challenge

that resonated with me was one inspired by a shiur I listened to by Rabbi Dr. Yaakov Abramovitz called “Why Should We Want Moshiach Now?” Through listening to his shiur and my own personal reflections, I came to understand that when we are yearning for Moshiach to come, and are praying for his arrival, it shouldn’t be driven by an individual agenda with personal things that we want Moshiach to fix.

If our yearning for Moshiach is solely driven by serving our personal agenda, then it’s understandable why we might lack motivation to pray for his arrival. We might rationalize to ourselves, saying, “Even if I hold certain beliefs about Moshiach and the messianic era, which may be true, living in this messianic world won’t necessarily solve my individual problems, so why bother caring about his arrival?” However, thinking in this manner overlooks the true essence of Moshiach. Our prayers for Moshiach’s arrival should not stem from a desire for something we believe his coming can give us, but rather from an acknowledgment of the spiritual voids in our lives. The institution of tefillot and the call to yearn for Moshiach was established to bridge the gap between our initial disconnect and eventual realization of the spiritual deficiencies in our lives. Initially, we are not expected to instinctively feel the absence of elements like the Beit Hamikdash personally. However, through consistent prayer, we are supposed to gradually cultivate this awareness. Repeating the words of prayer daily and attentively reflecting on their meaning allows us to internalize the core values of Moshiach. Additionally, we are not supposed to know exactly what’s to come when Moshiach arrives like Rabbi Zeira says in Sanhedrin 97: if we try and analyze every detail, we might even delay his coming. The idea of Moshiach, and the focus should not be on the details about what life is going to be like during that time, it’s about the values that Moshiach brings when he comes: the presence of Hashem in this world and everything that comes with that - that is what we are supposed to yearn for.

Zionism Through the Lens of Halakha

Avi Flatto-Katz

'25

Along with the rise of secular Zionism in the 19th century came the rise of religious Zionism. Notable figures such as Rabbi Yehudah Alkalai, Rabbi Zvi Kalischer, Rav Avraham Kook, and many others began to popularize and spread the idea of a religious basis for the pre-messianic return to the Land of Israel. The idea spread like wildfire, and was soon adopted by many religious Jewish communities around the world. However, there was just one problem: It was not entirely clear that this return to Israel was religiously justified. In fact, there was strong evidence that it actually was not. Over the years, there were many opposing voices who argued that Zionism went against halakha. Most notable was the former Satmar Rebbe, Rav Joel Teitelbaum. In his 1961 book, Vayoel Moshe, the Satmar Rav made his arguments against Zionism, and even went as far as to say that the Holocaust was punishment for Zionism. This essay aims to outline the case against Zionism, as well as to highlight some of the Zionist responses to those arguments.

The Case Against Zionism

The case against Zionism ultimately stems from a gemara in Massekhet Ketubot 111 (אָיקֵ תוְבֻוְתכָ). In that Gemara, Rabbi Yehudah and Rabbi Zeira argue over what can be derived from the three verses in Shir Hashirim

that begin with: "םילָשוְרי

("Wherefore, I have besworn you, the daughters of Jerusalem."). Rabbi Zeira teaches that these three verses represent three oaths made with God. The oaths are as follows:

1. The Jews should not ascend to the Land of Israel as a wall.

2. The Jews should not rebel against the rule of the nations of the world.

3. The nations of the world should not subjugate the Jews excessively.

The first oath has been explained as a prohibition for the Jewish people to return to the Land of Israel en masse until the time of the Messiah. Therefore, Zionism, which calls for Jews to return to Israel and establish a Jewish state before the Messiah, would be prohibited as well.

Rambam, in his Sefer Hamitzvot, conspicuously left out the Mitzvah to inherit and settle the Land of Israel. The Megillat Ester, a 16th-century commentary on Rambam’s Sefer Hamitzvot, wrote that this omission was intentional. The Megillat Ester, quoting the same verses from Shir Hashirim mentioned in Ketubot, argues that the commandment of possessing the Land of Israel only applied before the people of Israel were exiled. Once the people were exiled, God beswore the Jews not to “ascend like a wall,” meaning they could not resettle it. The Maharal of Prague, a prominent 16th-century rabbi, shared the same view as the Megillat Ester. In his book, Netzach Yisrael, the Maharal wrote that despite the exile being unnatural (the Jews were “naturally” supposed to be in Israel), the oath mentioned in Ketubot prohibits Jews from returning to Israel until the arrival of the Messiah. It is clear that the prohibition of returning to Israel before the Messiah is not just an idea mentioned obscurely one time in the Gemara, but one that made its way into halakhic discourse, strengthening the argument that Zionism is antithetical to halakha.

Opponents of Zionism have also pointed to the second oath mentioned in Ketubot as a reason why Zionism is not allowed. The second oath states that the Jews “should not rebel against the rule of the nations of the world.” Opponents of Zionism argue that since the non-Jews living in the region, such as the Palestinians, the Lebanese, etc., were opposed to the creation of a Jewish state, Zionism constitutes a rebellion against the nations. Additionally, the resistance against the British Mandate of Palestine, according to them, constituted a rebellion against the nations.

