In Your Anger, Please Mercifully Publish My Work:

An Honest Account of a Contemporary Jewish Publishing
Odyssey

by Dovid Bashevkin[1]

My recently published
sefer, “Berogez Racheim Tizkor” (trans: “In your anger, you shall remember to
have mercy”), whose title is based on the verse in Habbakuk 3:2 and
traditionally recited each morning during Tahanun, really began as a tweet. In
March 2014, I tweeted, “Considering writing a sefer entitled “Aveiros
K’Hilchisa.”

Considering writing a sefer entitled “Aveiros K’Hilchisa.”

— D Bash (@DBashIdeas) March 5, 2014

The tweet was originally
intended as a satire of the many seforim that have been published as halakhic
digests of obscure practical issues in Judaism.  If there could be an Ittush be-Halakhah (trans: “Sneezing in
Jewish Law,” – an actual pamphlet shown to me by my dear friend and devoted
consigliere Reb Menachem Butler), why not an “Aveiros K’Hilchisa”?[2]

However, as often
happens, what began as satire became a very real project.  Following the
passing of my Zaide, Mr. William Bashevkin, and last living grandparent, I
thought it would be a fitting tribute to their memory to publish a work of
Torah.  Additionally, coupling sorrow with joy, my marriage this past
year to Tova (née Flancbaum) gave me the inspiration to begin
my relationship with a project of Torah scholarship.  The sefer,
which is a small collection of essays discussing halakhic issues related to sin
and the path towards teshuva, is based upon shiurim I have had the opportunity
to deliver periodically at the Young Israel of Lawrence
Cedarhurst.  With special appreciation to Mr. Joel Mael, who originally invited
me and has been a continual source of guidance and counsel, the
chevra who have participated in the shiurim are really my partners in this
effort – without them, none of this would have been possible.

Nonetheless, publishing a sefer has historically, and
remains, an exercise marked with rabbinic ambivalence. As I note in the pesicha many great rabbinic figures
looked suspiciously at the growing trend of publication. The Chatam Sofer in
his Responsa Orach Chaim #208 famously considered those who publish works for
their own self-promotion to be in violation of the prohibition of writing down
Torah sh’Baal Peh, which, in his view, was only permissible if the work was
truly written with pure intention.[3]
Indeed, in a different response (vol. 6, #61), The Chatam Sofer laments the
overwhelming increase in seforim being published.

Why, then, publish a sefer?

This question, I believe, has added import in contemporary
society when the inclination for self-promotion and aggrandizement has
seemingly never been stronger. So, then, is the publication of a sefer just an
exercise in intellectual, albeit spiritual, vanity? This question has been
addressed by many, including on the pages on the Seforim blog, most notably by
Yaakov Rosenes in his post “Publish and Perish or Digital Death” (link).
What follows are my experiences and brief thoughts on the issue of seforim
publication.

Firstly, as Rabbi Yaakov Levitz, a noted seforim distributor
in Brooklyn, mentioned to me, the only thing that sells is “Soloveitchik,
stories and pictures.”[4]
No one should publish a sefer as a venture to make money. Aside from the
questionable motive, it just won’t work. The only works that have a faint
chance are those that will be purchased for Bar Mitzvah gifts. Other works that
deal with more scholarly or intricate Talmudic issues will have a hard time
even recouping the cost of publication.[5]

Financial investments aside, I published this work for three
reasons:

Firstly, as I mentioned earlier, the sefer is dedicated to
the memory of my grandparents and in honor of my marriage. Admittedly, these
reasons are rather self-centered. I do, however, think they are relatively
justifiable. While I grant that there are certainly less narcissistic ways of
memorializing or honoring loved ones, I do think that sharing Torah, when
possible, is appropriate. As Rabbi Hershel Schachter notes in the generous michtav bracha that he wrote to my
sefer, the greatest honor one can accord their ancestors is sharing Torah.
While the quality of the Torah may be questionable, I hope the honor it brings
to their memory is just the same.

