Slobodka

Slobodka

By Dr. Shlomo Tikochinski

Seforim Blog Editors: In 2016, Dr. Tikochinski published his work Lamdanut, Mussar, and Elitism (Mercaz Shazar, in Hebrew). Thanks to new translation tools, the process has become much easier. We will be posting a chapter of this work every week or two. As this is a work in progress, we appreciate your patience.

Introduction:

  • What, in its deepest sense, is the Slabodka doctrine of Gadlut ha-Adam—the greatness and nobility of the human being?

  • How did this idea take root in Lithuania and shape the spirit of an entire generation of yeshivot?

  • What role did Slabodka play within the Mussar movement, and in what ways did its path diverge from that of Kelm, its stark and disciplined counterpart?

  • And finally: does the legacy of Slabodka still echo in our own time, and if so—how?

The first part of this book sets out to explore these questions, tracing the origins of a daring educational vision and following the imprint it left on the world of Torah and beyond.

This work was originally submitted in Hebrew back in 2009.
In the years since, it found its way into print—also in Hebrew—under the title Lamdanut, Mussar and Elitism, published by the Shazar Center in 2016. Still, the present draft contains a great deal of material that never made it into the final book.

Over the years, many people have expressed interest in the world of the Lithuanian yeshivot and in the themes explored here. With the arrival of new translation technologies, I felt that the time had finally come to bring this research into English. I used these tools as a starting point, but every line has been reviewed with as much personal care and attention as I could give.

What you are holding now is the first part of the work—the chapter of the yeshiva’s life in Lithuania, before its move to Eretz Yisrael (the Land of Israel). The second part will follow in due course, shaped also by your observations, suggestions, and encouragement.

Since English is not my first language, I would be sincerely grateful for any corrections or comments you may wish to share. I will update the text continuously, and every thoughtful note will help make this translation clearer and more faithful.

Thank you for taking the time to read this early version. I hope you find the journey both meaningful and enriching.

Rabbiner Dr. Shlomo Tikochinski
Jüdische Gemeinde St. Gallen, Switzerland
41767107403+
shlomotiko@gmail.com

Preface to the English Edition, 2025

The roots of my family on my father’s side lie deep in the soil of Lithuanian Jewry and its yeshivot — a lineage of rabbis, heads of yeshivot, and figures shaped by the Mussar movement. My father, Rabbi Rafael Tikochinski, z”l, was himself an extraordinary masmid, who later became a teacher and a rosh yeshiva to hundreds of students. I grew up in this world, surrounded by its voices, its teachers, and its inner rhythms. After years of study in yeshivot and kollels—among them the Ponovezh Yeshiva in Bnei Brak, under the shadow of Rabbi Shach z”l —I gradually found myself drawn toward the humanities, especially Jewish Studies, with a particular interest in Jewish philosophy and Jewish history. And so, at the age of thirty-two, I arrived at The Hebrew University of Jerusalem.

After several years of general coursework and the gradual acquisition of methodological tools, I turned—at the advice of my teachers—to examine the world from which I had come: Lithuanian Jewry, the Lithuanian yeshivot, the Mussar movement, and the intellectual and sociological roots of today’s Lithuanian Haredi community.

I wrote my master’s thesis on the formation of the Lithuanian yeshiva method of Talmudic analysis, and my doctoral dissertation on the educational method of the yeshivot, rooted in the Mussar movement.

Over time I came to see the principles of Mussar education as both significant and influential—almost the only platform that still shapes the religious experience and conceptual world of students in Lithuanian yeshivot today, even if we have long drifted from the original intentions of the movement’s founders.

Kenesset Yisrael—the Slobodka Yeshiva founded by Rabbi Nosson Tzvi Finkel, the Alter of Slobodka—was the pioneering Mussar yeshiva in Lithuania. And because it was the first to arrive in the Land of Israel in an organized way before the Holocaust, it preserved an unbroken line of “Lithuanianness” and, in my view, left a profound and lasting imprint on the renewed yeshiva world in Israel.

I grew up in the shadow of educators who were among the last living echoes of the Mussar movement. My great-uncle, Rabbi Moshe Tikochinski, the mashgiach of the Slobodka Yeshiva in Bnei Brak, and Rabbi Chaim Fridlender of the Ponovezh Yeshiva, shaped much of the atmosphere of my youth. I had the privilege of hearing Mussar talks — shmuessen — from figures whose voices once filled entire worlds: Rabbi Shlomo Wolbe, Rabbi Yaakov Galinsky, Rabbi Moshe Shimon Waintrob, Rabbi David Avrahami, Rabbi Dan Segal, Rabbi Shimshon Pinkus, Rabbi Shalom Shvadron, and other Mashgichim and preachers, famous or lesser known, each with his unique cadence.

During my years in the Ponovezh Yeshiva, I listened to the aged Rabbi David Povarsky, who brought us, as if by direct transmission, the spirit of his old home in Kelm, Lithuania. From my teacher my father , I absorbed talks shaped by the teachings of his own master, Rabbi Eliyahu Eliezer Dessler, author of Mikhtav me-Eliyahu.

Like many other students in Lithuanian yeshivot in Israel, the foundations of my education and Torah outlook were formed out of ideas that flowed from the Mussar tradition — though at the time I had no name for them. Around the age of twenty, I too became a Mussarnik of the old school. For several years, I held fast to that way. I studied Mussar with strong emotion — “with the excitement of the soul, with a ready heart, with a pained voice, with burning lips,” as the early disciples of Rabbi Yisrael Salanter taught. I recited long, fervent prayers and joined a Mussar va’ad of earnest young men who were serious practitioners. Our meetings revolved around shared spiritual introspection and the taking on of kabbalot — personal spiritual commitments.

During those years, I also delivered Mussar talks to a small circle of attentive friends, until I became, almost without noticing, a kind of spiritual guide for students younger than myself.

Something of that deep, formative experience — and of the quiet inner currents that flowed through it — remained within me even years later, when my path turned toward academic study. Paradoxically, it was my very attachment to the Mussar world that eventually guided me into the field of Jewish Studies. When I first encountered Immanuel Etkes’s book on Rabbi Yisrael Salanter and the beginnings of the movement, I found myself unexpectedly moved. The scholarly gaze — its ability to look closely, to refine, to name, to offer perspective and historical setting to feelings and ideas I had known from such close range — opened a new window for me.

This brief autobiographical note may explain why the reader will find in the present work a structure slightly different from that found in other studies of the Mussar movement, and conclusions that lean in directions not always identical to theirs.

I wish to express my thanks to my teachers and mentors — from the yeshivot and from the academy — and to the many friends and colleagues who have accompanied me. My gratitude goes in particular to my teacher, Professor Immanuel Etkes, to Rabbi Professor Naftali Rothenberg, Professor Avi Ravitzki, and Professor Benjamin Brown, who has followed my research for many years with steady wisdom and generous counsel.

Introduction

On Mussar and the Development of the Mussar Movement within the Lithuanian Yeshiva World

The Hebrew term Mussar (מוּסָר) is commonly translated as “Moral” or “ethics,” reflecting its biblical usage (e.g., Prov. 1:2: “to receive wisdom and Mussar,” meaning instruction or reproof). The Mussar cultivated in nineteenth-century Lithuanian Jewry, however, represents a later and fundamentally different development. Conceived by Rabbi Yisrael Salanter (1810–1883), it was primarily a rigorous system of self-education grounded in Torah learning, aimed at intensifying yirat shamayim (fear of Heaven) and refining one’s character traits. This system articulated a structured set of principles concerning human psychology and conduct, drawing on rabbinic aggadah, homiletic literature, and the classical Jewish ethical corpus. Accordingly, the overlap between Mussar and the English category “Mussar” is only partial. While the cultivation of positive traits, commitment to ethical values, aspiration toward good action, and continuous self-supervision form an important conceptual backdrop, the actual goal is specifically religious: the deepening of fear of Heaven within the Jewish framework of Torah and halakhah.

A further methodological observation is essential. The now-familiar designation “Mussar Movement” (Tenuʿat ha-Mussar) appears to have been consolidated only in the post-Holocaust period, chiefly through Israeli writers such as Rabbi Dov Katz, whose multi-volume Tenuʿat ha-Mussar (Jerusalem 1957) became authoritative and is cited throughout this study. For this reason, when referring to this modern term, I do not employ the diasporic milʿel vocalization. Likewise, in construct expressions such as sifrut Mussar (Mussar literature) or sifrei Mussar (Mussar texts), I retain the standard Hebrew usage, as these terms already designate an established genre within the Jewish textual tradition.

Lithuanian Mussar emerged in the 1840s against the backdrop of far-reaching processes of modernity within Eastern European Jewry. As with other contemporary spiritual movements, it constituted both a conscious and subconscious response to Jewish modernization as well as to modernity itself, which reshaped the structures of Jewish life. Some scholars view Mussar as a form of religious renaissance within the Mitnagdic (non-Hasidic) Orthodox world, developed in contrast to Hasidism, which had arisen several decades earlier. Just as Hasidism introduced its own spiritual revolution, the Mussar Movement placed new spiritual challenges on the Jewish agenda, emphasizing tikkun adam—the Mussar and religious transformation of the individual—rather than tikkun olam. Scholarly opinion is divided on whether Mussar should be understood chiefly as a reaction to modernity or as an internal religious renewal focused on individual divine service.

Mussar entered the Lithuanian yeshiva system only in the second and third generations after Rabbi Salanter. From that point onward it became a structured pedagogical method for thousands of students across the Pale of Settlement. By then, three major schools had crystallized—Kelm, Slobodka, and Novardok—each interpreting Salanter’s teachings in its own way and implementing its distinctive program of Mussar education and supervision.

The Lithuanian yeshivot functioned essentially as advanced academies of Talmudic study. They placed intellectual rigor at the center of their curriculum and cultivated competitiveness and excellence in analytic study of the Talmud and its commentaries. Yet as traditional communal structures eroded in the early twentieth century, the yeshivot gradually became institutions of religious socialization and guardians of tradition. This role was carried out by Mussar educators, each shaped by the ideas of his own school. Even students who did not fully engage in intensive Mussar practice could acquire a broad foundation in Lithuanian Jewish thought, which provided spiritual resources, interpretive methods, and modes of reflection on aggadic texts. Much of the intellectual production of the Lithuanian yeshivot from the late nineteenth century through the mid-twentieth century centered on developing a homiletical-philosophical discourse that drew ethical meaning from biblical narratives and rabbinic aggadah.

This heritage shaped the inner world of the Lithuanian yeshiva student and stood at the heart of his consciousness of distinctiveness—both from other Orthodox groups and, all the more so, from the largely secular Jewish majority. The interpretive study of aggadah through the lens of Mussar strengthened spiritual aspiration, reinforced a sense of belonging to an Orthodox avant-garde, and instilled confidence in the necessity and significance of the yeshiva way of life. This is no small matter: throughout the twentieth century, the influence of the yeshiva world steadily expanded and penetrated other streams of Orthodoxy. Mussar educators and thinkers became influential role models, shaping the worldview of thousands of Haredi youths who adopted their interpretive approach to Jewish ethical and aggadic traditions. The result is a distinctive school of Jewish thought unique to the students and graduates of the Lithuanian yeshivot—one they continued to develop even after leaving the yeshiva, and which they transmitted to the next generation.

Guiding Ideas and Foundational Assumptions

The Mussar movement, which was created in Lithuania in the 1840s, began to conquer the Lithuanian yeshivot at the end of the nineteenth century, and the yeshiva in Slobodka was one of the leaders of the process. In the Mussar controversy that stirred up the Jewish public in Russia in the 1890s, this yeshiva was in the eye of the storm. With the passage of the crisis, the Knesset Israel Yeshiva became one of the most famous and influential yeshivas in Lithuania. In both Lithuania and the Land of Israel, it was considered a prestigious and leading yeshiva. And in the eyes of many, even the heir to the famous Volozhin Yeshiva.

At the end of 1924, the yeshiva immigrated to Eretz Israel, first settled in Hebron and after the 1929 riots moved to Jerusalem. From the perspective of the Jewish Yishuv in the Land of Israel during the British Mandate, Slobodka was a new element that had hitherto been unknown in the Orthodox community. Torah learners identified with the old Yishuv, which was perceived as a symbol of decadence. The Mussar Lithuanian yeshiva represented the alternative, in the form of an opinionated Torah elite that was interested in maintaining proper relations with the new Yishuv, and around it developed a community with a Yeshiva identity that combined Torah with practical life.

The starting point for our discussion is the establishment of the yeshiva in 1882, and we will review its various stages and crises, at the turn of the centuries, during the First War, and in the Land of Israel. There will be two sections in the essay: The first will deal with the formative period in Lithuania and will discuss structural, ideological, and especially educational-social aspects of Rabbi Finkel’s yeshiva. The second division will deal with the immigration and absorption of the yeshiva in the Land of Israel, in its various branches, while examining its relations with the old and new settlements and its status as a unique entity. We will conclude the discussion with a snapshot of the Lithuanian Yeshiva institution in the State of Israel in the early 1950s, as a milestone that concludes the period of the yeshiva’s uniqueness. From then on, it merged into the Haredi yeshiva establishment in Israel, with expansion and change in the structure and educational challenges. Numerical growth, the absorption of immigrant students from Sephardic countries, the change of generations in leadership, and the confrontation with secular political sovereignty – these and more characterized the era that concludes the connection.

As noted above, in the first half of the twentieth century, the Lithuanian Yeshiva and the Mussar Movement were two entities that merged with each other, with the first being the type of institution, and the second being the method of education used in it. During this period, there were few yeshivot that did not introduce Mussar education, and at the same time, there were few bodies of the non-yeshiva Mussar movement.

The rise of the Mussar yeshivot to Israel is an important chapter in the history of yeshivot and Orthodoxy in general. In addition to the implications that this had on the way and methods of the yeshiva institution, in the Land of Israel the Lithuanian yeshiva became a central model that was also adopted by Hasidim, Sephardim, and national religious. Its educational heritage and the ethos that underlies it radiate to this day on the entire Orthodoxy, the fields of spirituality, education, and even the field of halakha. It seems that understanding the process of absorption and consolidation of this institution in the Land of Israel, It is the key to understanding the roots of the religious world in today’s Israel.

Why Slobodka? A few answers to this:

The focus of this yeshiva stems from observing the Israeli yeshiva world and its founders, and tracing its contemporary educational positions. The impression is that among the schools that made up the Lithuanian Mussar movement, the only one that remained active in the second half of the twentieth century was Slobodka, and its influence on the educational ethos of the post-Holocaust yeshiva world is considerable. Most of the leading figures in the yeshiva world after the Holocaust came out of this yeshiva, both in Israel and in the United States. There are two possible reasons for this: first, that it was a single case of the transfer of a yeshiva with its rabbis and students from Lithuania to the Land of Israel, and thus it was saved from destruction. Second, Slobodka’s education contained elements that ensured survival and integration in a changing world, namely Jewish society in Lithuania between the wars and the emerging society in the new settlement in the Land of Israel. My work will seek to examine these elements, and through them explain Slobodka’s decisive influence on the formation of the Israeli yeshiva world. I will try to show that, in contrast to other streams of ethics, Like Kelm and Novardok, Slobodka incorporated certain elements of modernity into the realms of thought and behavior.

The story of the relocation of the Lithuanian yeshiva and the Mussar movement to the Land of Israel is composed of groups and individuals who immigrated to Israel at different times and under different circumstances. A group of Rabbi Yisrael Salanter’s close disciples immigrated back in the 1890s and established the Jerusalem Beit Mussar and the Or Chadash Yeshiva in the Strois Courtyard (today in the Musrara neighborhood). This was the “first aliyah” of the Mussar movement, which belongs to the old type of traditional immigrants who sought a life of Torah and celibacy in the Holy Land. This small Mussar core dispersed even before the First World War, and its people merged into the institutions of the Old Yishuv.