The Religious Zionist Response

Religious Zionists have multiple answers to the arguments of the anti-Zionists. Here are a few of them:

The opinion of the three oaths in Massekhet Ketubot is held by Rabbi Zeira. However, in a story told in Midrash Rabbah (Shir Hashirim Rabbah 8:9), Rabbi Zeira seemingly retracts his opinion. In the story, Rabbi Zeira overhears Rabbi Shila stating: “Had Israel ascended from the exile like a wall, the Temple would not have been destroyed a second time.” Upon hearing the teaching of Rabbi Shila, Rabbi Zeira remarks: “That ignoramus taught me well” (the ignoramus refers to a seller in the market, who had made a remark in agreement with the teaching of Rabbi Shila), implying that Rabbi Zeira agreed with the teaching. Not only does Rabbi Shila’s teaching go against the opinion of the three oaths in Ketubot, but by stating that the Second Temple would not have been destroyed had the Jews in exile “ascended like a wall,” it demonstrates that “ascending like a wall” is

in fact necessary. The story from Midrash Rabbah supports Zionism in two ways. First, it negates any objections made by quoting the opinion in Ketubot, since the author of that opinion later retracted it. Second, it shows that Zionism is necessary to bring about the final redemption, for if the Jews in the first exile had done the same as the Zionists (i.e. “ascended like a wall”), there never would have been a second exile.

Even if one believes that the opinion of the three oaths mentioned in Ketubot is still upheld, Zionists argue that we are no longer bound by those oaths. This argument is based on a halakha mentioned in the Shulchan Arukh (׳וְ:וְ״

That halakha states: two people who swore to do one thing, and one of them breaks the oath, the other is exempt [from the oath]. Zionists believe that the three oaths mentioned in Ketubot are really three parts of one oath. They also believe that the non-Jewish nations have clearly broken the third part of the oath: “the nations of the world should not subjugate the Jews excessively.” Zionists point to the Holocaust, in which 6 million Jews were slaughtered, as irrefutable evidence of our subjugation. Since the non-Jewish nations broke their side of the oath, Jews are no longer bound to keep our side of the oath, i.e. to not “ascend to Israel as a wall.” Thus, Zionism is now halakhically justified.

In response to the argument that Zionism violates the third oath mentioned in Ketubot – i.e. that Jews should not rebel against the rule of the nations of the world – Rabbi Tzvi Yehudah Kook, son of Rav Avraham Kook and Rosh Yeshiva of the Mercaz HaRav yeshiva, wrote: “And in the issue of the rebellion against the nations of the world, when we were compelled to remove the authority of the British from here this was not rebellion against them, since they were not the legal authorities in our land, rather they had a temporary mandate in order to prepare the authority of the nation of Israel in its land according to the decision of the League of Nations, as the word of Hashem in the Tanakh, and when they betrayed their mission the time arrived to remove themselves from here.” Additionally, Zionists argue that since the United Nations, a league of all the nations in the world, voted in favor of the establishment of the State of Israel, Zionism does not constitute a rebellion against the nations. On the contrary, it was approved by a majority of the nations.

Conclusion

To me, the Zionist side is much more convincing. The anti-Zionists’ position is based on the Gemara in Ketubot. However, as was identified in this essay, the Zionists have convincing refutations of that source, and demonstrated in multiple ways why that source no longer applies today.

Every day we pray in the Shemoneh Esreh:

Sound the great shofar for our liberty, and raise a banner to gather our exiles, and gather us together from the four corners of the earth.

When an opportunity comes to actually fulfill that prayer, we shouldn’t be looking for ways to prove that it is halakhically prohibited. Instead, we should do all in our power to show that it is permissible, and then work to actually make it come true.

Is it a Mitzvah to Live in Israel?

Stella Hiltzik ’25

On May 14, 1948, David Ben Gurion, the head of the Jewish Agency, proclaimed the establishment of the State of Israel. From that day forward, Jews around the world were given the opportunity to decide to move to Israel. As Anton Yelchin states, “The ability to have a choice is a privilege.” We now have this privilege and choice to move there. With this choice comes the question of whether it is a mitzvah to live in Israel. The Torah states (Numbers 33:53):

You shall take possession of the land, and dwell therein; for I have given the land to you to possess it.

The Torah commands us to take possession of Israel and dwell there, but does that mean there is an obligation to live there today?

Two core commentaries are the basis of many of the discussions pertaining to whether or not it is a mitzvah to live in Israel: the Ramban and the Rambam.15 These commentators have different approaches and are interpreted in different ways. The Ramban says,

The Ramban states that it is a positive commandment to live in Israel. On the contrary, the Rambam in his Sefer Hamitzvot does not count living in Israel as part of his 613 mitzvot. What are the underlying reasons behind each approach?

The Ramban challenges the Rambam by stating four proofs of why living in Israel is a part of the 613 mitzvot. The Ramban first cites the Talmud in Ketubot 110a-b. The Gemara praises those who live in Israel and criticizes those who live outside the land, implying that living in Israel is one of the 613 mitzvot. In addition, the Ramban argues that the very fact that the sages spent so much time discussing the topic of living in Israel proves that it is an actual mitzvah. However, the Rambam would argue that not only mitzvot warrant debate from sages. The Talmud’s language or time spent on the topic would not be enough proof to deem it a mitzvah.

The Ramban’s last three proofs use halakhot which the Ramban believed existed due to the preexisting mitzvah to live in Israel. He believes that there are halakhot based on a mitzvah to move to Israel. Two of these laws concern cases when spouses disagree about whether they should move to Israel. The first halakha states that in a case where one spouse wants to move to Israel and one does not, the spouse that wants to move to Israel is given a financial advantage in divorce over the spouse that does not want to move to Israel. According to the Ramban, the reasoning for this halakha must be because there is a mitzvah to move to Israel. The spouse that is following the mitzvah gets the upper hand. One way the Rambam could have argued against this

15 https://www.nbn.org.il/educational-content/the-mitzvah-of-living-in-israel/#_ftnref12; https://outorah.org/p/27212/.