Secondly, throughout the sefer, the works of Reb Zadok of
Lublin, who I had the opportunity to study under Professor Yaakov Elman at
Yeshiva University’s Bernard Revel Graduate School of Jewish Studies, and those
of Rav Yitzchok Hutner both feature prominently.[6]  I was
first introduced to the works of Reb Zadok of Lublin by Rabbi Dr. Ari Bergmann
of Lawrence, NY, and the door to Rav Yitzchok Hutner was kindly opened to me by
Rabbi Ari Waxman of Yeshivat Shaalvim. Those familiar with these thinkers
understand their relevance to the modern reader. Unfortunately, particularly
Reb Zadok and the larger school of his rebbe, Rabbi Mordechai Leiner of Izbica,
are often misunderstood and frequently misinterpreted.[7] My hope was
to develop my own creative ideas within their school of thought, while still
remaining loyal to the type of avodas
hashem I think they hoped to engender. I don’t know if I was successful,
but I hope the sefer continues to bring the much needed attention these
thinkers deserve in contemporary times.

Lastly, the Kotzker Rebbe famously remarked, “All that is
thought should not be said, all that is said should not be written, all that is
written should not be published, and all that is published should not be read.”[8]
Undoubtedly, not everything in this work, or nearly any work, should have been
published. In some ways I am comforted by the saying of Reb Chaim Brisker that
even one valuable chiddush within an otherwise subpar work, can redeem an
entire sefer, as Rav Hershel Schachter observes in Nefesh Harav (1994), page 334. Parenthetically, in Rabbi
Schachter’s introduction to his later work, Ginat
Egoz (2006), he shared a wonderful anecdote that after mentioning the
aforementioned saying of Reb Chaim during a shiur at Yeshivat Shaalvim, the
Rosh Yeshiva approached him and (jokingly?) said that his entire shiur was
worth hearing just because of that one story from Reb Chaim.

No one will like, enjoy, or appreciate everything in a
sefer, but I think the one insight that illuminates, explains or inspires
another makes the entire work worth it. And, as often happens in the course of
writing, the one who is inspired is the author himself. Rav Yaakov Yisrael
Kanievsky, The Steipler Gaon, often advised writing personal Torah ideas as a
means of cultivating a stronger relationship with Torah (for example, see his
collected letters, Karyana de-Igarta #41).
In fact, Yeshivat Chachmei Lublin had a special seder at the end of the day (at
10PM following a half-hour seder set to review the Rif) for students to write
and develop their own chiddushei Torah.[9] We are
willing to take risks in the pursuit of so many other goals, why not jeopardize
our precision and flawlessness by sharing more published Torah? While I admire
the Brisker allegiance to publishing perfection, I think many students have
missed the opportunity to kindle an excitement for Torah in others and
themselves by dwelling too much on their unworthiness in the endeavor. It only
takes one chiddush or one idea to make it worthwhile.

I knowingly may sound a bit too optimistic and/or forgiving
when it comes to seforim publication and am glad to be guilty of such. In fact,
it is the theme of my sefer. As I mentioned the title, Berogez Racheim Tizkor
is said during Tachanun. In Tachanun this line is followed by the verse in
Tehillim 123:3 which begins “Ki Hu Yada Yitzreinu.” Together these verses form
a meaningful plea – that though we invoke God’s anger, we request his mercy for
God knows our inner nature. Much of the work elaborates on that request.
Namely, how the limitations of our free-will relate to our shortfalls and
failures. The work discusses the halakhic and theological implications of sin
and the often inevitability of failure. The underlying message, I hope, is one
of comfort and optimism.

Here are some of the topics discussed in the sefer:

● The status of apostates
in Jewish law and thought;

● Do we always have the
free will to avoid sin? And, assuming they do exist, is repentance required for
such sins?;

● What should you wear to
a sin?;[10]

● If spiritual struggle is
redemptive, is it permissible to seek out situations of spiritual challenge?;

● The desultory
appearances of the mysterious personality “Geniva” in Tractate Gittin;

● A contextual analysis of
the Talmudic statement “A man doesn’t stand on words of Torah unless he fails
in them,” (Gittin 43a);

● The halakhic import of
granting someone forgiveness verbally, while internally still harboring
internal resentment;

● An analysis of issues
surrounding the concept of Averah Lishmah in contemporary times;

Additionally, the sefer is book-ended by two essays related
to Torah study in general, respectively considering the relationship between
Blessings on the Study of Torah HaTorah and the Blessing of the Kohanim, and
the role of Converts and Kohanim in the development of the Oral Law. Copies of
Berogez Racheim Tizkor are available for purchase at Biegeleisen in Boro Park,
and is currently available online here.

I hope Berogez Racheim Tizkor is read with the same measure
of mercy which, especially nowadays, is required of any sefer to be written.