After the First War and the Balfour Declaration, the wave of immigration of the Mussar yeshivot began, the Slobodka Yeshiva in 1924, the nucleus of the Lomza Yeshiva (Poland) in 1926, and in the early 1930s – the nuclei of the Novradok network. This was the “second aliyah” of the Mussar movement, which, in terms of consciousness and goals, was already part of the patterns that characterized the Fourth and Fifth Aliyah. The reference environment of this Haredi aliyah was the new Yishuv, and it chose to merge into the new colonies precisely. From here until the end of the 1940s, additional groups and a few members of the Mussar movement immigrated to Israel. Among them were Holocaust refugees, who, together with their predecessors, became the inheritors of Mussar education in the renewed yeshiva world in Israel. A comprehensive discussion of the question of the absorption of the Mussar movement in Israel requires reference to the personalities who were known as Mussar influencers in the country, the rabbis: Lupian, Dessler, Levinstein, Wolbe and others. However, these Mussar figures and their teachings, even if their influence in the long run was great, will not be included in the discussion. I want to remain within the boundaries of the Yeshiva Mussar establishment, while examining the history of an institution that immigrated to Israel in an organized manner, as an educational framework with defined goals for institutionalization, continuity and influence in the new Yishuv.

For this purpose, I asked for a Mussar yeshiva that was born in Lithuania, which chose to relocate and cope with a new space of action. Preference was given to the institution, which, even after its relocation, maintained as much continuity as possible, while embodying its original values in its new place, but in a different way. If we look at the Mussar movement and its yeshivot in the twentieth century, we have nothing but the Slobodkian yeshiva Knesset Yisrael that meets our demands.

3. The assumption underlying our work is that there is a constant tension between the study of Talmud, or more precisely, scholarship as a challenge and a symbol of status, and the study of ethics and the self-education that it entails. At the beginning of the path of ethics in the yeshivot, this tension led to open struggles, but it continued to exist in the background even after the resistance had subsided. A covert struggle over the birthright nourished the dynamic between students and their rabbis and between students and their yeshiva, when they studied there and even after they left it.

Against this background, Slobodka can be noted as a yeshiva that for most of its periods fostered scholarship and even managed to concentrate the best young forces in its environment. In the study of Mussar, Slobodka took an optimistic line, focused on the theoretical-philosophical aspect of it, and disapproved of the asceticism and melancholy that accompanied it. Its opponents claimed that she had “created a vacuum” in Mussar and dealt only with “education in the brain” and the like, because she saw Mussar as internalizing ideas and neutralizing its demanding sting. With the move to Eretz Yisrael, this approach became apparent to be an advantage. At that time, the optimistic-adaptive elements that were embedded in Slobodka’s philosophy and character were expressed, and out of a sense of solidarity with the Aliyah and settlement enterprise, she approached it from within in her own way. Fostering excellence and education for inclusion were the basic principles of Slobodka Eretz Israel, and most of its graduates were integrated into positions of education and rabbinate and other positions of influence. Rabbi Yisrael Salanter’s special interpretation of the Mussar teachings ensured its survival under the new conditions dictated by the Yishuv of the Land of Israel during the Mandate period and in the early days of the state.

It should be noted that this is in fact an existing institution, which, with the exception of the institutions of the Old Yishuv in Jerusalem, is the oldest Lithuanian yeshiva in Israel and the world today. It can be said that since its establishment in 1882, the Knesset Israel Yeshiva has led an almost continuous elitist line. Rabbi Finkel was meticulous in choosing the students for his yeshiva, and with Mussar education at the top of his mind, he invested efforts and even succeeded in concentrating intellectual forces and renowned scholars in his yeshiva. It is a fact that despite the student Revolts and divisions, the exile in Ukraine during the First War, the move to Palestine, the 1929 riots, economic crises and internal control struggles, the yeshiva maintained its status and produced prominent leaders from the Orthodox world.

In contrast to Slobodka, the Novardok school is presented, which led a pessimistic line in the Mussar movement, and preached extreme actions of breaking the inclination. In Torah study, too, the theoretical aspect gave way to the study of halakha in practice and grammar in mitzvot. Novardok prioritized the activity of “acquitting the public” and opened many branches, first in Russia and then in Poland. In the late 1920s, she arrived in the Land of Israel and established branches in Tel Aviv and Bnei Brak. However, Novardok did not survive the move to Israel. Most of its students have abandoned, and some have even left the tradition. If in Lithuania the difference between Novardok and Slobodka was limited to the method of education, in the Mandatory Land of Israel it received additional meanings that had implications for the future of the Lithuanian yeshiva. Slobodka’s path turned out to be more suitable for the new environment, and elements of her Mussar thought found their way into the Haredi education system.

The accepted assumption is that the Yeshivot of the Mussar Movement succeeded in curbing the influence of the Enlightenment and Zionism, in addition to other yeshivot that did not belong to this movement. This assumption is true only for Lithuania between the wars, and it derives from the image that emerged of the Mussar Movement in literature and research, which was greatly influenced by the extreme and severe nature of the Mussar yeshivot, the aforementioned Nobardok. With regard to the Land of Israel, things are quite different. In this essay, I would like to present Slobodka as someone who survived and withstood the challenges presented by the new environment. Precisely because of the adoption of a modern way of thinking and thanks to a certain contact with education.

We will leave the rest of the Lithuanian yeshivot that had established a foothold in Israel – we will leave them out of the discussion, and we will refer to them only for the sake of comparison. It should be noted that after the yeshiva immigrated in 1924, the Slobodka Yeshiva in Lithuania was reorganized under the leadership of the rabbis: Sher, Zusmanovich and Grodzinsky. Rabbi Sher led his yeshiva in an independent way and different from that of his rabbi and father-in-law, Rabbi Finkel, as did the mashgiach Rabbi Grodzinsky. Before the outbreak of World War II, Rabbi Sher managed to escape. And in 1947 he established a yeshiva in Bnei Brak that bears the name ‘Slobodka’ to this day. From the beginning, this yeshiva was attended by young people born in Israel, mainly of Hasidic origin and even members of the old Yishuv. Based on close acquaintance with her and her supervisor, Rabbi Moshe Tikoczinsky, and from interviews with her alumni, it seems that this was not a continuation of Slobodka’s method in any sense, and that there is nothing between the two but the sharing of God’s name. Therefore, it will also remain outside of our discussion.

Research Questions

The focus of the essay will be the question of relocation: a method of education that was a clear product of time and place, was relocated to a new and different place, and tried to survive and even influence its new environment. Questions of continuity versus change are key questions in every field in the study of the history of the modern era. All the more so when it comes to an educational framework that has fundamentally changed its operating environment. The question is most intense when we are dealing with a religious institution that is imbued with a consciousness of continuity and even declares it. But he wants to function under changing conditions. From this question all the sub-questions relating to the two divisions of the composition will be derived: the period of Lithuania and the period of Eretz Yisrael, with the period of transition and adjustment between them. The yeshiva is required as an educational institution that manages a system of relations with its environment, while examining its goals, mechanisms of social supervision and social deviance, and discussing questions of authority and autonomy within the system.

We will first deal with the formative stage of Slobodka, in which her unique social structure was formed. An examination of the conceptual roots of this structure will contribute to an understanding of the process of copying and the changes that followed. The starting point is Rabbi Finkel’s educational philosophy, which became known as “the greatness of man”, we will examine its uniqueness in comparison to other streams of Mussar, its attitude and response to modernity, and its possible connections to contemporary ideals. No less important is Rabbi Finkel’s complex educational act. His status and influence in the yeshiva, the nature of his relations with his students, and the nature of the student community in Slobodka. We will dedicate a special discussion to Slobodkai ethics as an exegetical method of rabbinic legends, in the light of which ideas and patterns of outlook that are prevalent to this day in Haredi educational thought have been formulated. We will also discuss Rabbi Finkel’s attitude toward the Enlightenment and secular studies, Zionism, and the Land of Israel, especially in light of the fact that some of his close students became prominent leaders who combined Torah and ethics with Western education and culture. These include: the heads of the Rabbinical Seminary in Berlin, Rabbi Avraham Eliyahu Kaplan and Yechiel Yaakov Weinberg, and in America – Rabbis Yitzhak Hutner, Yaakov Kamenetsky, and Yaakov Ruderman. Through these personalities, Slobodka became a bridge between Mussar and modern orthodoxy in all its varieties.

The chapter on Aliyah to Eretz Israel presents us with central questions: What was the social and political background to Aliyah? What aspirations motivated the yeshiva’s leaders and students, and what was the significance of the move in the world of Lithuanian yeshivot? We will try to find the connection between Slobodka’s unique character and her being the first yeshiva to initiate organized aliyah. Why did Slobodka see the “new Yishuv” as a natural goal, and what were her expectations and the quality of her relations with the Yishuv before and after Aliyah?

The chapter on the establishment in Israel is the last in chronological order, but the first in importance for understanding the roots of the Israeli yeshiva world. How did the yeshiva adapt to the new environment, and what was the social and economic framework within which it functioned? In the field of Mussar education, the environment in the Land of Israel presented more difficult challenges than those that were the lot of Slobodka in Lithuania. We will find out how the new environment influenced the study and Mussar, the educational ethos of the yeshiva, and the policy of the management. We will examine the emotional and practical involvement of yeshiva students in the life of the Yishuv, its struggles, and even its ways and culture. This issue is of great importance for understanding the process of formulating a Yishuvite-Lithuanian identity in the Land of Israel, the fruits of which are evident to this day.

We will also examine the relationship between the yeshiva and the old Yishuv in Jerusalem, especially after the events of 1929 and the relocation of the yeshiva from Hebron to Jerusalem. These were the days of a fierce struggle between extremists and moderates in the Old Yishuv, which led to a split of powers between the “Haredi Community” and the “Agudat Yisrael.” At the center of the debate was the recognition of the National Committee and its leadership, and the “obligation to leave” the Knesset that was introduced in the Old Yishuv. The Aliyah Yeshiva took place between two decisive events in the struggle between the old and the new: the murder of De Haan, the powerful political figure of Agudat Yisrael Eretz Yisrael, took place right next to Slobodka’s immigration. and the establishment of the Hebrew University – immediately afterwards. Both extremists and moderates had political expectations of the Slobodka Yeshiva, but the official line of the yeshiva was to refrain from political identification and from involvement in struggles of any kind.

The organizations of the yeshiva’s graduates and their activities within the Yishuv will be presented as a final stage, which expressed the characteristics of Slobodka’s education and its ability to stand the test of time. The discussion will take place in light of the gaps that arose on this issue between the yeshiva’s students and its rabbis, which were expressed in its two branches of the Land of Israel: Jerusalem and Tel Aviv. Another point: In Lithuania, Slobodka was a center of attraction for young people from the rabbinical elite, as well as from the wealthy economic strata from Western countries. In the Land of Israel, the yeshiva opened its ranks to all the young people of the Yishuv. And we will seek to examine the change in the yeshiva’s social and educational messages in light of this change. The concluding discussion will return to the key question: Slobodka’s response in idea and action to the challenges of modernity, and the question of her resilience to the crises and transitions she experienced in the twentieth century.

Methodology and State of Research

The study of the Lithuanian Yeshiva and the Mussar movement touches on the following areas of research: social history, history of ideas, history and philosophy of education. The state of the research that we will present here will teach us that there is still a lot of work to be done in the study of the Lithuanian yeshiva and the Mussar yeshivot in the twentieth century, and many important topics in this field have not yet been studied.

The history of Jewish society in Eastern Europe in the modern era has been dealt with in the study mainly with a focus on the main changes that this society has experienced, which is collectively known as the “crisis of modernity,” centered on the process of abandonment of tradition and observance. The transition to the modern era gave birth, among other things, to the interest in the history of the ‘Old World’, from a critical perspective that is also a product of modernity. The traditional society, which remained in the minority, was studied mainly from social and economic aspects, and less from ideological and spiritual aspects. In these fields, it was perceived as the abandoned starting point, as the old ‘obvious’ whose methods and beliefs are known and do not arouse research interest. In the last thirty years, research has also begun to deal with the inner spiritual world of traditional society in modern times, as a developing and creative environment. However, the research’s tendency toward the transformational, the new and the changing, still left the picture unbalanced. The main attention was given to the Chassidic movement, with its various aspects: historical, social, ideological, and theological, while the society that held on to the old and known as the Mitnagdic Society, with its yeshivot and its Mussar movement, has not yet been sufficiently enlightened and few are engaged in it. A handful of scholars of the spiritual world in the opposing society have so far produced a small but very important crop, the main points of which we will present here, and the details of which are included in the full bibliographic list.

The existing research in this area extends over three sequential fields:

The teachings of the Vilna Gaon and his disciple R. Chaim of Volozhin,

The study of the Lithuanian Mussar movement.

The study of the Lithuanian yeshiva.

The teachings of the Vilna Gaon and his disciple Rabbi Chaim of Volozhin were handled by Immanuel Etkes, Nahum Lam, Shaul Stampfer, Tamar Ross, and others. The characteristics of the opposing ideology were reviewed in Alan Nadler’s book The Faith of the Mithnagdim. The activities of Rabbi Yisrael Salanter and the beginning of the Mussar movement were also investigated by Immanuel Etkes in his book R. Yisrael Salanter and the Beginnings of the Mussar Movement (Jerusalem 1982). Mordechai Pachter analyzed Rabbi Salanter’s teachings in the introduction to the edition of Rabbi Yisrael Salanter’s Writings (Jerusalem 1973). A few articles on the world of ethics were written by Haim Hillel Ben-Sasson, Gedaliah Alon, Hillel Goldberg, and David Fishman. The methods of study in the yeshivot were reviewed in Mordechai Breuer’s book Ohalei Torah (2004), and the literature of memoirs from the Lithuanian yeshivot was reviewed by Immanuel Etkes in the introduction to the collection “The Lithuanian Yeshivot – Chapters of Memories.” Shaul Stampfer’s book “The Lithuanian Yeshiva in the Making” (Jerusalem 2004) deals with the yeshivot of Volozhin, Slobodka and Telz, and focuses on their structural and organizational aspects in their early years. This book, as well as Ross and Brown’s studies on the Mussar movement, will be discussed in more detail below.

A comprehensive study has not yet been written on the history of the Mussar movement from a socio-historical perspective, its spread and scope of activity, its central figures, and their spheres of influence. The only monograph that exists in this field so far is Dov Katz’s series of books, The Mussar Movement, which, despite its fine and practical writing, is not an academic study, but rather an informative one. Nothing has yet been written about the Lithuanian yeshivot between the wars, most of which were “Mussar yeshivas” at the time. The method of study that was introduced in these yeshivot, the balance of power between scholarship and Mussar, influential figures in study and Mussar, and their method – all of these are still waiting for study. The history of the Mussar movement in the Land of Israel has not yet been touched by anyone, neither with the immigration of the Disciples of Kelm to the Old Yishuv, nor with the rise of the Mussar yeshivot in the twentieth century. In general, many important issues related to the Lithuanian yeshiva are still waiting to be addressed, especially the inner world of the yeshiva. From a variety of aspects: Academic, educational and social, central figures, streams and methods of study.

This essay tries to fill in the gaps a little. As noted, we will discuss the Slobodka Yeshiva from educational-social aspects, on the assumption that the influence and continuity of the Mussar yeshivot was first and foremost the result of a social reality and an implemented educational ideal, while the contribution of the Mussar literary work was only secondary, and in some places even minimal.

Tamar Ross wrote a theoretical-philosophical study on the teachings of some of the successors of Rabbi Yisrael Salanter. In the introduction to her research, she declares that her research is the result of arbitrary selection and subjective evaluation in the choice of material. She admits that relying on the writings of the Mussar movement, while ignoring the historical aspect, is liable to lead to conclusions that sin against the original intention of their perpetrators.

On the other hand, the premise of my work is that the Mussar movement was first and foremost a living and breathing educational arena of action, and not just an ideological stream. Moreover, without an examination of the educational act and its areas of activity, our understanding of the theoretical realm would also be lacking. This is even more true with regard to the Slobodak doctrine of Mussar, which, as I would like to argue, was more of an educational environment than a conceptual one, and a discussion of its ideas cannot be conducted in isolation from its historical context. From this perspective, These studies are a complementary contrast to Ross’s research, whose focus on the theoretical and philosophical aspect of the Mussar movement, and according to the criteria she set for the study of the “problem of will,” placed Slobodka out of the picture, due to her lack of engagement with the psychological aspect.[1] On the other hand, I would like to devote attention to Slobodka, whose historical-social aspect is what made it an influential school of thought in the yeshiva world of the twentieth century.