16 https://www.sefaria.org/sheets/483780.4?lang=bi

is the idea that this halakha is not based on the mitzvah to move to Israel, but instead, an overall halakha that anytime one spouse wants to do something that will strengthen their relationship with God and their spouse opposes it, they are given the financial advantage in a court. This is not something that only applies to moving to Israel. The last proof of the Ramban is that this mitzvah to move to Israel is obtained from the prohibition against leaving Israel. If there is a prohibition to leave Israel, kal vachomer there must be a mitzvah to live in Israel. The Rambam would have refuted this argument by listing his 14 rules of qualification for something to be listed as one of the 613 mitzvot. The mitzvah to live in Israel is indirect and does not fit into these categories. The Ramban explains that this mitzvah provides indirect benefit and therefore can be counted as one of the 613 mitzvot.

The work entitled Megillat Ester (not the megillah of the Purim story), written by Rabbi Yitzchak De Leon, defends the Rambam’s approach to not include the mitzvah to live in Israel in the 613 mitzvot.17 Rabbi Leon explains that the Rambam included only mitzvot that could apply eternally. The mitzvah to live in Israel “expired” once the Jews were banished from the land and could only be reinstated through the coming of Mashiach. Rabbi Leon uses proof from the Gemara in Ketubot 110b -111a. The Talmud mentions this vow that God said to the Jewish people "she-lo ya’alu ba-choma" – meaning, that they will not forcefully return to Eretz Yisrael.18 Rabbi Leon interprets this Gemara as proof that until God summons us back to Israel, through Mashiach, we are not obligated to live in Israel and should not live in Israel. Rav Leon pulls in other parts of this Gemara, specifically Rabbi Yehuda’s opinion that moving to Israel is not only NOT an obligation, but that if one moves there they are going against a positive mitzvah.19 By moving to Israel, one is going against Jeremiah’s prophecy which states, “They shall be taken to Babylonia and there they shall remain until the day that I recall them, said the Lord” (Jeremiah 27:22). Many of those who support this opinion belong to the Satmar Chasidic dynasty. This opinion helped found the Neturei Karta. The Neturei Karta is a group that rejects Zionism and the establishment of the State of Israel. They do not recognize it as a religious state. They also believe that the true Israel can only be re-established with the coming of Mashiach.

Another approach that goes in a completely different direction is that of the Avnei Neizer (Rabbi Avraham Borenstein).20 The Avnei Neizer interprets the Rambam in a new way. Avnei Neizer argues that the Rambam does in fact include the mitzvah to move to Israel in his 613 mitzvot. The Rambam includes the mitzvah to destroy the seven nations who inhabit the land before Bnei Yisrael’s initial journey. This was a conquest to secure Israel’s settlement in the land. Avnei Neizer explains that this mitzvah and the mitzvah to live in Israel are the same. The Torah commands Bnei Yisrael to settle in Israel and obligates them to destroy the former inhabitants. The Avnei Neizer is pointing out a different debate between the Rambam and the Ramban.21 He is explaining that at the core they disagree on whether the mitzvah to live in Israel is included in the mitzvah to wipe out all the nations who inhabit the land before them. The Ramban believes that these must be listed separately, while the Rambam believes that one encapsulates the other.

17 https://www.mhcny.org/parasha/1043.pdf

18 For more on this vow, see the previous essay by Avi Flatto-Katz. 19 https://www.sefaria.org/Ketubot.110b.25?lang=bi

20 https://etzion.org.il/en/halakha/yoreh-deah/eretz-yisrael/there-mitzva-settle-land-israel 21 https://www.mhcny.org/parasha/1043.pdf

There are many different ways to understand and interpret these commentaries. Each community of Jews has had the ability and continues to have the ability to choose its interpretation. No interpretation is inherently wrong and that is part of the beauty of Judaism. I, too, can choose my path. One of the experiences that encouraged me to investigate this topic further and find my interpretation was the Ramaz mission to Israel. While it was sad and heart-wrenching to see the atrocities committed on October 7th, there were moments when I found myself admiring the land and thinking about how lucky we were to have a state. As I thought about it more and fell in love with the people and country all over again, I started thinking about the obligation – or whether there is an obligation to move to Israel. Part of me wanted it to be an obligation. That would mean it was a mitzvah and I would have no choice but to move to Israel. I started to picture myself living in Israel. Could I move there? I then began to think about if it wasn’t an obligation. I would then have to make that decision on my own. I would not know if it was the right choice or not. Either way, I had this burning question and decided I had to write about it and explore it further. I still don’t have all the answers, but learning these sources was one step in the right direction.

One Jewish Wife is Enough

Gabrielle Silverberg ’25

There are a plethora of interesting and outdated concepts in Judaism that are written about in halakhic literature. One of these outdated topics is polygamy. Polygamy is the practice of having multiple wives. In Judaism, this concept is permitted in the Torah and in the Gemara. However, in 1000 CE, Rabbenu Gershom banned polygamy for the Jews in Ashkenaz. This begs the question of why it took so long for the Jewish people to come to the conclusion that polygamy was not a good thing. While researching the topic, I found that even though polygamy was technically allowed, when delving deeper it seems that in reality it was looked down upon by the rabbis and that they did encourage men to be satisfied with and have one wife.

Since polygamy was never outright banned by the Torah or the rabbis (until Rabbenu Gershom), one might think that they believed this practice was completely permissible. However, there are some sources in the Gemara that show the rabbis casting a negative shadow on polygamy and discouraging the practice. In Sanhedrin 22a it states,

Rabbi Shmuel bar Naḥman says: “For everything that is lost there is a substitute, except for one’s wife from youth, as it is stated (Isaiah 54:6): ‘And a wife from youth, can she be rejected?’” Rav Yehuda taught Rav Yitzḥak, his son: “A man finds calmness of spirit only from his first wife, as it is stated (Proverbs 5:18): ‘Let your fountain be blessed and have joy with the wife of your youth.’”

This is an effort of the rabbis to turn people on to monogamy. Essentially, the rabbis are writing that a man will never be happier than he is with his first wife. While this does not forbid polygamy, it hints that having multiple wives won’t make a man happy -- in fact, it will do the opposite. Additionally, it is important to note that the Gemara explains this conclusion through a conversation between father and son. This shows that polygamy was an outdated practice and that it was more valued to have one wife and that it was important for fathers to teach this to their sons. This is not the only place in the Gemara where the rabbis discourage polygamy. When discussing the topic of Eshet yefat to’ar - the non-Jewish woman capture in battle (Devarim 21:10-14),

the rabbis do not ban the practice of taking a wife from the battlefield, but they try to put fences around it so men will not do worse. Right after they discuss this issue, they go on to discuss how the eldest children from least favored wives cannot lose their bekhora. The Talmud then speaks about the concept of Ben sorer umoreh, a rebellious son. Rashi explains that the reason all of these topics are discussed together is because one leads to the others. If a man takes a captive as another wife, it is inevitable that in the long run he will not want her; this will lead to an unhappy family and messed-up children. This is another attempt of the rabbis to explain why having multiple wives is actually harmful and why men should refrain from this practice.

It is true that there are many cases of polygamy in the Torah. But even from a peshat reading, the Torah seems to value monogamous marriages. This is exemplified through the fact that G-d created Adam and gives him one wife, Eve. Even our forefathers show why polygamy is not good and only done due to extraordinary circumstances, such as the first wife being barren. The rabbis comment on some of these polygamous relationships and try to minimize the practice. One example is explained by the Maharasha as follows: “Although he had other wives, Ya’akov didn’t find calmness of spirit except with Rachel since she was supposed to be the first wife and the anchor of the household. Ya’akov’s main purpose of working for Lavan was so that he could marry Rachel.” This explains that Ya’akov is not a model for having multiple wives; rather, his story shows how he only really connected to one wife. He had to marry his other wife because of abnormal circumstances (he was tricked into marrying Leah), and a monogamous relationship was what he would have preferred. It could also be mentioned that perhaps Ya’akov wanted to only have one wife as this is what his father had with his mother, Rivka, and he was satisfied. Much of what children do in their lives is related to how they were raised. If parents are monogamous and happy, their children will want the same for themselves.

In Yevamot 26a, the Gemara discusses the Mishna that appears in 25b, which concerns a woman rendered forbidden to her husband owing to a vow. A judge who refuses to release such a woman from the vow, resulting in her divorce from her husband, is not permitted to marry her. The reason for this was to keep a judge from wanting to selfishly destroy a marriage so that he could marry the woman. It was important to prevent any possibility of ill intention on the part of the judge. Obviously, this is a case of keeping a judge honest and impartial. However, the Mishna says that if the judge is married there is no concern about him wanting to marry the woman. The Mishna even says that if his wife dies after the ruling he is allowed to marry the woman. If polygamy was permitted at that time then why would it matter if the judge was married or not? Tiferes Yisrael (Yachin) the first part of the mishna commentary by R. Israel Lipschitz says that this is because even though polygamy was permitted it was very uncommon to take a second wife, so it was assumed that if the judge was already married he would not have tried to marry the other woman. This shows that even before Rabbenu Gershom’s ban on polygamy, there were very few people actually practicing polygamy.

One may also wonder if the practice of polygamy is different for Sephardic cultures as Rabbenu Gershom’s ban was mainly for the Jews of Ashkenaz. Rav Yosef Karo says:

A man may marry a number of women provided that he has the means to sustain them, and what we find is that the sages gave a worthy suggestion that a man marry no more than four women so that he may fulfill his sexual obligation once a month. In a place where they are accustomed to only marry one woman they are not permitted to marry another woman.

This Sephardic rabbi has a more lenient view on practicing polygamy. It makes sense that he would have these views as in Muslim countries this was the widespread practice. He even mentions that in a place where polyamy is not practiced it should not be done. This shows that he feels there is no halakhic opposition to polygamy; rather, it is contingent on where you are from. We do not want to do something not allowed and make the Jewish people look bad or uncivilized. It is important to recognize, however, that even to someone who believes polygamy to be permissible, there are still restrictions. For example, he mentions that the Gemara restricts how many wives a man can have. This is the rabbis’ way of showing that they don’t love the concept of polygamy. By putting a limit on the number of wives someone may have they are again preventing us from doing an excess amount of harm to ourselves and our families. If the person cannot sustain all these wives, it doesn’t make sense for him to have all of them because it will only cause strife. While Rav Yosef Karo’s reasoning and restrictions are more practical than moral in character, they are nonetheless present.

At the end of the day, we can see how polygamy plays out nowadays through the policies of Israeli law. Under the Penal Law Amendment, Section 176, polygamy is prohibited in Israel for both women and men of all religions. If polygamy is practiced, one may have to serve up to five years in prison. The law had not been so strictly enforced but, in 2017, an Israeli Bedouin man was sentenced to prison for taking on another Israeli Arab wife who did not know that he was already married. After this trial, the courts began heavily investigating polygamous marriages. Leonora Montilio, a prosecutor in Be’er Sheva, said, “Polygamy is very harmful, mainly in hurting the status of women in Bedouin society. The court has delivered a clear message that polygamy is impermissible and harms the character of the state as a democratic country which fosters gender equality. It must be eradicated, partly by imposing harsh sentences.” The authorities wanted people to know that this was absolutely not permissible and that there would be consequences for the practice of polygamy. This sets a very important precedent for our modern and not so modern Jewish concepts and restrictions. We can give up outdated concepts and still remain very in touch with our Jewish identities and value meaningful, important laws. The ban on polygamy is one example of a larger effort by the rabbis to help our religion move forward through time. They also try to use their own moral compass when making decisions, helping to guide us on a path to success and happiness.