Shaul Stampfer’s pioneering book[2] serves as an initial background for the Lithuanian yeshiva in general and the Slobodka Yeshiva in particular. Stampfer lists the differences between Volozhin in its time and[3] Slobodka between 1881 and 1905. He was already preceded by the people of Slobodka themselves, who noted their yeshiva as the successor of Volozhin, and at the same time were aware of the differences between the two.[4] Volozhyn, at least in the first half of the nineteenth century, functioned in a supportive traditional environment, where there was still widespread agreement on the importance of Torah study. In contrast, Slobodka in its time faced indifference to Torah study and tradition in general. At the end of the nineteenth century, young Jews were offered alternatives that appealed to them, such as membership in revolutionary movements, and opportunities to integrate into society through general studies and education. Against these, the Lithuanian yeshiva was redesigned. No longer just as a beit midrash for Torah study, but rather as a place that saw its role in responding to the renewed challenges, by shaping the student’s personality in the spirit of the Mussar movement.[5]

In addition to these differences, however, there have been changes in the status of the yeshiva within traditional society, about which the Slobodka Jews did not give their opinion. Here comes Stampfer and completes the picture: while Volozhin at the time expressed values that were familiar to her students from their communities of origin, Slobodka tried to instill in her students an ideology that was new to them and that she did not know from their parents’ home. Moreover, while Volozhin enjoyed the full support of the rabbinical establishment for most of her years, Slobodka did not receive a similar status. Its affiliation with the Mussar movement, which was controversial among the rabbis, placed its on the margins of the traditional stream.[6]mThese are important distinctions that relate to Slobodka as a pioneer and representative of the Mussar yeshivot, and it should be remembered that they are not unique to her. The lack of support from the rabbinical establishment in Lithuania is a common fact for all the institutions that were conducted in the spirit of Mussar, such as the Kollel Kaunas, the Kollel of Rabbi Yozel in Novogrodek and its environs, the Beit Talmud in Kelm, and more.

Stampfer’s interest is in Slobodka’s structural innovations as a pioneer of ethics yeshivot. In the comparative discussion with the Volozhin Yeshiva, he emphasizes the struggle for primacy between the study of Mussar and the study of the Talmud, a struggle that was one of the causes of the division of the yeshiva in 1897. However, Stampfer’s focus on the organizational level left room for many other aspects of the Slobodka Yeshiva: its innovations in the landscape of the Mussar movement itself, its ideological innovations that contributed to the world of Jewish thought, the educational practice it led, the goals it set for itself, and its comprehensive activity among the Lithuanian yeshivas. All these characteristics characterized the yeshiva from its inception, but mainly between the two world wars, a period that was not handled by Stampfer.

Moreover, Stampfer first put the subject of the Mussar yeshiva on the research table, explained the historical background to its establishment, and described the challenges of modernity that it sought to face. In this sense, Slobodka should indeed be seen as a prototype. However, this is not enough, because it too arose not only against the background of external challenges, but also and mainly against the background of developments that took place in the Mussar movement. Rabbi Finkel shaped his concept of Mussar from within and into the world of young learners. From his conversations with his students, both public and private, it is clear that he took yeshiva life for granted, and on this basis he demanded Mussar demands from them. In contrast to her ideological forefathers in the Mussar movement, Slobodka reformulated the goals of Mussar education, and in light of this, she laid a new agenda on both the table of the Mussar movement and the Lithuanian yeshiva as an institution. I would like to give expression to this argument in my work.

Benjamin Brown analyzed some of the writings of the Mussar figures, as Jewish thinkers in modern times. His relevant article deals with Rabbi Finkel’s educational philosophy,[7] focusing on its philosophical aspect. Brown suggests that it responded to the challenges of the European “zeitgeist” that placed man at the center, and did so by emphasizing his supernatural virtue and theological status. According to him, Rabbi Finkel chose to focus on a Mussar judgment of man, thus deviating from the framework of R. Yisrael Salanter, who was preceded in a psychological, educational description and a study of the powers of the soul. This deviation stemmed from an optimistic attitude toward man and his status. And under R. Yisrael Salanter, who placed man at the center as an object of discussion and occupation, Rabbi Finkel placed him as a value in himself.[8] These important insights clarify Rabbi Finkel’s conceptual method. However, the historical picture will only be completed by clarifying the educational goals that Rabbi Finkel had in mind when he conceived the doctrine of “human greatness,” and the practical challenges he faced in his arena of activity.

Brown placed Rabbi Finkel in the world of Jewish thought according to what he called the “radical aspect” of his ideas. Accordingly, he also weaved the historical picture, and made a distinction between Rabbi Finkel’s early and later students. According to him, in the early periods, these were students who were inclined to the ideas of the Enlightenment, and therefore were a good receptacle for his ideas, which were also drawn from the optimistic foundations of European thought before the world wars. This was not the case with his later disciples, who already saw the idea of ‘human greatness’ as rather stained, “for the horrors of the two world wars and the rise of totalitarian ideologies did not reinforce the lofty and positive image of man.”[9]

Well, in all the writings of the Slobodkas, there is no reference to wars in the context of the doctrine of human greatness. Rabbi Finkel’s best ideas came to us through his later students who experienced both wars, and it seems that on the contrary, they perceive them as relevant and appropriate even for the younger generation that grew up after the wars. The reason for this is simple: the students did not recognize the “radicalness” in his teachings at all, and not because they read it as a “harmonious” Haredi reading that blurs between different opinions in the Jewish tradition. Rather, it was because they had apparently descended to the end of his mind, and before them stood the complete picture of both the man and his actions. This whole picture is not as radical and innovative as Brown presented it. In the opinion of the students, the teachings and educational methods of their rabbi are worthy of a generation that witnessed man’s wickedness and made negative use of the superiority of the chosen creatures. A careful study of Rabbi Finkel’s teachings proves that he did not ignore what was happening in the world, and that he even had a great deal of pessimism about the modern, materialistic world, which is full of intrigue and conspiracies. He appreciated the progress of science, but he complained about the emptiness of human conscience. At the same time, in his opinion, in the end, a person has a positive element, the potential has not disappeared, and the “image of God” in him has not changed. Man is able to overcome and return to his solid source, and therefore the human responsibility for self-correction never expires.

The premise of this study is that the Lithuanian Mussar movement did not set before it a metaphysical conceptual clarification of Mussar, but rather a theory of personal guidance that is expressed in practical life. Therefore, any discussion of the matter, even if it relates to the field of the idea, cannot afford to be conducted in isolation from the real historical context and the educational field of action. From this approach, Slobodka and her field of activity should be seen as a natural development of the “world of action” of the Mussar movement, centered on the development of an equal “Mussar thought” for everyone, and the regulation of individual and social life in accordance with this doctrine.

To summarize the state of the study: There are two approaches in the study of the Yeshiva-based Mussar movement, for which Slobodka is the tipping point: on the one hand, an approach that focuses on the philosophical principles of the Mussar movement, and finds its purpose in the writers and schools that have produced a cohesive and graspable thought. From Slobodka, it ignores, or chooses only interesting radical sides. On the other hand, the approach focuses on the challenges faced by the creators of the Mussar yeshivot, and examines the structural innovations. This approach treats Slobodka only as a representative of the Mussar movement, sometimes coloring it with colors and even associating it with the images that clung to it. Against these two I would like to propose an intermediate approach, which sees the Mussar movement as an educational arena for the realization of spiritual challenges, and therefore examines each school of ethics on its own. According to this approach, Slobodka is distinguished from the other ethics yeshivot in the unique field of activity she created, in the combination of scholarship and Mussar, and the idea of practice in Mussar education. It was this format that succeeded in surviving the Revolts and crises, the immigration to the Land of Israel, and even influencing the entire Yeshiva establishment in the twentieth century.

The Sources

1. Slobodka Mussar thought yielded a large literary harvest: Rabbi Finkel’s talks were recorded by students, and were published in the books Ohr Hatzafon, edited by his senior students. An equally rich selection of Slobodka’s teachings can be found in the writings of selected students, who published articles and books of thought in the spirit of the school, and included personal memoirs and critical reviews of great value. The most prominent among them are: Rabbi Avraham Eliyahu Kaplan, Rabbi Yechiel Yaakov Weinberg, Rabbi Yechezkel Sarna, Rabbi Dov Katz, Rabbi Yisrael Zissel Dvoretz, Rabbi Yosef Ze’ev Lipovich and Rabbi Yaakov Moshe Lassin.

As with any internal material of a reviewed school, its use should be done with due caution, as it may sometimes give rise to methodological difficulties. In this case, since we are concerned with the Slobodkai education and its implementation among the students, we are required to write and think about them just as we are required of the thought of their teacher, Rabbi Finkel. In addition, Slobodka’s education encouraged independence of thought, sometimes to the point of criticizing it, and some of the aforementioned writers applied this privilege in practice in their personal lives and in their written work. The use of these writings will be made while familiarizing ourselves with the biography of the author, the two fields complement each other and present us with the image of a graduate of the Slobodka School.

2. Diaries and autobiographies written by students of the Slobodka Yeshiva and other yeshiva students, shedding light on important periods and events in the yeshiva world during this period, and on the Mussar movement and the problems it faced. These are valuable sources about the inner world and self-consciousness of yeshiva students. Within them, a distinction must be made between diaries written at or near the time of the event, and autobiographies written at a distance of time and space. Among the diaries, there are some that have not yet been published, and even those that have been published, for the most part, have been affected by them and important excerpts have been censored. In several cases I managed to obtain the manuscript of the diary, from which I learned other important things that would be reflected in the body of the work.

3. Most of the documentary material comes from private collections, which I reached through my connections in the Haredi world. Infiltrating such collections is a difficult task, due to a characteristic suspicion that stems from two reasons: first, the unsympathetic attitude toward academia in general, and second, the most significant collections are in the hands of family members who are in a state of ongoing conflict with each other. So far, important and vital material has come to my attention from both family and neutral sources, and all the sources have been brought with reference to their origin, whether explicitly or in acronyms for obvious reasons.

4. Interviews: I conducted with graduates of the Knesset Israel Yeshiva and other yeshivas, as well as interviews conducted by others and published in various media outlets. It should be remembered that some of the interviewees today are at very advanced ages and sometimes it is difficult to trust their memory. The most effective interviewee is the one who, on the one hand, was directly close to the system, and on the other hand, was not personally involved in a way that might cast doubt on the accuracy of the information in his mouth.

5. Biographical, ‘geographic’ and lexicon literature: The use of Haredi literature written for educational purposes requires careful use of historical information. However, when it contains information that is given in the first person, it can teach us a great deal about the self-consciousness of yeshiva students and members of the Mussar movement. Sometimes these sources actively participate in the research when they are part of the process we wish to present. An example of this is Rav Dov 20″Z, who certainly deserves to be considered a ‘historian’ of the Mussar movement. Despite the didactic tone, his series of books “The Mussar Movement” brings together most of the information about the movement and its prominent personality in one place. As a member of the movement, he is an unmediated source for everything related to the insider’s perspective, especially towards the Slobodka school in which he grew up. The observing reader will be able to discern the difference between his descriptions of his grandfather of Slobodka and his descriptions of other Mussar figures. The chapters dealing with the description of Slobodka’s method of education are imprinted with the imprint of Katz’s personal experience as a student, and besides being an authentic first-hand report, they teach us about the perspective that Slobodka’s students had toward their yeshiva.

6. Research material: The studies of the Lithuanian yeshiva and the Mussar movement reviewed above contribute a great deal of useful information. I will also use research from the field of educational thought and the history of education, sometimes for the purpose of possible comparison with a parallel educational school, and sometimes as background material for understanding the situation required for our discussion. The latter category includes the studies of Zvi Lam, Mordechai Nissan, Jonathan Cohen, Zvi Kurzweil, and Yona Ben-Sasson.

7. Background research: the documentary and research literature of the Fourth and Fifth Aliyah, studies on the Yishuv during the Mandate period. In order to understand the socio-political background of Orthodox society in this period, I used the research of Menachem Friedman, Israel Bartal, Moshe Lisak, Israel Kolat, and Gershon Bacon. The files of letters that were printed also contribute to this field by a hundred key figures in the Orthodox world during the period under discussion, headed by Rav Kook, Rabbi H.A. Grodzinsky, the Chazon Ish, and Rabbi Sarna.

[1]Ross does not deal with Slobodka at all, and Rabbi Finkel’s book “The Light of the North” does not even appear in her bibliography.
[2] Shaul Stampfer, The Lithuanian Yeshiva in the Making, Jerusalem 2005.
[3] Founded in 1802 by Rabbi Chaim of Volozhin, a student of the Gra, it was closed in 1892 by order of the authorities.
[4] See Weinberg, The Yeshivot in Russia, followed by Dov Katz in his book The Mussar Movement.
[5] Weinberg is there. (Shapira, ibid., pp. 221-222).
[6] Stampfer, The Lithuanian Yeshiva, p. 270.
[7] See Brown, The Greatness of Man.
[8] Brown, ibid., p. 251.
[9] Brown, ibid., p. 269.




Tikkun Olam Revisited

Tikkun Olam Revisited
Shmuel Lesher 

Shmuel Lesher is the assistant rabbi of the BAYT in Toronto, Canada. You may reach him at shmuel.lesh@gmail.com.

Tikkun Olam, translated as either “healing the world” or “repairing the world” is a phrase that evokes a variety of reactions today. This two-word Hebrew phrase has become known to many even outside of the Jewish world as the Jewish term for social action. In fact, while President of the United States, Barak Obama invoked tikkun olam in a speech he delivered in Israel in 2013.[1]

Notwithstanding the terms’ acclaim, there have been those who have severely criticized its popularity. In 2018, Jonathan Neumann, in his book To Heal The World? How the Jewish Left Corrupts Judaism and Endangers Israel writes that the “tikkun olam movement” (a term he coined) is one that is born out of a rejection of traditional Jewish law and practice is synonymous with a politically leftist agenda. In his words:

Tikkun olam has no basis in Judaism. It was conceived by Jews who rejected the faith of their fathers and midwifed by radicals who saw it as a pretext to appropriate Jewish texts and corrupt Jewish rituals — such as the Pesach Seder — to further political ends. Tikkun olam represents…for all the talk of liberation, the enslavement of Judaism to liberal politics.[2]

Neumann argues that the current popularity of tikkun olam actually undermines Jewish peoplehood and “gives sanction to Anti-Zionism and assimilation.”[3]

Neumann is right and he is wrong. He is right that many have used tikkun olam to further their own political agenda without much of a basis in traditional Torah sources. He is also correct to challenge those who have jumped onto the tikkun olam bandwagon. As none other than Rabbi Jonathan Sacks, a vocal advocate for tikkun olam and social action himself, has noted, for some, “social justice has become a substitute for religious observance or G-d.”[4]

This trend is further evidenced by Jack Wertheimer, a professor of American Jewish history at the Jewish Theological Seminary of America and its former provost:

The large majority of non-Orthodox Jews have internalized a very contemporary set of values and ways of thinking about ethical decision making indistinguishable from those of their non-Jewish peers. They have been encouraged in this direction by religious leaders who invented a new commandment in the 1980’s — the injunction to engage in tikkun olam…Whatever act a Jew undertakes in a well-meaning way has come to be seen as an act of tikkun olam.”[5]

However, Neumann is wrong to assert that tikkun olam, a concern for the welfare of general society, has no basis in Judaism. 