Bibliography

Almog ben Zikri, “Israeli Court Sends Man Convicted of Polygamy to Jail, Overturning Lighter Sentence,” Haaretz, September 20, 2019, https://www.haaretz.com/israel-news/2019-09-20/ ty-article/israeli-man-convicted-of-polygamy-to-go-to-jail-after-court-accepts-statesappeal/0000017f-db3e-db5a-a57f-db7e42d20000

Babylonian Talmud, Tractate Sanhedrin

Babylonian Talmud, Tractate Yevamot

Isaiah

Maharasha, Chiddushei aggadot (Sanhedrin 22), https://shas.alhatorah.org/Dual/Maharsha_ Chidushei_Aggadot/Sanhedrin/22a.1#m7e0n6

Kol Isha: Can’t We Just Agree to Disagree?

Ashley Rechtschaffen ’25

The topic of Kol Isha, the halakhic prohibition for men to listen to a woman sing, is a matter of particular concern for me as a member of the choir at Ramaz, my Jewish Modern Orthodox co-ed high school. Unfortunately, many Orthodox people assume that it is forbidden to listen to women sing, so when women do sing, it is viewed as offensive, rather than as fostering a spiritual and communal connection as intended. For this reason, through an analysis of the Talmudic sources, and the interpretations of the Rishonim, Acharonim, and modern posekim, explore the perameters of Kol Isha and to see if it is indeed as restrictive as commonly thought.

There are three instances in the Talmud where the sexual nature of a woman’s voice is discussed: Berakhot 24a, Kiddushin 70a, and Sota 46a. For the purposes of this essay, I will focus on Berakhot 24a and Kiddushin 70a since they are the primary sources for the prohibition of Kol Isha as it relates to a woman’s singing voice. First, in a discussion about the laws of Kriat Shema, we learn in Berakhot 24a:

Shmuel stated: “A woman’s voice is considered nakedness, as it is stated (Song of Songs 2:14): ‘Sweet is your voice and your countenance is alluring.’”

Then, in Kiddushin 70a-b, the voice of a woman as erva is discussed in the context of a conversation between R. Nachman and R. Judah:

R. Nachman: “Will you send a greeting to my wife Yalta?”

R. Judah: “Thus said Shmuel, ‘A woman’s voice is a sexual incitement.’”

R. Nachman: “Is it possible through a messenger?”

R. Judah: “Thus said Shmuel, ‘One must not inquire after a woman’s welfare.’”

R. Nachman: “Then by her husband!”

R. Judah: “Thus said Shmuel, ‘One must not inquire after a woman’s welfare at all!’”

When Yalta hears of the dispute, she insists that her husband drop the matter of R. Judah greeting her (Berman, 46).

Unlike the situation in Berakhot that dealt with a woman’s voice as a distraction during the recitation of the Shema, here Shmuel’s law is brought in a completely different context to call into question R. Nachman’s character and eligibility as a judge.

Consequently, the Rishonim debated whether the prohibition of hearing a woman’s voice was only in regard to the Shema, and what kind of voice was considered erva. Did the sexual nature of a woman’s voice extend to her speaking voice as well? If so, that would mean that a man and a woman cannot even have a conversation! Thankfully, the Rashba clarifies that the section in Kiddushin is only referring to speech that can lead to feelings of intimacy. He writes, “it appears that this is specifically the voice of sending or returning greetings, since

the reason [of the prohibition] is closeness of mind.” Rashi takes this one step further when he explains why even a messenger should not be used by R. Judah to inquire after R. Nachman’s wife. He writes, “lest through inquiry after her welfare they will become familiar with each other through their messenger, and come to love one another” (Berman, 50). For the Rashba and Rashi, the concern is not over the sensuousness of a woman’s voice, rather it is the intimacy created by asking about the welfare of a woman that is off limits. In addition, the Rambam, the Tur, and the Shulchan Arukh conclude that the prohibition of Kol Isha extends beyond the Shema because it is like the prohibition against looking at a woman’s little finger - which is not specific to the Shema (Makovi, 1). Rambam writes, “And he who looks at even the little finger of a woman to take pleasure in it is like one who looks at her private parts, and even to hear a voice of an erva or to see her hair is forbidden” (Hilkhot Issurei Biah 21:2). At first glance, extending the prohibition beyond the Shema seems to be a stricter interpretation. However, a closer look at Rambam’s wording reveals that he is in fact presenting a lenient view. He says that one may not look at a woman’s little finger to take pleasure in it, and the prohibition is specific to that context. The focus is on the intent of the man looking at the woman’s little finger rather than on the woman’s uncovered little finger. As a result, women are not expected to cover their little fingers in the presence of men. Rather, the responsibility is on the man to remove himself from a situation where he knows that looking at a woman’s little finger will cause him to be aroused. Since the Rambam combines his discussion on the topics of a woman’s little finger with his discussion of a woman’s voice, by extension, the prohibition of Kol Isha is only against listening to a woman’s voice to take pleasure in it (Makovi, 2). Therefore, the prohibition only applies when the listener is likely to take sexual pleasure in the voice of a woman who is forbidden to a man, namely a married woman who is not his wife. The Rishonim considered the intent/result with regards to Kol Isha, thereby concluding that listening to a woman’s voice, whether in speech or in song, was only prohibited if it could create an attraction to a woman who was off limits.