Granted, as R. Jonathan Sacks has argued in the context of “progress” and Judaism’s view of social justice, “It is anachronistic to read back into ancient sources ideas that made their appearance centuries later.”[6] Some of the literature on tikkun olam suffers from this mistake. It is intellectually dishonest for an author to use the term “tikkun” used in Kabbalah and Jewish mysticism, or in the Aleinu prayer, “li-taken olam bi-malkhut shakay,” a hope for a world devoid of idol worship that recognizes one single G-d, and repurpose it to support the cause of feeding the hungry, universal health care, caring for those who suffered from AIDS, and other social justice causes.[7] Neumann is certainly on point by noting that the usage of the term “mipnei tikkun ha-olam” in the Talmud and in most of rabbinic literature refers to rabbinic enactments specifically for the Jewish community and not for the betterment of society at large – a far cry from the way in which the concept is used in Jewish social justice activism.[8] However, if one looks beyond the technical usage and context of this one term, there are certainly traditional sources for the importance of Jewish involvement in the betterment of general society.

A Light Unto the Nations

When one takes a look at the sources, from the Talmud until the contemporary halakhic literature, it is clear that the recognition that the Jewish people is charged with the improvement of mankind as a whole has widely been accepted among rabbinic scholars.[9]

There is a Breita (a Tannaic teaching) cited in Gittin (61a) that states that Jews are to support the gentile poor, visit their sick, and bury their dead along with the dead of Israel, and maintain their poor “mipnei darkei shalom, for the ways of peace.” Whereas some authorities interpret this phrase to mean that we adopt a non-discriminatory policy for these social issues in order to avoid non-Jewish animosity,[10] Rambam appears to see a far-reaching principle in the Mishnah. When codifying this law, his formulation is instructive:

Even with respect to Gentiles, our Sages admonish us (tzivu hakhamim) to visit their sick, bury their dead along with the dead of Israel, and maintain their poor as well as the Jewish poor in the interests of peace (mipnei darkei shalom). Behold it is written, “The L-rd is good to all, and His mercies are over all His works” (Psalms 145:9). It is also written, “Its ways are ways of pleasantness and all its paths are peace (vikhol netivoseha shalom)” (Proverbs 3:17).

Rambam is advocating for a positive obligation given to the Jewish community by Hazal to engender peace with non-Jews. Complementing this, Rabbeinu Bahya writes that “tzedek tzedek tirdof”, “one should chase after justice” (Deuteronomy 16:20) includes our obligation to act justly with non-Jews as well.[11]

Rabbi Elazar and Rabbi Yoḥanan state in Pesahim (87b) based on a verse in Hoshea (2:25), that the purpose for the exile of the Jewish people among the nations was so that converts would join them. The Maharsha interprets this to mean not to proselytize, but rather “to spread faith among idol worshipers.”[12] These sources clearly demonstrate a legal and moral concern for the nations of the world.

Going even further, Rabbi J. David Bleich notes, “There are sources indicating that the divine intent is that…the nations of the world adopt the standards that are normative for Jews.”[13] R. Bleich cites the positions of Rabbi Yaakov Ettlinger, the author of the Arukh Laner, Rabbi Samson Raphael Hirsch, and Rabbi Naftali Tzvi Yehuda Berlin, or the Netziv, in support of his thesis.

The Netziv, in a number of places, emphasizes the Jew’s obligation towards general society. In the introduction to Shemot in his Ha-amek Davar, he writes, “It is Hashem’s desire that [gentiles] study Scripture and for that reason [He] commanded it be translated into seventy languages.”[14] Netziv comments on the character of our Patriarchs who “conducted themselves with nations of the world, even…idolaters…with love and with concern for their benefit since that is what sustains creation.”[15] He also writes of the concept of being a “light unto the nations.”[16] In his words, “Israel was created to be an illumination to the nations [of the world] and to cause them to achieve knowledge of Hashem.”[17]

R. Ettlinger interprets the same concept of the Jewish people being a light unto the nations, as serving as a moral example to which they should aspire.[18] R. Ettlinger’s student, R. Samson Raphael Hirsch writes at length of the Jewish people’s obligation to serve as a moral example for all of mankind.[19]

In his landmark 1964 essay on interfaith dialogue, Rabbi Yosef Dov Soloveitchik writes of the double confrontation we face with those outside of our faith community:

We Jews have been burdened with a twofold task: we have to cope with the problem of a ‘double confrontation.’ We think of ourselves as human beings, sharing the destiny of Adam in his general encounter with nature, and as members of a covenantal community…In this difficult role, we are summoned by G-d, who revealed himself at both the level of universal creation and that of the private covenant, to undertake a double mission — the universal human and the exclusive covenantal confrontation.[20]

R. Soloveitchik refers to the Jewish commitment towards society, the “universal human covenant” as the “story [the non-Jewish faith community] already knows.” In his words:

We are human beings committed to the general welfare and progress of humanity, that we are interested in combating disease, in alleviating human suffering, in protecting man’s rights, in helping the needy, etc. – but also what is still unknown to it, namely our otherness as a metaphysical covenantal community.[21]

Notwithstanding the many Torah sources cited above supporting a commitment to the general welfare of society, as well as R. Soloveitchik’s words themselves, I have a feeling that this story is regrettably not known to many, neither in the non-Jewish faith community or in our community. [22]

The Seven Noahide Laws

The Talmud in Sanhedrin (56a) states that non-Jews are obligated in the seven Noahide laws. The Rambam emphasizes a Jew’s obligation to encourage non-Jews to adhere to the seven Noahide laws in the land of Israel.[23] In fact, the Rambam writes that the Jewish courts are obligated to establish judges for non-Jewish residents in order to enforce adherence to the Noahide Laws.[24]

Some contemporary poskim have strongly cautioned against publicizing and encouraging non-Jews to observe the Noahide Laws. Rabbi Moshe Sternbuch was staunchly opposed to Jews in any way encouraging non-Jews to observe the Noahide laws.[25] Although less adamant than R. Sternbuch, Rabbi Moshe Feinstein writes that, although it is permitted to teach the Noahide Laws to gentiles, it best not to publicize this.[26]

Rav Yosef states in Bava Kama (38a) that Hashem saw that the nations of the world were not observing the Noahide laws and therefore, He revoked the prohibitions and permitted them. Based on a number of verses, the Gemara connects Rav Yosef’s statement to the moment in history when Hashem chose to give the Torah to the Jewish people. There are a variety of explanations offered for this passage in the Talmud. The Hatam Sofer cites a ruling of the Pnei Yehoshua who explains this passage to mean that after the giving of the Torah, there is no obligation whatsoever for Jews to influence non-Jews to observe the Noahide Laws as they are no longer commanded to keep them.[27]

However, the Hatam Sofer himself disagrees and posits that the when Rav Yosef stated Hashem permitted the Noahide laws, he only meant to say that non-Jews no longer receive reward for their obligated observance of the Noahide laws, rather they receive reward like an “eino metzuveh,” someone who is not commanded, however they are still punished for violating what they are obligated in.[28] According to this reading of the Gemara, one could still argue that Jews should still encourage the observance of the Noahide Laws. 

Rabbi Yosef Dov Soloveitchik, although not an advocate of interfaith dialogue within a religious context, somewhat surprisingly, does support teaching the Noahide laws:

The Torah was not given to non-Jews directly, but the Almighty has offered it to all of mankind indirectly, as a promise, a vision, an eschatological expectation, the ultimate end of history. The Torah was given to us so many millennia ago. Our task was and still is to teach Torah to mankind, to influence the non-Jewish world, to redeem it from an orgiastic way of living, from cruelty and insensitivity, to arouse in mankind a sense of justice and fairness. In a word, we are to teach the seven mitzvot that are binding on every human being.[29]

The strongest case for a Jew’s obligation to encourage non-Jewish observance of the Noahide laws can be found in the writings of Rabbi Menachem Mendel Schneerson, the Lubavitcher Rebbe, whose approach to social action will be analyzed in depth below. In a letter to Chaplain Brigadier General Israel Drazin, the Rebbe emphasized the importance of the Noahide laws and the Jewish community’s obligation to encourage the observance of these commandments.[30]

The Lubavitcher Rebbe: A 20th Century Hasidic Socio-Mystical Thinker and Social Activist 

One contemporary Jewish thinker who took an active role in general society stands in a league of his own — the Lubavitcher Rebbe, Rabbi Menachem Mendel Schneerson. One would be hard-pressed to find a better example in the 20th century of someone who was both staunchly committed to authentic Torah values and at the same time dedicated to the betterment of general society than the Lubavitcher Rebbe. The Rebbe developed a comprehensive, holistic, and deeply spiritual mandate for what sociologist Philip Wexler refers to as the “resacralization” of society. 

The Re-enchantment and Resacralization of Society

Borrowing from a term coined by Abraham Maslow, Wexler argues that today’s culture is in dire need of “resacralization,” a process of reintroducing values, creativity, emotion, and ritual into society. Instead of the social sciences and education in general assuming a totally secularized approach to the world, according to Wexler, we have now reached, what he deems to be, a post-secular era that demands a paradigm shift and a resacralization.[32]

Menorahs in the Public Square

The Rebbe’s campaign for the public lighting of Hanukkah menorahs is likely the most visible example of the Rebbe’s mission to bring spirituality, light, and a moral awareness to society at large. The public lighting of a giant menorah began in 1974 at the foot of Philadelphia’s Liberty Bell. By the late 1970’s, the practice began to gain visibility and traction. In fact, in 1979, President Jimmy Carter left a one-hundred-day self-imposed seclusion during the Iran hostage crisis in order to light the Chabad menorah in front of the White House.[33] But the Rebbe’s activities did not go without objections. In 1978, Rabbi Joseph Glaser, the head of the Central Conference of American Rabbis (CCAR), the organization of Reform Rabbis, penned a letter to the Rebbe criticizing the public display of religion:

It has come to my attention that the Lubavitcher Chassidim are erecting Hanukkiot and holding religious services in connection therewith on public property in various locations throughout the United States. This is as much a violation of the constitutional principle of separation of church and state as is the erection of Christmas trees…It weakens our hands when we protest this institution of Christian doctrine into the public life of American citizens and thus, it is really not worth the value received.[34]  

In an additional letter, Glaser indicates the future legal efforts that were to come to the fore to stop the Menorah Campaign.[35] He ends his letter with an appeal to the Rebbe to end the menorah lightings immediately.[36] In the Rebbe’s response, he notes that there has already been positive acclaim observed over a number of years as a result of the menorah lightings:

The fact is that countless Jews in all parts of the country have been impressed and inspired by the spirit of Chanukah which has been brought to them, to many for the first time.[37] 

Regarding the constitutional issue, an issue that emerged a number of times throughout his career, the Rebbe was more forceful and unequivocal:

I can most assuredly allay your apprehension on this score. I am fully certain that none of those who participated in or witnessed the kindling of a Chanukah Lamp in a public place (and in all cases permission was readily granted by authorities) felt that his or her loyalty to the Constitution of the U.S.A. had been weakened or compromised thereby…seeing that the U.S. Congress opens [its daily sessions] with a religious invocation…and surely the U.S. Congress, comprising each and every state of the Union, is the place where the Constitution…should be most rigidly upheld.[38]

In his final letter to the Rebbe, Glaser makes a new argument, one that may be quite surprising to today’s reader. Glaser notes that the Rebbe sees some intrinsic value in having Jews attend a public menorah lighting. Glaser counters, “Ultimately the survival of Judaism depends on the home.” It is there that the menorah should be lit. Having people observing the ceremony in public constitutes a “flamboyant religious exercise instead of sacred home ritual.”[39] It is more than ironic that a major figure in the very movement that champions contributing to general society as their raison d’etre, hence the centrality of tikkun olam, claimed that Judaism’s rituals should be relegated to the Jewish home. 

Although it is not explicitly stated in the Glaser correspondence, the Rebbe’s advocacy of menorah lighting was rooted in his deeper conviction in the crucial role religion must play for society as a whole. In a 1990 worldwide menorah-lighting satellite event the Rebbe made this clear:

G-d gave each of us a soul, which is a candle that He gives us to illuminate our surroundings with His light…We must not only illuminate the inside of homes, but also the outside, and the world at large.[40]

The Educational Model of The Lubavitcher Rebbe

Building on the social theories of Max Weber and Emile Durkheim, Wexler argues in his groundbreaking work Social Vision: The Lubavitcher Rebbe’s Transformative Paradigm for the World, that religion, and specifically the socio-mystical community model of Habad Hasidim, has the potential to usher in a new social paradigm for society today.[41]  Wexler documents that the Rebbe’s educational program provided the foundation for an all-encompassing revision of social policy and social life in the United States.[42]

The Lubavitcher Rebbe’s educational agenda made its way into the public square when in 1978 President Jimmy Carter acted upon a congressional resolution to declare R. Schneerson’s 76th birthday “Education Day, U.S.A.,” recognizing the Rebbe’s commitment to general education in the United States for over three decades. 

This was a reflection of the active role the Rebbe took throughout his life in the advancement of education in American society. In 1960, R. Schneerson sent a four-person delegation to the White House Conference on Children and Youth where they argued that “children and youth be granted greater opportunities for specific religious education.”[43] A decade later, a fuller memorandum of Lubavitch policy proposal was entered into the Congressional Record. Here, the Rebbe’s vision for education in the United States is sharply articulated:

An educational system must have a soul. Children are not computers to be fed a mass of informational data, without regard for their human needs for higher goals and ideals in life.[44]

Yet, the Rebbe did not stop at what was taught in the classroom. His approach to educational policy is that it is equally important for an educational model to impact the homes, streets, and the entire social context of the students. According to Wexler, in the new social ethos of Hasidism, as conceived by R. Schneerson, lies an alternative to our current educational system. In such a model, using Wexler’s terminology, pedagogy can be seen as “initiatory, awakening, interactive…imaginative divinization.”[45]

The Non-Denominational Prayer 

The Rebbe’s view of the paramount importance of an education with a soul was given concrete expression in his advocacy for non-denominational prayer in public school classrooms in the United States. In 1962, in the Supreme Court case Engel v. Vitale, this proposition was deemed unconstitutional.[46] The case sparked a great level of controversy about the nature of education in America and how schools should best negotiate the separation of Church and State. Many Jewish groups applauded the decision of the courts.[47] However, the Rebbe, in two powerful letters, one written in 1962 and one in 1964, made his position clear. I cite excerpts of the 1964 letter below at length because I feel it clearly shows the Rebbe’s passion about this issue:

Let me assure you at once that my view… [has] not changed…On the contrary, if there could have been any change at all, it was to reinforce my conviction of the vital need that the children in the public schools should be allowed to begin their day at school with the recitation of a non-denominational prayer, acknowledging the existence of a Creator and Master of the Universe, and our dependence upon Him. In my opinion, this acknowledgment is absolutely necessary in order to impress upon the minds of our growing-up generation that the world in which they live is not a jungle, where brute force, cunning and unbridled passion rule supreme, but that it has a Master Who is not an abstraction, but a personal G‑d; that this Supreme Being takes a “personal interest” in the affairs of each and every individual, and to Him everyone is accountable for one’s daily conduct.

Juvenile delinquency, the tragic symptom of the disillusionment, insecurity and confusion of the young generation, has not abated; rather the reverse is the case…The remedy lies in removing the cause, not in merely treating the symptoms. It will not suffice to tell the juvenile delinquent that crime does not pay, and that he will eventually land in jail (if he is not smart enough?). Nor will he be particularly impressed if he is admonished that law-breaking is an offense against society. It is necessary to engrave upon the child’s mind the idea that any wrongdoing is an offense against the Divine authority and order.

According to the Rebbe’s shrewd analysis, for most people, well-reasoned argumentation or rational decision making, is simply not enough of a foundation to compel the observance of universal moral standards. A deep and lasting moral sensibility is best cultivated through a more basic socio-spiritual sense of a personal relationship with the all-knowing G-d.[48] 

The Rebbe was also a realist. He understood that if society was to change, it would not be enough to relegate his prayer to places of worship or synagogues. Prayer had to be brought to the masses, and especially to the children:

At first glance this seems to be the essential function of a house of prayer and of the spiritual leaders. However, anyone who does not wish to delude himself about the facts of house of prayer attendance, both in regard to the number of worshippers and the frequency of their visits, etc., etc., must admit that shifting the responsibility to the house of prayer will not correct the situation. Nor can we afford to wait until the house of prayer will attain its fitting place in our society, and in the life of our youth in particular, for the young generation will not wait with its growing-up process.

Children have to be “trained” from their earliest youth to be constantly aware of “the Eye that seeth and the Ear that heareth.” We cannot leave it to the law-enforcing agencies to be the keepers of the ethics and morals of our young generation. The boy or girl who has embarked upon a course of truancy will not be intimidated by the policeman, teacher or parent, whom he or she thinks fair game to “outsmart.” Furthermore, the crux of the problem lies in the success or failure of bringing up the children to an awareness of a Supreme Authority, Who is not only to be feared, but also loved. Under existing conditions in this country, a daily prayer in the public schools is for a vast number of boys and girls the only opportunity of cultivating such an awareness.

The Rebbe wholeheartedly believed in the civic utility of prayer. In his view, a more prayerful and soulful education for America’s youth would lead to a more moral America. Accordingly, the Constitution should not be a barrier to the best interests of the country:

To oppose non-denominational prayer “on constitutional grounds” is, in my opinion, altogether a misunderstanding or misrepresentation of the problem. The issue is: Whether a non-denominational prayer wherewith to inaugurate the school day is, or is not, in the best interests of the children. If the answer is “yes,” then obviously it should be made constitutional, for there can be no difference of opinion as to the fact that the Constitution has been created to serve the people, not vice versa.[49]

Following the establishment of “Education Day, U.S.A.” in 1978, the Rebbe delivered a talk at a farbrengen in his Brooklyn synagogue to mark the occasion. In this address, the Rebbe stated that the Torah requires Jews to pay attention to the nation’s educational concerns and not merely to ensure that their own community’s educational needs are met.[50]

In an even broader vision, the Rebbe advocated strongly for a new and independent department of education. Well ahead of his time, the Rebbe encouraged the raising of teacher’s salaries and more federal spending to improve the public schools. He believed this would in turn cause diminishing expenses in the penal system, crime prevention, health and welfare. In the Rebbe’s words, “A morally healthy, strong and united nation is in itself a strong deterrent against any enemy.”[51] Remarkably progressive, as part of his broad vision for a healthy and morally strong society, the Rebbe also advocated for criminal justice reforms, creating alternative energy sources, especially solar energy.[52]

The Moment of Silence Initiative 

Later, in 1981, after the election of Ronald Reagan to the presidency, the debate over the non-denominational prayer took off once again. In May 1982, Reagan proposed an amendment to the constitution that would support non-denominational prayer. While the Rebbe supported this, he understood that it would be the subject of much debate and may never be enacted. Therefore, at this time he vied for the establishment of a daily moment of silence in the public schools which he thought had the potential to gain more support. 

In a 1983 talk the Rebbe delivered, he voiced his support for a moment of silence and also stressed the need for parents to contribute to their children’s education:

The actual situation in this country is that parents have no time — and even those who do have the time do not have the patience — to invest themselves in the education of their children.[53]

The Rebbe’s solution to this was a moment of silence each and every morning in school before classes or instructions began. According to Wexler and other scholars, the moment of silence initiative created an opening for a post-secular turn in education. According to the Rebbe, the teacher’s role during the moment of silence is not to fill it with educational content but rather to “empower the students to go beyond all the normative axioms of education and find their own ways to make good use of an educational opportunity of an entirely different sort.”[54] More broadly speaking, the Rebbe’s support of the moment of silence represents his universalization of contemplative prayer within broader society. Here again we see a shift within the Rebbe’s worldview, of how a successful educational model is to be imagined.

The Contemporary Scene

The Lubavitcher Rebbe notwithstanding, R. J. David Bleich has noted that most community activities done on behalf of tikkun olam have been done in the non-Orthodox camp. He attributed the apparent neglect of broader social causes in the Orthodox community to their manifold commitments to intra-communal values such as Jewish Education, Kashrus, and other important religious activities that take up much time, energy, and attention.[55]

While it may be true that the Orthodox community has a variety of additional community causes that vie for their attention not held by their non-Orthodox brethren, I believe there is a deeper reason for the Orthodox community’s hesitation about involvement in social action. For thousands of years, the Jewish people have been the victims of discrimination, oppression, and antisemitism from the non-Jewish world. This tragic history has caused us to collectively develop a form of communal isolationism as a defense mechanism. Perhaps this is why, on the whole, and understandably so, more traditional communities have generally steered away from taking any active role in promoting religion or values in the public square. 

A few notable exceptions should be made. R. Jonathan Sacks is a towering exception to this rule. A central theme within the career and thought of R. Sacks is the belief in Judaism’s ability and obligation to influence general society. R. Sacks argued that, if understood properly, religion, and particularly Judaism, can be a source of developing a shared and collective vision for society at large.[56] Often in his writings, he emphasized the importance of religion on the world stage arguing that “a Judaism divorced from society will be a Judaism unable to influence society or inspire.”[57] 

There have been others as well. The chief rabbi of South Africa, Rabbi Warren Goldstein has worked to bring the voice of religion and values into the public school system in South Africa. In 2008, as part of the National Religious Leaders Forum, he played a major role in drafting a “Bill of Responsibilities for South African Youth.”[58] However, these exceptions prove the rule. For the most part, the frum community has not taken an active role in the betterment of society at large. 

Although this is understandable, considering our troubled history with society at large, there can be some collateral damage. Over twenty years ago, Rabbi Berel Wein told interviewer and author Faranak Margolese of the book Off the Derech, that he sees a lack of interest in general society and its issues as a contributing factor for today’s youth leaving a life of Torah and mitzvot. In his words:

To a great extent, I think one of the greatest problems that Orthodoxy faces is that it doesn’t promise anything. It should. On an individual basis perhaps it does; but [not] on a national basis. I mean let’s say everybody would vote for the Orthodox parties tomorrow. What would be its platform? What are we going to do? We have no idea. The Torah [has ideas], but someone has to articulate them. What’s our attitude toward labor unions? What’s our attitude toward the poorer section of society? Toward the Arabs? Toward anything? So now the attitude is: do Torah and mitzvot. But doing Torah and mitzvot is not a foreign policy and it’s not a domestic policy either. We don’t promise anything to anyone…We don’t say that we are going to fix the world; we don’t say those things even though it is part of our heritage, even though that’s part of Torah. We don’t express it. It could be the reason we don’t is that we have been under attack for so long; we have been the minority of a minority so we can’t afford grandiose dreams. But I think that if we don’t express grandiose dreams, we doom ourselves to remain the minority within the minority.”[59]

If as a community, we do not want to remain “the minority within the minority,” devoid of any public policy at the national or global level, it would do us well to consider an alternative model. Tikkun Olam, perhaps more accurately understood as care and concern for the society in which we live, is not our only priority. However, following the Lubavitcher Rebbe’s example, more attention must be placed on it. In the last century, Orthodox leaders and public figures, including the Rebbe, R. Sacks, and R. Goldstein have made significant contributions to betterment of general society but there is still more work to be done.

[1] “Remarks of President Barack Obama To the People of Israel at the Jerusalem International Convention Center in Jerusalem” Obamawhitehouse.archives.gov (March 21, 2013).
[2]
Jonathan Neumann, To Heal The World? How the Jewish Left Corrupts Judaism and Endangers Israel (All Points Books, 2018), xvi-xvii.
[3] Ibid. xvii.
[4] R. Jonathan Sacks, To Heal a Fractured World (Schocken, 2005), 9.
[5] Jack Wertheimer, The New American Judaism (Princeton University Press, 2018), 41. Also see Paul David Kerbel, “The Tikkun Olam Generation,” Conservative Judaism 61(3) (January 2010), 88-91. For more on the misuse of the term, see Rabbi Yitzhak Aharon Korff, “The Fallacy, Delusion and Myth of Tikkun Olam,” Jewish News Syndicate (June 3, 2013) (https://www.jns.org/the-fallacy-delusion-and-myth-of-tikkun-olam/).
[6] R.
Sacks, To Heal a Fractured World 78-79.
[7] Jane Kanarek, “What Does Tikkun Olam Actually Mean?” In Or N. Rose, ‎Jo Ellen Green Kaiser, ‎Margie Klein (ed.), Righteous Indignation: A Jewish Call For Justice (Jewish Lights Publishing, 2008), 19-22.

With regards to Aleinu, Mitchell First argues that a very strong case can be made that the word “letaken” in the original version of Aleinu was actually written with a khaf (meaning to establish the world under G-d’s sovereignty), and not with a kuf (meaning to perfect/improve the world under God’s sovereignty). See Mitchell First, “Aleinu: Obligation to Fix the World or the Text?” Hakirah, Vol. 11 (Spring 2011), 187-197.
[8]
 Neumann 133-135. The content of the Talmudic enactments referred to as “mipnei tikkun ha-olam,” are generally additional rabbinic rulings made to account for and circumvent potentially negative outcomes of previous legislature for the Jewish community. For examples of Talmudic applications of the term see Gittin 33a-35a and Gittin 45a. Neuman cites many scholars who have noted the incorrect usage of the term tikkun olam to refer to Jewish social action. See Eugene Borowitz, Renewing the Covenant: A Theology for the Postmodern Jew (Jewish Publication Society, 1996), 51; Gilbert S. Rosenthal, “Tikkun ha-Olam: The Metamorphosis of a Concept,” Journal of Religion, Vol. 85, no. 2 (2005); Levi Cooper, “The Assimilation of Tikkun Olam,” Jewish Political Studies Review 25 no. 3-4 (Fall 2014).
[9] See Rabbi J. David Bleich, The Philosophical Quest (Maggid, 2013), 209-252.
[10] See for example Ramban, Bava Metzia 78b.
[11]  Rabbeinu Bahya, Kad Ha-kemah, Gezel 1:3.
[12]
 Maharsha, Pesahim 87b s.v. lo higlah.
[13] R. Bleich, Philosophical Quest 236-237.
[14] Netziv, Kidmat Ha-emek. Translation adapted from R. Bleich 238.
[15]
Netziv, Ha-amek Davar, Introduction to Bereishit. Translation adapted from R. Bleich 243.
[16]
 Isaiah 49:6.
[17]
 Netziv, Ha-amek Davar, Shemot 12:51. Also see Netziv, Harhev Davar, Bereishit 17:4 and Ha-amek Davar, Bereishit 9:27.
[18] R. Yaakov Ettlinger, Minhat Ani, Bamidbar. See R. Bleich, Philosophical Quest 236-237.
[19] See R. Bleich 239-246. For more on R. Hirsch’s belief in Judaism’s concern for mankind as a whole see my “For the Love of Humanity: The Religious Humanism of Rabbi Samson Raphael Hirsch,” Hakirah, Vol. 33 (Fall 2022), 65-98.
[20] R. Joseph B. Soloveitchik, “Confrontation,” Tradition 6:2 (RCA, 1964) republished in R. Joseph B. Soloveitchik, Confrontation and Other Essays (Maggid, 2015), 100.
[21] Ibid., 104.
[22] For more see David Shatz, Chaim I. Waxman, Nathan J. Diament (ed.) Tikkun Olam: Social Responsibility in Jewish Thought and Law (Aronson, 1997); Yosef ben Shlomo Hakohen, The Universal Jew (Feldheim, 1995); Rabbi Netanel Wiederblank, “Our Responsibility To Humanity,” Yadrim 4, (Sivan 5782), 5-29; R. Jonathan Sacks, “Tikkun Olam: Orthodoxy’s Responsibility to Perfect G-d’s World” (Speech delivered at the Orthodox Union West Coast Convention, December 1997 – Kislev 5758); Rabbi Dr. Jacob J. Schacter, “Tikkun Olam: Defining the Jewish Obligation,” in Rafael Medoff, ed., Rav Chesed: Essays in Honor of Rabbi Dr. Haskel Lookstein, vol. 2 (Jersey City: Ktav, 2009), 183-204.
[23] Rambam, Mishneh Torah, Melakhim 8:9-10.
[24] Rambam, Mishneh Torah, Melakhim 10:11.
[25] R.
Moshe Sternbuch, Teshuvot Vi-hanhagot Vol. 3 no. 317.
[26] R. Moshe Feinstein, Igrot Moshe, Yoreh Deah Vol. 3 no. 89.
[27] Teshuvot Hatam Sofer, Hoshen Mishpat, Vol. 5, no. 185.
[28]
Ibid. Whether non-Jews are obligated in the Noahide laws after the giving of the Torah is the subject of an earlier debate. Tosafot in Hagigah (13a) rule that although it is forbidden to teach Torah to non-Jews, there is no prohibition to teach them the Noahide laws. However, Tosafot cited in the Hagahot Ha-bah (Ibid. no. 40) disagree and state that after the giving of the Torah, gentiles are not obligated in the Noahide laws and there would be a prohibition of teaching them to non-Jews. For more on this see Dovid Lichtenstein, Headlines 2: Halachic Debates of Current Events (Orthodox Union Press, 2017), 125-128.
[29]
Rabbi Joseph B. Soloveitchik, Abraham’s Journey (Ktav, 2008), 182. Thanks to my father-in-law, Rabbi Hanan Balk for pointing this source out to me.
[30]
Letter to Israel Drazin from R. Menachem Mendel Schneerson (October 31, 1986). See “What Could Have Prevented the Holocaust, Chabad.org. For more statements of the Rebbe on the importance of encouraging non-Jews to observe the Noahide laws see R. Menachem Mendel Schneerson, “The Seven Noachide Laws,” Sichos In English Vol. 16 (Kislev-Nissan 5743). This talk was delivered on Shabbat Parshat Beshalach, 15th Day of Shevat, 5743 (1983). Also see “Reach Out to the Non-Jews”, Disc 31, Program 123 (Event Date: 4 Tishrei 5747 – October 07, 1986) Chabad.org.
[31] Feist and Feist: Theories of Personality, 7th edition, (The McGraw−Hill Companies, 2009), 303.
[32] Philip Wexler, Mystical Sociology: An Emerging Social Vision (Westview Press, 2000), 42-46.
[33] Joseph Telushkin, Rebbe (Harper Collins, 2014), 262.
[34] Jonathan Sarna and David G. Dalin, Religion and State in the American Jewish Experience (Notre Dame University, 1997), 288-300 cited in Telushkin 263-268.
[35] The most significant legal case made against public menorah lighting was brought before the Pennsylvania Supreme Court in 1989. See Allegheny County v. ACLU, 492 U.S. 573 (1989). Today, Chabad’s public menorah lightings have become normative in North American society. Several thousand public lightings take place every year under Chabad auspices with an increasing amount of non-Chabad and even non-Orthodox involvement. See Telushkin 269-270.
[36] Telushkin 264.
[37] Ibid. 265.
[38] Ibid. 266.
[39] Ibid. 268.
[40] Ibid. 269.
[41] Philip Wexler, Eli Rubin, and Michael Wexler, Social Vision: The Lubavitcher Rebbe’s Transformative Paradigm for the World (Herder & Herder, 2019).
[42] Wexler 148.
[43] Ibid. 149.
[44]
Cong. Rec. – Volume 116, Part 33 (December 28, 1970, 43738) cited in Wexler 173n12.
[45] Wexler 152.
[46] Engel v. Vitale, 370 US 421 – Supreme Court (1962).
[47] Most, although not all, of the opposition to the public prayer came from the organized Jewish community. See Telushkin 255.
[48] The Rebbe’s point that morality cannot be properly developed merely by reason and rational thinking, is not dissimilar to sociologist Jonathan Haidt’s theory that moral development happens primarily through intuitive and emotional processes rather than cognitive and reason-based judgments. See Jonathan Haidt, “The Emotional Dog and its Rational Tail: A Social Intuitionist Approach to Moral Judgment,” Psychological Review, 108 (2001), 814-834.
[49] R.
Menachem Mendel Schneerson, “Prayer in Public Schools and Separation of Church and State,” 26th of Nissan, 5724 (April 8, 1964) https://www.chabad.org/therebbe/letters/default_cdo/aid/2051611/jewish/Prayer-in-Public-Schools-and-Separation-of-Church-and-State.htm