However, a critical development occurs when some of the Acharonim decide upon a radical reinterpretation of the Rambam’s opinion. When R. Asher records the opinion of the Rambam in the Tur Orach Chaim, he omits the word “from Rambam’s phrasing ‘kol ha-erva.’”(Berman, 58). As a result, in his commentary on the Tur, R. Joshua Falk argues that there are now two ways to interpret the phrase “kol erva.” First, it could mean what it meant before, namely that “the voice of an erva” is prohibited. Or, alternatively, the word erva could be read as an adjective describing the type of voice that is prohibited. In this case, the phrase could now be understood to mean the “erva voice” or “arousing voice,” which is a woman’s singing voice. Ultimately, R. Falk concludes that the phrase should continue to be read according to the first option (in keeping with Rambam), however he has opened a Pandora’s box – the debate over who is considered an erva and what type of voice is considered erva is reignited (Berman, 59). Following the second interpretation, R. Abraham Abele Gumbinert settles the debate over whether the prohibition pertains to a woman’s speaking voice, singing voice, recitation of the Shema, or some combination of the above when he writes in the Magen Abraham, “The singing voice of a married woman is always forbidden to be heard, but her speaking voice is permitted” (Berman, 60). From this point on, a woman’s singing voice becomes the accepted interpretation of the type of voice prohibited.

Having put that debate to rest, the Acharonim turn back to the question of whose singing voice is prohibited. R. Joseph Te’omim, writing in the Peri Megadim, makes the final decision. He writes, “…it seems logical that an unmarried woman who is a niddah is included in the category of erva.” He argues that because unmarried

women do not go to the mikvah until just before their wedding, they should be included in the category of erva. Finally, in direct contrast to the Rambam, R. Moses Sofer solidifies R. Te’omim’s view when he interprets the Shulchan Arukh’s prohibition to extend to any woman past the age of puberty (Berman, 60-61). The stricter position becomes the more common interpretation amongst the Acharonim.

Thankfully, R. Aharon de Toledo in the Divrei Chefetz throws female singers a lifeline when he departs from the majority of his contemporaries and reiterates the more lenient opinion of the Rishonim. He writes that listening to a female voice is allowed “so long as it is not a voice of lust-provoking songs and the listener does not intend to derive pleasure from her voice” (Lichtenstein, 17). His view is unpopular, but it is not invalid. As the Sedei Chemed writes, “one who sees his words…will rightfully deem them cogent. And even though it is surely correct to act stringently not in accordance with the aforementioned words of Divrei Chefetz, in any case [they] are not, Heaven forbid, classified as inscrutable words” (Lichtenstein, 18). Therefore, even in the time of the stricter Acharonim, while unpopular, the lenient opinion was nonetheless considered a legitimate opinion.

Recently, modern posekim have relied upon the acceptable lenient opinion when addressing the prohibition through a consideration of the needs of the current generation. First, women today are included in more areas than ever before, and the expectation is for the inclusion of women to extend to religious contexts as well. Furthermore, in our current culture, hearing a woman sing is as common as hearing a woman speak, and is not automatically associated with sexual thoughts. In fact, there is plenty of precedent for changing the interpretation of halakhot that deal with male/female interactions to adjust to changing circumstances. For example, according to Mishna Kiddushin 4:13, unmarried men and all women may not teach small children. The Rambam and the Shulchan Arukh agree, explaining that the prohibition exists to prevent improper relationships to develop between these teachers and the children’s parents (Makovi, 5-6). Similarly, the Shulchan Arukh prohibits a man from walking behind a woman in the marketplace because men should “keep very far from women” (Even ha-Ezer 21:1). However, times have changed, and virtually no one adheres to these rules anymore! Posekim are allowed to adjust interpretations of halakha to their social realities as long as those interpretations were never rejected by halakhic consensus (such as with the conclusions of Beit Shammai or Abaye) (Lichtenstein, 20). For example, Rabbi Yechiel Ya’akov Weinberg, widely considered one of the greatest posekim of the twentieth century, ruled that male and female students could sing zemirot together (Berman, 63). One of the reasons he gave for this permissive conclusion was that:

Since there is no absolute prohibition, but rather a righteous custom and practice of modesty, it is possible to marshall support and to permit the practice in France … In Germany and France, women would feel disgraced and see it as a deprivation of their rights if we prohibited them from joining in the rejoicing over the Sabbath by singing zemirot. This is obvious to anyone familiar with the character of women in these countries. The prohibition could drive women away from religion, God forbid (Berman, 64).

While R. Weinberg was defending group singing, his line of reasoning could be applied today with regards to a woman’s singing voice even absent the accompaniment of men’s voices. To borrow his words with some slight adjustments, “since there is no absolute prohibition, but rather a righteous custom and practice of modesty,

it is possible to marshall support and to permit the practice. In countries like Germany and France (or any country where women and men have equal rights), women would feel disgraced and see it as a deprivation of their rights if we prohibited them from singing. This is obvious to anyone familiar with the character of women in these countries.” Consequently, insisting on a stricter understanding of the halakha with regards to Kol Isha when there is the option to choose a more lenient, yet valid interpretation would likely unnecessarily harm a contemporary woman’s connection with Judaism.