For the first letter see “Excerpt from the Lubavitcher Rabbi’s שליט”א Letter on the Question of the Regents Prayer, (24th of MarCheshvan, 5723, November 21, 1962)” Chabad.org

https://www.chabad.org/therebbe/letters/default_cdo/aid/1274011/jewish/Non-Denominational-Prayer-in-Public-Schools.htm.
[50] R. Menachem Mendel Schneerson, Sihot Kodesh 5738, Vol. 2 (Vaad Hanachot Hatemimim, 1986), 119-20.
[51]  “Excerpt from a Letter by the Rebbe שליט”א on the Proposal Creation of a Special Department of Education,” in Report on “Education Day–U.S.A.” Legislation, 18-19 cited in Wexler 176n49.
[52] Wexler 194-217.
[53] R. Menachem Mendel Schneerson, “A Moment to Save the World – Part 2”: 10 Shevat 5743 (January 24, 1983) Chabad.org cited in Wexler 168.
[54] Wexler 171.
[55] R. J. David, Bleich, “Tikun Olam: A Jew’s Responsibility to Society,” YUTorah.org (Oct 26, 1988).
[56] See R. Jonathan Sacks, The Persistence of Faith (Weidenfeld & Nicolson, 1991. This book is an expansion on R. Sacks’s BBC Reith Lectures (1990).
[57] R. Jonathan Sacks, “A Judaism Engaged With The World” (2013). Also see his The Politics of Hope (Vintage, 1997); The Home We Build Together (Continuum, 2009); “Reconciling Religion’s Role in the West: An Interview with Rabbi Lord Jonathan Sacks,” Harvard International Review 38:1 (Fall 2016), 52-54 and Rabbi Yitzchok Alderstein, “How the Torah Helped Shape the Modern World,” Jewish Action (Fall 2010).
[58] Jonathan Rosenblum, “Hail to the Chief (rabbi),” Jerusalem Post (July 1, 2011). Also see the South African government’s website for the text of the “Bill of Responsibilities.” I thank Rabbi Daniel Korobkin for pointing this out to me.
[59] Faranak Margolese, Off The Derech (Devora, 2005), 202-203. The interviews with R. Wein were held on August 28, 2000 and January 8, 2001




“Praiseworthy are You Talmidei Chachamim” – Self-Definition, Torah Study, and Jewish Martyrdom

Praiseworthy are You Talmidei Chachamim”
Self-Definition, Torah Study, and Jewish Martyrdom

Yaakov Jaffe

There is a unique genre of video on youtube, facebook, or twitter, featuring Yeshivah students of a wide variety of ages, locations, and types of dress singing the song “Ashreichem Talmidei Chachamim” while standing or dancing around the Beit Midrash of their school or Yeshivah.  The song, often also heard at wedding, praises the portion of students of Torah scholars with the following words:

Praiseworthy are you, O students of the wise,
As words of Torah are exceedingly beloved[1] to you.
How much do I love Your [=G-d’s] Torah,
All day long she is my speech.

The words of the song are a quote from the Talmud (Menachot 18a, with the last two lines, themselves, being a quote from Psalms 119:97), and the implication of the song is that those that sing it (or those that dance at the wedding when it is sung) have achieved the status of Torah scholars and are aptly described as those for whom the words of Torah are “exceedingly beloved.”  The song exists as a quasi-performative, self-definitional, transformational act, as the singing of the words, themselves, confer a status and title upon those whom it is sung about.

Like many other Hebrew songs, this quote from the Talmud is taken out of context, and consequently it disguises what exactly are the conditions to consider Torah to be “exceedingly beloved” to someone.  The context is fascinating, and it provides necessary insight for the understanding of this song.

  

Thought-Based Invalidations of Temple Sacrifices

Tractate Menachot is a challenging Tractate, one of the dozen longest, studied through the Daf Yomi and in elite sub-groups of elite schools of Torah study; it is not for the faint of heart.  While some of the very lengthy Talmudic tractates are frequently studied on account of their contribution to the practice of Jewish ritual and family law (Shabbat, Chullin, Psachim, Yevamot and Ketubot), and others as they are vital for building the principles of community and social law (the three Bavot), Menachot is lengthy and on the whole not particularly relevant for contemporary Jewish life and practice.

The first 18 pages are the hardest part of the Tractate, focused less on the Korban Mincha, itself, but more on thought-based invalidations of a Korban Mincha, a Mincha that becomes invalid because of the intentions the Kohein had when performing the sacrifice.  Large parts of Menachot are concrete as they involve the process of the offering and real-world errors made while performing the sacrifice; the first dozen-and-a-half pages are formal, where the sacrifice looks no different from how it always looks but may be invalidated on account of improper thoughts. In these cases, even if the sacrifice was physically offered exactly as required, it might still be invalid because of the ruinous intent.

Much of the discussion focuses on invalidations that are at least alluded to in the Bible: “Pigul,” intent to eat or burn the sacrifice at the wrong time, or “Lo Leshmah,” intent for the action to find favor as a different sacrifice type than required by the owner or a different sacrifice substance.  The long, challenging discussion concludes with another type of thought-based invalidation, so rare that is only discussed in two pages in the entire Talmud, and never in the Bible commentaries or Midrash Halacha, intent to leave over the sacrificial substances of the sacrifice unused indefinitely.  Leaving over the eaten part of a sacrifice, “Notar,” is discussed in the Torah and frequently in the Talmud; leaving over the sacrificial substances is not discussed beyond Menachot 18a and Zevachim 36a.  Intent to sacrifice sacrificial substances on the wrong day, “Pigul,” is discussed in the Torah and frequently in the Talmud; intent to leave over sacrificial substances indefinitely, never to be used, is not discussed beyond Menachot 18a and Zevachim 36a.

In the final outcome, intent to leave over blood un-sprinkled until the next day does not invalidate a sacrifice according to the majority opinion, and so Rambam rules (Psulei Ha-Mukdashim 13:8).  The focus of Menachot 18a is how Yosef Ha-Bavli was interested in exploring the question, nevertheless.  Few realize that this often-sung tune is grounded in an esoteric, arcane sub-sub-topic of sacrificial law, irrelevant to daily practice, rejected in the final halachic conclusion, disconnected from the Biblical text, and regarding largely settled law, which still bothered the praiseworthy student of the wise, Yosef Ha-Bavli.

Who was Yosef Ha-Bavli?

Yosef Ha-Bavli is known for one teaching regarding a Kohen in mourning or who had not yet offered his post-impurity sacrifices who burned a red heifer (Tosefta Para 4:3, cited in Zevachim 117b and Yevamot 74a).  The Talmud (Psachim 113b, Yoma 52b) says that he was also known by a number of pseudonyms which would increase the number of teachings associated with his name from one to a handful; whether the Talmudic teaching should be taken literally is outside the scope of this essay (but see Tosafot and Aruch La-Ner, Nidda 36b and Hyman, Toldot Tanaim Ve-Amoraim, 152).  Yosef Ha-Bavli is not unique among the sages for having composed many Mishnayot, having taught many students, having mastered much Torah, or possessing deep insight; what makes him unique is precisely his care and concern for this rather esoteric topic. Yosef Ha-Bavli was a grand-student of Rebbi Akiva, and so appears to have lived in the late 2nd century, just around the time of the publication of the Mishnah.  Any law related to thought-based invalidations had not been relevant for a century when he lived, and was a detailed, theoretical question about a Temple that was fading from memory.

In his youth, Yosef Ha-Bavli had learned from his teacher, Rebbi Yehudah, that a Kohein’s intent to leave blood un-sprinkled indefinitely invalidates a sacrifice.  Yet, as he grew older, Yosef Ha-Bavli only heard discussions of the opinion of the other rabbis that it was valid.  One Shabbat, he sat before Rebbi Elazar ben Shamua, who taught him evening, morning, and midday that it was valid, in accordance with the majority opinion.  “Afternoon he said to him ‘It is Kosher, but Rebbi Yehudah says it is invalid.’  Yosef Ha-Bavli’s face brightened from joy… ‘Rebbi Yehudah taught me that it was invalid,[2] and I went after all his students and searched for a colleague [who had the same recollection as me] and did not find one.  Now that you taught me ‘invalid’ you have returned to me my lost object.’ ”

Seeing this scene, Rebbi Elazar ben Shamua burst into tears of joy and commented how beloved Torah was for Yosef Ha-Bavli.  Note, however, that it was not Yosef Ha-Bavli’s application of Torah, mastery of Torah, or even mere study of Torah that earned him praise, it was the passionate, deep connection to Torah that led him for years to travel, ask, and search for a sage that confirmed Yosef Ha-Bavli’s studies of his own youth.  Torah is exceedingly beloved when one passes by day from land to land, asking, inquiring, confirming the exact details of every possible law.  Learning the daily practical Halacha or the parsha is not evidence of a passionate, intimate relationship a scholar has with Torah; being madly driven to confirm every last piece of minutia that one has ever learned does.  That is what means for the Torah to be exceedingly beloved, in the view of the author of the text of the song, Rebbi Elazar ben Shamua.

Who was Rebbi Elazar ben Shamua?

We have demonstrated how the identity of the object of the quote, the Talmid Chacham Yosef Ha-Bavli, and the context of the conversation, thought based invalidations, is crucial in understanding the meaning of the quote in question.  Knowing the background of the speaker, Rebbi Elazar ben Shamua, is also vital.  

Rebbi Elazar ben Shamua was a student of Rebbi Akiva (Yeavmot 62b), and so he lived through a number of challenging times, including the various Roman persecutions which followed the Bar Kochva revolt and the death of Rebbi Akiva’s earlier generation of students.  A teacher of Rebbi (Yoma 79b, Eiruvin 53a), he was an important bridge figure between two different illustrious ages of sages of the Mishnah who lived an unusually long life (Megillah 27b).  Sanhedrin 14a relates that Rebbi Elazar ben Shamua was ordained by Rebbi Yehudah ben Bava just before the latter was martyred by the Romans for having perpetuated the chain or ordination.  He is a critical figure in the perpetuation of the tradition, and his eyes witnessed how close the tradition was to being lost.[3]

Moreover, the Midrash[4] and liturgy (Tisha B-Av’s Kinah “Arzei Ha-Levanon,” and Yom Kippur’s Slicha “Eileh Ezkera” [Reish]) count Rebbi Elazar ben Shamua among the 10 Martyrs, in which case he was the last of the 10 great sages who lost their lives Al Kiddush Hashem, for no reason other than the fact that they were Jewish.  According to these sources, Rebbi Elazar ben Shamua died at the start of Shabbat, while in the middle of reciting Kiddush; his soul departed while performing a Mitzvah.  

The costs of living a life of a Talmid Chacham are much lower today than they were in the past.  Jews across the globe live without fear of persecution for their Torah study and the financial stability of our community means that Jews who study Torah are mostly free of the fear of financial distress that may have been felt in the past.  Yet, speaking just before the year 200 and knowing the dramatic cost of being a Torah scholar, Rebbi Elazar ben Shamua proclaimed how praiseworthy Yosef Ha-Bavli was for his dedication to Torah, a statement that he would not make cavalierly or apply to just anyone who studied Torah in a situation of basic security.    

By Choice or by Necessity?

Today’s Torah scholars become Torah scholars by choice; they enjoy Torah study, feel nourished by, see its value, and are prodded and supported by a community to embrace that avocation.  Rebbi Eleazar ben Shamua was a Torah scholar by necessity – perpetuating a chain nearly lost, which would not have survived were it not for his dedication, and for which he eventually was murdered.  Yosef Ha-Bavli, too, felt similarly, the heart within himself burning for decades as he passed from land to land desperate with agony to substantiate the teachings of the earlier sages.  He didn’t choose to study the esoteric, complicated details of thought-based-temple-invalidations because he found it enjoyable, meaningful, applicable, or valuable, but because of an obsession and a dedication to both the truths of the Torah and to the concept of the tradition.

Rebbi Elazar ben Shamua doesn’t cry because of happiness that a student of his made a good choice to dedicate himself to Torah.  Rebbi Elazar ben Shamua cries because he sees the perseverance of the Torah and the legacy of the tradition even through challenging times, even decades after the Temple’s destruction, through the selfless dedication of students of the wise.[5] Indeed, had Rebbi Elazar ben Shamua not lived so long, and had Yosef Ha-Bavli not persevered to ask him the same question four times that one Shabbat, the teaching of Rebbi Eliezer might have been lost to Judaism for all of time and never have made its way into the Talmud.  100 years and one long summer Shabbat were needed to preserve one detail of Torah and ready it for inclusion in the Talmud.  And so, this is less a song for a wedding feast, as the words of Rebbi Elazar the martyr leave one of sense forlorn.  It’s a song of dedication and commitment to Torah, not a song of joy and happiness.

In the words of the Chazon Ish (Emunah U-Bitachon 3:20): 

The words of are sages are like fine oil which descends upon the bones to excite the hearts towards the love of Torah, and to enjoy the luster of its delight, until the soul of Yosef Ha-Bavli wasted away having lost one law, such that his face brightened upon the intense happiness in having his lost object returned.  And the enthusiasm of Rebbi Elazar upon his affection to his student, that he cried tears of happiness and pleasure of the luster of being exact in one’s learning.[6]

Those are the Talmidei Chachamim, and praiseworthy are they.

[1] We translate “exceedingly beloved” based on how the way Rashi uses the word “Chibah” to indicate a deep, intimate connection between two subjects; for Rashi it is not it is not merely a word which indicates liking, appreciating, or enjoyment of an object by its subject.  See Rashi’s Bible commentary: Bereishit 18:18, 22:11, 33:2; Shemot 1:1, 15:17, 19:5; Vayikra 1:1; Bamidbar 10:31, 14:14, 23:21, 29:36; Devarim 1:15, 2:16, 33:3; Shmuel 1:1:7, Tehillim 105:22, Shir Ha-Shirim 1:1, 4:10, 6:5; Talmud commentary Ketubot 75a, 96a. 

In Rabbinic Literature, the word “Chaviv” is often used in the context of the strong emotional connection one feels towards the preservation of one’s own body, see the famous Brayta of Rebbi Eliezer: Brachot 61b Psachim 25a, Yoma 82a, Sanhedrin 74a; the ironic reversal when considering the righteous Sota 12a, and as variations of this Bava Batra 110a.  “Beloved” is also the best translation of the word in Shabbat 105a. The word is translated “like” or “want” in Brachot 39a, Sanhedrin 8a and Bava Kama 117b, so the translation in Menachot cannot be established with absolute certainty.
[2] Rebbi Elazar ben Shamua explains that Rebbi Yehudah had heard this view from his father, Rebbi Ilay, who heard it from the late and post second temple period sage Rebbi Eliezer, but that the other rabbis disagreed with this view. In any event, one can sketch the chain of transmission of this idea as follows: Rebbi Eliezer taught Rebbi Ilay around the year 100, who then taught his son Rebbi Yehudah around the year 130, who taught Yosef Ha-Bavli around the year 160, who then had the view confirmed close to the year 190 by Rebbi Elazar ben Shamua.  

Our presentation above simplifies the Talmudic discussion in some measure for simplicity’s sake. In truth, the Talmud supposes that though Rebbi Elazar ben Shamua generally supported Yosef Ha-Bavli’s memory, there was a discrepancy between the two presentations. Yosef Ha-Bavli may have learned a different nuance from Rebbi Yehudah, that all Tannaim agree that it is invalid, both Rebbi Eliezer and his colleagues.  Still other rabbis believed that Rebbi Eliezer and his colleagues all agreed that it was valid. For Rebbi Elazar ben Shamua, the question was a debate between Rebbi Eliezer and the other rabbis.
[3]
Understanding his life story and his role in perpetuating a tradition can also help explain his teaching in Pirkei Avot (4:15) “Rebbi Elazar ben Shamua said: the honor of your student should be exceedingly important (Chaviv) upon you like your own, and the honor of your friend like fear of your teacher, and fear of your teacher like fear of Heaven.” The tradition survives through students and teachers, through the Rebbi Yehudah ben Bava’s and Yosef Ha-Bavli’s of Jewish history.
[4] Midrash Asarah Harugei Malchut in Judah Eisenstein, Ozar Midrashim (New York, 1915), 448.  His death does not appear in other Midrashim, however, and so others doubt that he was one of the 10 Martyrs, see Alter Welner, Asarah Harugei Malchut Be-Midrash U-Be-Piyut, (Jerusalem, 2005), 80-84.  Even if he was not a martyr himself, he was the student of martyrs and a Rabbi who spanned multiple generations of Torah study.

[5] Perhaps he even also cries for his dead teachers and colleagues, simultaneously sad for the parts of the Mesorah lost to the persecutions, while also happy for the parts that still live on.
[6] The Hebrew phrase used, “Mitzuy midot,” is borrowed from the idiom for allowing liquids to settle in a liquid measure, in a way resembling squeezing them (as in Vayikra 1:15).  In that context it indicates an exactness and a precision because the measurement is more precise after the liquid has settled.  As a metaphor, it is used here to mean being exact about learning, and to clarify things that are not clear.




The Recently Published Photographs of Rav Yisrael Salanter: Real or Imaginary?

The Recently Published Photographs of Rav Yisrael Salanter: Real or Imaginary?

By Shnayer Leiman

As early as 2006, and continuing through 2022, a flurry of photographs, purporting to bear the likeness of Rav Yisrael Salanter, have either appeared in print or have been posted on the Internet (see below, section II). While the publication of these photos certainly attests to his abiding influence well into the 21st century, their authenticity seems less than certain, and demands investigation. At the very least, one wonders why the likeness of a world renowned rabbi, who died in 1883, did not come to light until almost 125 years after his death![1]

I. The Early Evidence for What R. Yisrael Salanter Looked Like.

A proper discussion of what R. Yisrael actually looked like must begin with an examination of the testimony of his contemporaries who interacted with him and knew him best. The Torah teaches us (at Dt.19:15) that a matter can be established by two or three witnesses, so we shall present below the testimony of three witnesses who knew R. Yisrael personally.[2]

1. In 1899, Emil Benjamin, published the first biography of Rav Yisrael Salanter.[3] At the time, Benjamin served as a teacher of Jewish religion in Memel, Prussia, a port city on the Baltic Sea with some 1000 Jews (today: Kleipeda in Lithuania). Benjamin, a native of Memel, was a disciple of R. Zvi Hirsh Plato (1822-1910) who was a son-in law of R. Samson Raphael Hirsch. R. Plato served as Rav of the separatist Orthodox community of Cologne, and head of its Teacher’s Seminary, where Benjamin was trained as a teacher. Benjamin was a young man between 1857 and 1878, the very years that R. Yisrael Salanter spent many a year in Memel, which served as a base of operations for his various educational activities in Lithuania, Prussia, Germany, and France. R. Yisrael invited Benjamin to serve as his aid during a significant portion of those years, and Benjamin wisely accepted the invitation. Intimately involved in R. Yisrael’s daily affairs, Benjamin was in a unique position to record for posterity what it was like to be in his presence. Benjamin wrote:[4]

Rabbi Lipkin was of medium height, seemingly strong but lean in stature, and of ordinary build. His outward appearance immediately revealed a man of unusual significance. The broad forehead, the interesting character reflected by the shape of his head, the sharp look, all reflected the great thinker that he was. His countenance was almost always flush red, probably due to the struggle between body and spirit within him. Often he was lost in thought, and he seemed to forget everything around him, and appeared to be talking to himself. In spite of his deep seriousness, his conversation was often spiced with a pleasant sense of humor and whimsical thoughts…Curiously, this humble and unselfish man never consented to allow the features of his face to be painted by the artist’s brush and, thus, to be preserved for posterity. [Italics mine, sl]

2. Yaakov Mark (1856-1929) was a graduate of the Telz Yeshiva (in Telshe, Lithuania) who devoted a good portion of his life to training Jews (in a variety of languages) to master bookkeeping, so that they could gain and hold jobs in the various countries where they would ultimately find themselves.[5] He also devoted his later years to making literary contributions to Hebrew and Yiddish periodical literature. His only book, entitledגדולים פון אונזער צייט (New York, 1927),[6] is devoted to biographies of the key persons that he knew personally, such as R. Hayyim Soloveichik, the Malbim, and R. Yisrael Salanter. His opening line regarding R. Yisrael Salanter reads: “In my younger years, I often had the privilege of meeting with R. Yisrael. I heard his public lectures, his private lectures, and had the opportunity to observe him at close range.” In his book, he writes:[7]

All who encountered him when walking in the streets, whether Jew or Gentile, greeted him courteously. Even in the most crowded street of Berlin it was rare that a passerby would not stop to behold the great thinker, who used to wander about while engrossed in deep thought. All were impressed by his stately figure, his especially handsome beard, and his particularly character-full head with its unusually wide forehead, his red-white face, his blue eyes, with his sharp, yet good-natured look. This, despite the fact that he never wore official rabbinic garb but, rather, simple lay dress, with an ordinary hat on his head – not particularly elegant – but always clean and tidy. How sad that no photograph of him exists! It was simply impossible to get him to agree to sit for a painting or a photograph. [Italics mine, sl]

3. David Sidersky (circa 1858-1943), a grandson of R. Yisrael Salanter who edited אמרי בינה (Warsaw, 1878), the first ספר by R. Yisrael that was printed during his lifetime and that listed his name as the author, also published a biography of his grandfather in 1936-7.[8] Sidersky wrote as follows:[9]

R. Yisrael, under no circumstances, allowed himself to be photographed. Indeed, not a trace of his image exists. [Italics mine, sl] This, however, is what he looked like: he was of medium height, handsome, with glowing face. He had a full beard, with curls surrounding its edges. He spoke pleasantly, and always greeted everyone warmly.

If one reads the full biographical accounts of R. Yisrael Salanter by the three witnesses listed above, it becomes quite obvious that these are three independent accounts. Each records significant material about R. Yisrael Salanter that does not appear in the other accounts.[10] But there can be no question that Mark was influenced by Benjamin’s account, and that Sidersky was influenced by both Benjamin and Mark. The literary influence of the earlier accounts on the later accounts is obvious, even in the snippets translated above. Nonetheless, notice that only Benjamin mentions R. Yisrael’s sense of humor; only Mark refers to R. Yisrael’s blue eyes; and only Sidersky notes the curls that surrounded the edge of R. Yisrael’s full beard.

II. What Might R. Yisrael Salanter Not Have Looked Like?[11]

1. In 2006-2008, R. Shlomo Lorincz – a political leader of Agudat Yisrael during 1951-1984 and a חבר כנסת – published his classic work במחיצתם של גדולי התורה. In vol. 2, p. 14,[12] there appeared a striking photograph, with the name רבי ישראל סלנטר under it.

The photo appears to be that of a young R. Yisrael Salanter, perhaps 35- 45 years old. If so, the photo would have been taken between 1845 and 1855, at a time when the camera was mostly unknown and unavailable to the general public in Eastern Europe. One need not guess about the true identity of the person photographed. It is R. Yitzchak Lipkin (d. 1903), a son of R. Yisrael Salanter. Rav and Darshan, he was a distinguished תלמיד חכם who held several rabbinic posts in Lithuania before settling in Eretz Yisrael, where he died in his early 60’s.[13] Three photographs of him have been preserved by the Lipkin family. Aside from the early photo published by Lorincz, see below for two photos from a later period in his life:[14]

All that needs to concern us here is that R. Yitzchak Lipkin was R. Yisrael Salanter’s son, and not R. Yisrael Salanter himself. The photograph is a real picture of R. Yitzchak Lipkin, and an imaginary one of R. Yisrael Salanter. Not surprisingly, in later editions of במחיצתם של גדולי התורה , the misidentified photo was pulled. Thus, vol. 2, p. 14 now looks like this:[15]

2. On February 2, 2011, Jewish Currents magazine published the following tribute to R. Israel Salanter on his yahrzeit:

Not an ardent reader of Jewish Currents magazine (described by Wikipedia as a “a progressive, secular Jewish quarterly magazine and news site whose content reflects the politics of the Jewish left), I did not see this when it first appeared in print. It was brought to my attention later in 2011 by an East European Jewish historian about to publish an essay on R. Yisrael Salanter. She saw the tribute – and its photograph — on the Internet and was considering adding the photograph to her essay. She expressed surprise, since she had never seen a photograph of R. Yisrael Salanter. I immediately sent the following brief note to Jewish Currents magazine:

Thanks for remembering R. Israel Salanter on the day he died in 1883. Lest anyone be misled by the appended photograph, it clearly is a twentieth century photograph of someone other than R. Israel Salanter. In fact, it is a photograph of a Rumanian born rabbi (not a Litvak), Jacob Shachter, who was born after Salanter died. Shachter served with distinction as a rabbi in Manchester, England, then as rabbi in Belfast, Ireland. He died in Jerusalem in 1971.

Of course, I informed the East European scholar to cease and desist. Here I’ll add a bit more about Rabbi Shachter. He was a prolific author, whose publications included two very important works: a) A kind of Torah Shelemah on the Book of Proverbs, which gathers together all of Talmudic Commentary (Bavli and Yerushalmi) on the verses of Proverbs. It is entitled: ספר משלי בדברי חזל עם ביאור דברי יעקב (Jerusalem, 1963 and later editions), and b) The Student’s Guide Through the Talmud by Z. H. Chajes, translated, edited, and critically annotated by Jacob Shachter (London, 1952 and later editions). For our purposes, we need only to look at the title pages and frontispieces of two of his other publications, one in Hebrew and one on English: דברים לדוד (Jerusalem, 1966) and Ingathering: Collected Papers, Essays and Addresses (Jerusalem, 1966):

Clearly, the Shachter photo cannot pass for what R. Yisrael Salanter looked like. Even if we couldn’t identify the Shachter photo, a simple comparison of the beard in the photo with R. Yisrael Salanter’s beard as described by the testimony of eyewitnesses who knew him (“full beard, with curls surrounding its edges”) would have sufficed to disqualify the photo as a candidate for the actual likeness of R. Yisrael Salanter. In sum, the photograph is a real picture of R. Jacob Shachter, and an imaginary one of R. Yisrael Salanter.

3. On January 22, 2022, a YWN [Yeshiva World News] posting opened with a large imaginary photograph of R. Yisrael Salanter. It was, in fact, once again a photo of R. Jacob Shachter. To the credit of YWN, as soon as they were informed of the error the photograph was removed and replaced with a scan of the title page of R. Yitzchak Blaser’s classic anthology of R. Yisrael Salanter’s teaching, אור ישראל (Vilna, 1900).

4. In March of 2022, Rabbi Berel Wein’s Struggles, Challenges, and Tradition (Shaar Press) appeared in print. It is a magnificently produced volume, filled with vintage Rabbi Berel Wein wisdom. Alas, on p. 129 R. Jacob Shachter appears once again as R. Yisrael Salanter. One suspects that the culprit was an editorial assistant in charge of locating photos for the volume. Hopefully, the error will be corrected in the Second Impression.

We have listed 4 samples of misrepresentation of R. Yisrael Salanter. There are many more.[16] All one has to do is Google “Rabbi Israel Salanter.” One will see immediately many of the fake news photographs of R. Yisrael Salanter. And if you click on each one of the fakes, names like JewishHistory.org and Torah-Box.net will turn up. But it is neither history nor Torah, it is fake news. Sadly, once fake news is posted on the Internet, it multiplies even more rapidly than the Jews did in ancient Egypt. The Internet can be likened to the kind of sinner the Rabbis spoke about in b. Yoma 86b: כיון שעבר אדם עבירה ושנה בהנעשו לו כהיתר “Once a person sins, and repeats the sin, he considers it permissible.” Indeed, once fake news is posted on the Internet, it is not merely considered possible news, it almost immediately becomes authoritative news. The only remedy, if there is one, is to never post in haste, and to post only after much review, including review by others. Moreover, any and all errors need to be corrected as quickly as possible on the very site where the posting first appeared.

Notes:

[1] None of the authors (listed below in section II) who posted photographs of R. Yisrael Salanter took the trouble to source, or verify the authenticity of, the photographs they posted. Methodologically, it is essential that any materials, whether manuscripts or photographs, published some 100 or more years after the death of the person they are ascribed to, or identified with, be verified. This is especially the case when a plethora of historical biographies and scholarly studies already exist on the key person involved – as is the case regarding R. Yisrael Salanter – and the existence of the posted photographs has eluded all of them. For the basic bibliography on R. Yisrael Salanter (through 1993), see Immanuel Etkes, Rabbi Israel Salanter and the Mussar Movement (Philadelphia, 1993), pp. 373-379; and Hillel Goldberg, Israel Salanter: Text, Structure, Idea (New York, 1982), pp. 309-329. Much more of significance has been published since then (e.g., ספר הזכרון קדוש ישראל (Bnei Brak. 2003); Hayyim Yitzchak Lipkin, ed., תורת רבי ישראל מסלנט (Jerusalem, 2003); and קדוש ישראל (Bnei Brak, 2014).

[2] Many other witnesses could have been adduced. See, for example, R. Baruch Epstein, מקור ברוך (Vilna, 1928), vol. 4, pp. 1800-1804, for a vivid account of a chance encounter with R. Yisrael Salanter in Vilna, 1879. Our purpose here is not to overwhelm the reader with sources. Rather, it is to gather the most persuasive sources, and not more than necessary.

[3] Rabbi Jsrael Lipkin Salant: Sein Leben und Wirken (Berlin, 1899).

[4] Op. cit., pp. 34-35. The German original reads: “Rabbi Lipkin war von mittelhoher, ziemlich kräftiger aber hagerer Natur und von regelmässigem Körperbau. Schon seine äussere Erscheinung liess sogleich einen Mann von ungewöhnlicher Bedeutung erkennen. Die mächtige Stirn, der interessante Charakter- kopf, der scharfe Blick verrieten den grossen Denker. Sein Antlitz war fast beständig gerötet, wohl infolge des aufgehobenen Gleichgewichts zwischen Körper und Geist. Oft war er derart in Gedanken versunken, dass er alles um sich herum zu vergessen schien und im Alleingespräch mit sich selber beschäftig war… Merkwürdiger Weise hat dieser bescheidene und selbstlose Mann niemals seine Einwilligung dazu gegeben, dass die Züge seines Antlitzes durch den Pinsel eines Malers nachgeahmt und der Nachwelt erhalten würden.”

[5] See Yaakov Mark’s entry in לעקסיקאן פון דער נייער יידישער ליטעראטור (New York, 1963), vol. 5, column 514.

[6] A much abridged, and freely translated, Hebrew version of Mark’s גדולים פון אונזער צייט appeared under the title במחיצתם של גדולי הדור (Jerusalem, 1958). An accurate English translation of the original Yiddish volume would make a significant contribution to Jewish scholarship and culture.

[7] גדולים פון אונזער צייט, pp. 88-89. The Yiddish original reads:

אלע וועלכע פלעגען איהם באגעגענען אויפן גאס, סיי אידען סיי גוים, האבען איהם
העפליכסט באגריסט. זאגאר אין די לעבהאפטסטע גאסן פון בערלין פלעגט זעלטען
ווער איהם גלייכגילטיג פארבייגעהן און זיך ניט אפשטעלען באוואונדערן דעם
גרויסען דענקער, וואס פלעגט שטענדיג ארומגעהן פארזונקען אין געדאנקען
אימפאנירט האט אלעמען זיין שטאטליכע פיגור, זיין וואנדערבארשעהנעם הדרת
פנים, זיין אינטערעסאנטער כאראקטערקאפ מיטן גוואלדיגען ברייטען שטערן און
.וויסרויטליכען פנים, זיינע בלויע אויגען מיטן שארפען גוטמוטהיגען בליק
,טראצדעם וואס ער איז קיינמאל ניט געגאנגען אין אויפפאלענדע רבנישע קליידער
נאר אין פשוטע בעלהביתישע, מיט א געוועהנליכער היטעל אויפן קאפ און אויך
,ניט באזונדערס עלעגאנט, נאר שטענדיג געווען ריין און זויבער. א גרויסער שאדען
וואס פון איהם איז קיין שום בילד ניט נאכגעבליבען. מען האט בשוםאופן ביי איהם
.ניט געקענט פועלן זיך צו לאזען מאלען אדער פאטאגראפירען

[8] David Sidersky, רישראל סאלאנטר זל: תולדות חייו ופעולותיו“, היהודי (1936-7) 2:4, pp. 57-60; 2:5, pp. 81-84; 2:6, pp. 112-114; 2:8, pp. 153-155.