Ultimately, Am Yisrael is strongest when Jews from different backgrounds respect one another’s opinions even when they disagree. In keeping with this belief, I would not ask someone to compromise his religious standards by forcing him to listen to me sing, just as I would hope to receive the same consideration in return by not having my singing voice forcefully silenced. For the boys and girls in the Ramaz choir, the recent movement of posekim away from the stricter interpretation of Kol Isha by the Acharonim to the more lenient, yet just as valid, interpretation of the Rishonim has had a positive impact on our proximity to Judaism as well as our connection with one another. Raising our voices in song enables us to feel a stronger spiritual connection to our religion, and when we perform in front of the community, we hope that our singing reminds all those listening of the beauty of Judaism, and allows us to bring strength to each other in difficult times and amplify our joy in times of celebration.

Bibliography

Berman, Saul J. “Kol ‘Isha.” In Rabbi Joseph H. Lookstein Memorial Volume, edited by Leo Landman, 45-66. New York: KTAV Publishing House Inc., 1980.

Lichtenstein, Mosheh. “Kol Isha: A Woman’s Voice.” Tradition: A Journal of Orthodox Jewish Thought 46, no. 1 (2013): 9–24.

Makovi, Michael. “A New Hearing for Kol Ishah.” Ideals: Institute for Jewish Ideas and Ideals, (2012), https://www.jewishideas.org/article/new-hearing-kol-ishah.

Romance in Judaism

Yonatan Shasha ’25

Love. It’s most central to the human experience and it is pursued by so many people. Love for another person and love for God. I would like to explore the role of love in Jewish thought: is it a central value? Is Judaism primarily about the love for God or simply following commands? And what about love for a partner and an intimate, sexual relationship? Is this a central value or merely a permissible experience? And, looking at the bigger picture, is it possible that a romantic relationship should actually be used as a vehicle to connect to God? I will be exploring these questions in this paper as I seek to find the true meaning of romance in Judaism.

Let’s begin by understanding the idea of shalom bayit: a stable and peaceful home. Of course, shalom bayit is critical for a healthy relationship, and without it, most relationships would fail. But just how important is shalom bayit on its own? In the Talmud (Shabbat 23), Rava argues that a mitzvah that seeks to promote shalom

bayit literally overrides the mitzvah of kiddush over wine and nerot Chanukah. So Hashem is essentially telling us that He will take a back seat for the sake of peace in a home. Family harmony is more important than God’s honor. And in Shulchan Arukh (OC 263:3), Rava’s statement is confirmed and established as halakha. Another example of shalom bayit overriding God’s honor is during the ritual of the sota. In short, if a man suspects his wife of cheating, then she must undergo a ritual that will either prove her innocence or confirm the husband’s suspicion. In order for the woman to be proven innocent, all the ink on a parchment must be erased, including God’s name. Obviously, erasing God’s name is an immense sin, so how are we able to do it here? Because God wants us to have peace in our relationships; He lets us bend the rules in order to have shalom bayit.

What about the sexual activity in a relationship; what does Judaism think about that? In the Talmud (Niddah 31), Rabbi Meir talks about the mitzvah of Nida, that prohibits intimate touching between a couple from the onset of a woman’s period until she goes to the mikvah to purify herself. For what reason do we have this rule? While this enforced distance might seem to harm a relationship, our tradition is that it will renew their intimate relationship and that “she will be dear to her husband as at the time when she entered the wedding canopy with him.” (Talmud Niddah 31b)

This same analysis underlies the idea of shomer negiah. It seems counterintuitive to be shomer negiah; how are you supposed to find a mate if you can’t initially touch them? Surprisingly, this can be thought of in the reverse: Once you do find the person you love and want to marry, the build up to your wedding day will tower over everything until that moment comes and it will be filled with bliss. Additionally, once one is married to one’s spouse and cannot intimately touch anyone else, their relationship can be that much stronger.

Finally, the most significant purpose of a relationship is using it as a vehicle to come closer to God. Maimonides (Laws of Teshuva 10:3) tells us how much love a person should have for Hashem. And, you guessed it, it’s a vast and intense amount of love that should consume your soul. He also connects this comment to Shir HaShirim, saying that the whole book is a metaphor for our relationship with Hashem. The male and female who love each other in the story are really representative of Hashem and Bnei Yisrael. The reason for this is because we are familiar with a relationship between a man and woman. So that enormous amount of love is how much you’re supposed to have for God. So, really, Hashem put intimate relationships on this earth for you to know how to love Him—the same way you love your partner. Another example showing that you should use your relationship as a vehicle to connect with God is in the Talmud (Sota 17). Here, Rabbi Akiva teaches us that a man and woman should have Hashem in their relationship. The words ish (man) and isha (woman) are distinguished by two letters, yud (in ish) and heh (in isha). These two letters join to spell the name of God. But, if you take out the yud and heh, then the only letters left are alef and shin, spelling fire.

Romance in Judaism may seem to be complicated by the questions of what I can and cannot do. What am I allowed to do at this time? What is the right way to go about doing so? However, at the end of the day, it boils down to one value: love. Love for your intimate partner and for God. We truly need both and each one supports the other. Both aspects of love are central and exalted religious values and work together to support a truly rich, religious, Jewish life.

The Jewish Afterlife

Maya Puterman ’25

Many of us have grown up with our rabbis and teachers telling us that good people get rewarded by going to heaven and that the wicked get punished by going to hell. In Judaism, heaven is referred to as Gan Eden and hell is referred to as Gehinnom. But what do these terms actually mean? What is the Jewish belief about the afterlife? The answer is less straightforward than it seems because the Torah never directly mentions the afterlife – Judaism focuses on living and doing mitzvot in the present world. Different sources and commentaries present different opinions about what the Jewish afterlife entails.

I will begin this paper by reviewing some of the few areas in the Torah in which the afterlife is alluded to. It is written in the Torah (Bereshit 3:19):

By the sweat of your brow shall you get bread to eat, until you return to the ground— for from it you were taken. For dust you are, and to dust you shall return.

It is also written (Bereshit 15:15):

As for you, you shall go to your ancestors in peace; you shall be buried at a ripe old age.

These pesukim both vaguely reference the afterlife as they hint to the fact that when we die our bodies remain in the ground where we are buried, but our souls seem to go up out of our bodies and continue to exist in a spiritual, holy state of being. Though these pesukim don't answer our question, they fit well with the narratives presented by the commentators on this topic.

This idea of focusing on the present relates to one of the concepts I learned about in my Tanakh class this year with Rabbi Ritholtz. In class we studied Halakhic Man, a book written by Rav Soloveitchik on the different approaches to doing teshuva. One of these approaches, which Rabbi Soloveitchik called “halakhic man,” is focused on living in the current moment. Under this approach, time is a knot and the present is what defines our past and future. Through my research for this paper, I have found the Torah to take a “halakhic man” view on the afterlife - it doesn’t spend time discussing the afterlife because Hashem wants us to focus on living and being our best selves while we are in this world. This is so that when we enter the world to come (what Judaism refers to as Olam Haba), we can get all the rewards for our good deeds.

Now that we have some basic background on the topic, I will bring in the opinions of different commentators and compare them. This paper will compare and contrast the opinions of the Ramban and Rambam, before bringing in a more radical idea from the Vilna Gaon.

The Ramban divides his outlook on life into three stages: The world in which we live now (Olam Hazeh), the world of souls (Olam Haneshamot), and the world to come (Olam Haba).22 The Ramban says that when a person dies, their body and soul become separated. While the body remains in the ground, the soul enters into the afterlife - specifically the soul enters Olam Haneshamot, which includes Gan Eden and Gehinnom. According to the Ramban, Olam Haneshamot already exists and is both a physical and spiritual place - it serves to transition souls from being in the physical world to entering the spiritual one. Ramban says that Gan Eden is where righteous souls go. The physical Gan Eden he says is the one mentioned in Bereshit, while the spiritual aspect is that the souls in Gan Eden have access to wisdom and an understanding of Hashem. On the topic of Gehinnom, Ramban says the pain suffered is a spiritual suffering as opposed to a physical one because the body doesn’t feel anything after death. The soul remains in Olam Haneshamot until the messianic era concludes with resurrection. By resurrection, the Ramban means two different times where souls are reunited with their physical body. The first resurrection is just for righteous Jews and occurs during the messianic era, while the second resurrection is for everyone else and takes place after the messianic era. Once the messianic era is over, the souls with their bodies enter Olam Haba, which hadn’t existed until that point in time. While the Ramban believes that in Gan Eden we are close with Hashem, he thinks that Olam Haba is more spiritually connected with Hashem and that once it's created it will last forever. On the topic of hell, Ramban believes that hell exists and that karet isn’t the only form of punishment after one dies. Ramban believes that the punishment of karet only occurs to people who commit certain sins. For everyone else, he believes their punishment is Gehinnom. Like his position on Gan Eden, Ramban says that Gehinnom is the place where the wicked go with non-physical fire that consumes the soul and either changes it or destroys it.

The Rambam, on the other hand, categorizes life into two stages: Olam Hazeh (the world we currently live in where our bodies and souls are together) and Yemot haMashiach, which he says is the same as Olam Haba, and is just for the soul.23 According to Rambam, when a person dies, they go to Olam Haba. He adds that one’s intellect is what gets them a place in Gan Eden, which he says is another name for Olam Haba. Like Ramban, he says that the purpose of Olam Haba is for souls to achieve the greatest understanding of Hashem. Though the Rambam also believes in the resurrection of the righteous, he believes that it occurs at some non-specific time in Olam Haba. While the Rambam does not use the word Gehinnom in his commentaries, he agrees that there is still an ultimate punishment for the wicked in the afterlife; instead, he calls it karet. Karet, according to the Rambam, is the soul dying and not getting to live eternally in Olam Haba.

One of the more radical views about life after death is learned from the Vilna Gaon’s approach to the book of Yonah, as seen in his Aderes Eliyahu. The Vilna Gaon says Yonah’s story is a mashal for gilgul neshamot (reincarnation). His whole idea is that every soul is given a task by Hashem before being put into a body and sent down to earth. A soul’s goal while in this world is to complete its task - the Vilna Gaon says Yonah’s soul’s task was to bring others to do teshuva. When a soul doesn’t follow its task, it gets sent to Gehinnom for a

22 This section summarizes several different commentaries of Ramban as explained by Rabbi Netanel Wiederblank in his book, Illuminating Jewish Thought: Explorations of Free Will, the Afterlife, and the Messianic Era (New Milford, CT: Maggid Books, 2018).

23 This section again summarizes several commentaries of the Rambam as explained in R. Wiederblank’s Illuminating Jewish Thought.

period of cleansing where it is purified before later being sent back down to earth again in another body, to complete its task. If the soul has completed its mission, it doesn’t return to this world again and resides in Olam Haba and in the presence of Hashem.

When I began researching my topic, I was looking for a defined answer to my question, but through my research I realized that there is no one answer to the question of the Jewish afterlife. There are so many more different opinions that I didn’t include in this paper. Some commentators share the same framework, while others bring in new ideas. It might feel unsatisfying to not get direct answers to your questions - but if there is something we can learn from this here it is to just trust the process and be our best selves in the moment. We have so much to live for, learn, grow from, and think about in this world that we shouldn’t be worrying about what will happen once we pass away. We should live our best lives and enjoy life while we are still young, and try to make the best of every situation.