[9] היהודי (1937) 2:8, p. 155. The Hebrew original reads:

ישראל לא רצה בשום אופן להצטלם ולא נשאר שום זכרון מדמות דיוקנו
וזה תבניתו: קומה בינונית, יפה תואר עם פנים מאירים, זקנו מגודל וקוצותיו
.תלתלים, שיחתו היתה בנעימות והיה מקבל תמיד את כל אדם בסבר פנים יפות

[10] Most notably, Sidersky’s account is the only one (of the three accounts) that lists the names of R. Yisrael’s (and his wife Esther’s) six children (four sons and two daughters): Malkah Hindah, Shmuel, Aryeh Leib, Hodah Libah, Yitzchak, and Yom Tov Lipman.

[11] The formulation of the question is a playful echo of the title of the essay by Shimon Steinmetz entitled “What Might R. Yisrael Salanter Have Looked Like?,” On the Main Line, March 2, 2010. That essay was part II of his previous essay entitled “What Did R. Yisrael Salanter Look Like?,” On the Main Line, March 23, 2006. Both essays are must reading for this topic.

[12] במחיצתם של גדולי התורה (Jerusalem, 2006-8), 2 vols.

[13] For important writings by, and about, R. Yitzchak Lipkin, see R. Hayyim Yehoshua Kosovsky, ed., חוט המשולש (Jerusalem, 1904); R. Yitzchak Lipkin, לוחות אבנים (Jerusalem, 1978); and “רשימות רבי יצחק ליפקין בן רבינו” in ספר הזכרון קדוש ישראל (Bnei Brak, 2003), pp. 97-100.

[14] Cf. the Steinmetz essays cited above, n. 11.

[15] במחיצתם של גדולי התורה (Jerusalem, 2010), fifth edition, vol . 2, p. 14.

[16] On September 24, 2020, an essay was posted on the Internet entitled “Eating by Example on Yom Kippur, an Epidemic Story.” It revisited the story of R. Yisrael Salanter’s response to the cholera epidemic in Vilna in 1848. Once again, a photo of Rabbi Jacob Shachter was prominently displayed as the likeness of R. Yisrael Salanter.




Tzevi Hirsch of Nadworna’s Sefer Alpha Beta

Tzevi Hirsch of Nadworna’s Sefer Alpha Beta

by Marvin J. Heller[1]

By the riches of the sea they will be nourished, and by the treasures concealed in the sand. (Deuteronomy 33:19).

Sefer Alpha Beta (1799) Nowy Dwor
Courtesy of the National Library of Israel

A primary component of the corpus of Hebrew literature is ethical works. The Torah is replete with examples of virtuous deeds, such as the patriarch Abraham’s numerous acts of kindness, and moral principles and commandments are a primary component of the taryag (613) mitzvot. Subsequent ethical works are innumerable, among the earliest and undisputedly the most popular being Pirkei Avot

Pirkei Avot, the last tractate of Mishnayot in Seder Nezikin, was redacted in the third century C. E. It has since been copied, studied regularly, and been the frequent subject of commentaries. First printed in the incunabular period, it continues to be reprinted to the present-day. The popularity of Avot is attested to by the number of editions, both independently and together with either Mishnayot or prayer books. Dr. Steven Weiss records, in his authoritative bibliography on Avot, from the first printing through 2015, 1,503 such editions.[2]

Among the many other frequently reprinted ethical works are such classics as R. Bahya ben Joseph ibn Paquda’s (second half of 11th century) Ḥovot ha-Levavot; R. Jonah ben Abraham Gerondi’s (Rabbeinu Yonah, c. 1200–1263) multiple ethical works, Iggeret ha-Teshuvah, Sha’arei Teshuvah, and Sefer ha-Yir’ah; R. Hayyim ben Bezalel’s (c.1520-1588) Sefer ha-Ḥayyim; the anonymous Orhot Zaddikim (Prague, 1581), written in Germany in the 15th century, preceded by an abbreviated Yiddish edition as Sefer ha-Middot (Isny, 1542); R. Moses Hayyim Luzzatto’s (Ramhal, 1707–1746) Mesillat Yesharim; and more recently and most notably R. Israel Meir ha-Kohen’s (Kagan, 1838-1933) Hafetz Hayyim, who is referred to today by that title.

Among the many other ethical works of value but less well known, is a small book, booklet really, by R. Tzevi Hirsch ben Shalom Zelig of Nadworna (d. 1801), entitled Sefer Alpha Beta, aphorisms based on hassidic works arranged alphabetically. Zevi Hirsch was a student (disciple) of R. Dov Baer, the Maggid of Mezhirech (d. 1772) but his primary influence was R. Jehiel Michal of Zloczow (c. 1731–1786), both among the early and foremost proponents of the Hassidic movement. Zevi Hirsch was a preacher in Dolina and afterwards was av bet din in Nadworna (Nadvornaya), in the Ivano-Frankovski section of Galicia, his name being associated with the latter community. According to R. Efraim Zalman Margulies of Brody, Zevi Hirsch “turned many sinners to repentance.” He had several illustrious talmidim (students) among them R. Menahem Mendel of Kosov, R. Tzevi Hirsch of Zydaczov, R. Abraham David of Buczacz, R. Tzevi Hirsch of Dilatin, and R. Isaac Landman of Visnitz.[3]

1818, Sefer Tsemah ha-Shem la-Tzevi, Berdichev
Courtesy of the National Library of Israel

Tzevi Hirsch was the author of several other titles in addition to Alpha Beta, well received and reprinted several times. Yitzhak Alfasi writes that Tzevi Hirsch was unusual for Hassidic rabbis, for, in contrast to other Hassidic leaders whose words were written by others, Tzevi Hirsch wrote his own books. That his father was a prolific author is attested to by R. David Aryeh Leib, Tzevi Hirsch’s son, in the introduction to Sefer Tsemah ha-Shem la-Tzevi (above), hassidic homilies on the weekly Torah readings (Berdichev, 1818), printed between two pages of approbations.[4]

1910, Haggadah shel Pesah, Saigat
Courtesy of Hebrewbooks.org

“This is the blessing which” (Deuteronomy 33:1) I found in his treasured files, a detailed listing of his holy writings, in his actual script, on the Torah, on the Prophets, and on many of the sayings of our sages on the Talmud and Aggadah, “founded on the holy mountains” (cf. Psalms 87:1) according to pardes (literal, allusive, discursive, and esoteric interpretations of Torah), mussar, and insight. All written by the hand of the Lord that guided him. If I brought them as they were to a press, hundreds of pages would be insufficient. . . .

Another of Tzevi Hirsch’s works is Sifte Kedoshim (Lemberg, 1873) also homilies on the weekly Torah readings and Psalms, and Haggadah shel Pesah, described on the title-page as having been concealed from the light for more than a hundred years.

We turn now to our subject book, Alpha Beta. That work, according to Ze’ev Gries, reflects the influence of the Maggid of Mezhirech.5 Initially printed as Otiyyot Mahkimot (Instructive Letters) Alpha Beta consists, as noted above, of ethical maxims arranged according to the letters of the alphabet based on Hassidic works. The date of printing is unclear, bibliographic sources giving conflicting dates and places of publication. The Bet Eked Sefarim dates the first edition to Breznitz (1796), followed soon after by Nowy Dwor (1799) and Berdichev (1817) editions. The Thesaurus of the Hebrew Book records a Russia-Poland (1790) edition followed by Ostrog (1793), Zolkiew (1794), Podberezce (1796), Nowy Dwor (1799), Lemberg (1800), Russia-Poland ([1800]), and then the Berdichev (1818) edition.[6] Among the early imprints of Alpha Beta in The National Library of Israel, which has a large collection of that work, are Ostrog (1794), Nowy Dwor (1799), Poland (c. 1800), and Berdichev (1810).

Among the earliest printings of Alpha Beta is the c. 1794/1800 edition, published in octavo (80: [12] ff.) format. The title-page of that edition does not record the date or the place of printing, thus accounting for the dating variances in the bibliographic records. The Library of Agudas Chassidei Chabad Ohel Yosef Yitzhak records it as a 1794 imprint and the press as Zolkiew. In contrast the National Library of Israel records the same edition as c. 1800, place of publication Poland. The title-pages states that it is,

1794/ 1800, Alpha Beta
Courtesy of The Library of Agudas Chassidei Chabad Ohel Yosef Yitzhak

Alpha Beta
This is the book Otiyyot Mahkimot

“A valiant man of many achievements from Kabzeel” (II Samuel 23:20, I Chronicles 11:22). In it are the order of all the middot tovot (good virtues) and the manner in which one should conduct himself as your eyes can see, “for they are life to him who finds them” (Proverbs 4:22). For the public good we have brought this booklet to press. Certainly, it will be pleasing to our brothers the children of Israel for it is “sweeter than honey” (Judges 14:18; cf. Psalms 19:11). All of your days you will taste of it and say for me it “was acquired at the full price (Genesis 23:9, I Chronicles 21:22, 24)” for it is “a ladder set earthward and its reaching heavenward] (Genesis 28:12).” Small in size but of great value.

Furthermore, we have added to this the sefer Torat ha-Adam.

Written by the rav, ha-Maggid R. Aaron ha-Levi, who is the moreh zedek (righteous teacher) in the [holy community] of Zaksanin and author of the sefer Hasdei Avot,

Tzevi Hirsch’s name does not appear on the title-page. The text follows immediately after the title-page, beginning with the phrase “‘these are the words’ (Deuteronomy 1:1) which a man shall carry out and live by them’ (Leviticus 18:5, Ezekiel 20:11, 13, 21), everlasting life, and whomever fulfills these words will assuredly be a great zaddik.” Below this opening phrase is the text, comprised of entries in alphabetic order.

Examples of the subject matter are אות א (letter alef) emet (truth); א ahavah (love): letter ב bet; bracha (blessing): ג gimmel; gemilat hesed (acts of loving kindness): ד daled, no entry; ה heh; hihor (thoughts); ו vav; ve-tikvah (and hope), ז zayin; zahiros, (caution); and concluding with ר resh ratzon (will); ש shin shtikah (silence); and ת tav: teshuvah (repentance). Entries vary in length. Examples of brief entries are:

חבר ח (friend). It is good for a person to have a friend to speak with concerning serving the Lord and to maintain distance from a bad companion, fulfilling “my sin is before me constantly” (Psalms 51:5) and seek from the Holy One, blessed be He, with a broken heart that I should not repeat these sinful deeds nor anything that is not according to the will of the Holy One, blessed be He. It is a mitzvah to very much strengthen oneself with great zeal to arise at chaztot lilah (middle of the night).7

טהרה ט (purity) A person should be pure at all times by immersing his body [in a mikvah, ritual bath) and be careful to wash his hands immediately afterwards so that there should absolutely not be any defilement on them and if possible so as to not go even daled amos. All the more when washing one’s hands in the morning one is responsible for his life (literally subject to death). Purity of his garments, as it is written “cleanse yourself and change your garments” (Genesis 35:2)and all your utensils , cups and plates shall be [ritually] clean for this arouses purity of the soul.

קדושה ק (holiness). A person should sanctify himself in all the ways that hazal (rabbinic sages) has cautioned him and as what is written, one should be very careful to sanctify all his limbs and senses.

The text of Alpha Beta is followed by Torat ha-Adam written by R. Aaron ben Judah ha-Leṿi (18th cent.), also author of Hasdei Avot.8 Torat ha-Adam is also a collection of moral maxims, concluding with a brief alphabetical list of dictums, a few a bit strange, such as כ “all your companions and your brothers will betray you: and even those who lie in your bosom will forsake you”9 and, more customary, ת “give thanks to the Lord your God and then you may go in safety on your way.”


Sefer Alpha Beta (c. 1799) Nowy Dwor
Courtesy of the National Library of Israel

Shortly after the first printing of Alpha Beta several other editions of Alpha Beta were published. Among them is a clearly dated תקנט (559 = 1799) Nowy Dwor edition (title-page above). Nowy Dwor, located in east-central Poland, thirty-one kilometers from Warsaw, was published at the press of Anton Krieger (Krüger), a Christian German cloth merchant.10 The title-page has a brief text, simply stating that it is Alpha Beta, Sefer Otiyyot Mahkimot and giving the place of printing. Here too Tzevi Hirsch’s name is omitted. The volume begins with a brief preface praising the work and then an introduction by Tzevi Hirsch’s son stating that it was previously printed as Otiyyot Maḥkimot, undated and without the place of publication. This edition, more complete, has added material, among it the following entry,

דיבור ד speech. Speech is very precious and should not be used in vain, and all the more to anger or for dispute, G-d forbid, derogatory speech, talebearing, disparaging speech, mockery, or falsehood . . .

Some letters are amplified, that is they are enlarged subheadings within entries, such as א ahavah (love) has been expanded to highlight אמת (truth), followed by ahavah (love), and then אכילה (eating), but this is infrequent. The text of Alpha Beta is followed by Be-Ezer ha-Zur, an alphabetical listing of concise aphorisms, for example,

ו One should be careful to not go daled amos (approximately 6 feet) without netilat yadaim (washing one’s hands).

ז One should be careful to join day and night times with Torah or tefillah (prayers).

יג One should not look at any animal, wild beast, or bird at the time they are occupied one with the other.

יד One should not look at any idol or graven image for his prayers will not be accepted for forty days, G-d forbid.

כד One should be careful not to embarrass anybody.

Sefer Alpha Beta (1799) Nowy Dwor
Courtesy of the National Library of Israel

There is yet another edition late eighteenth-century edition (below) this with the location unknown but clearly dated “He guards the steps of His devout ones ורעלי חסידיו ישמר (550 = 1790)” (Samuel 2:9). If the date is correct this would be the earliest of our printings of Alpha Beta. It was noted above that the Thesaurus records a 1790 Russia-Poland edition, likely referring to this printing, presumably the first printing, prior to the Nowy Dwor edition, which may have been the second edition and the first complete printing of Alpha Beta, excepting the recorded Breznitz Alpha Beta (1796), which was not seen. However, this 1790 Alpha Beta mentions Otiyyot Mahkimot but otherwise makes no reference to earlier printings.

It stands out, however, for within the entries portions of the text are highlighted so that they now appear as several entries. For example, within the above entry on ד דיבור speech there are now two additional entries, that is, the words are highlighted in the text, for example ד דיבור speech, דין judgement, and דרך ארץ respectfulness.

1818, Alpha Beta, Russia-Poland
Courtesy of the National Library of Israel

Two distinct editions of Alpha Beta are recorded as 1818 imprints. One clearly dated as 1818, lacking the place of publication, is recorded as a Russia-Poland imprint and omits Zevi Hirsch’s name. The second edition, tentatively dated 1818, the place of publication also lacking, is frequently recorded as a Berdichev imprint. It clearly identifies Zevi Hirsch as the author. These are the eighth and ninth editions of Alpha Beta.

The Russia-Poland edition is dated אלך באלפא ביתא (578 = 1818) but no printer is given. It is described as 19 cm. (8 ff.). The title-page states,

Alpha Beta
Sefer
Otiyyot Mahkimot

This brochure Otiyyot Mahkimot was prepared and created by “a valiant man of many achievements from Kabzeel” (II Samuel 23:20; I Chronicles 11:22). In it he arranged all the good middot (traits) and conduct with which a person should conduct himself as “your eyes can behold righteousness” (cf. Psalms 17:2) “for they are life to he who finds them” (Proverbs 4:22).

Selected from all the works of Kabbalah and by God fearing men. For the public good we have brought this brochure to press, and it will certainly be pleasing to our brothers the children of Israel for it is “sweeter than honey” (Judges 14:18) and all your life you should taste of it and say for full silver he acquired it for it is “a ladder set earthward its top reaching heavenward” (Genesis 28:13), of small size.

Tzevi Hirsch of Nadworna’s name does not appear on the title-page nor in the brief introductory paragraph that precedes the text, set in rabbinic letters.

The second 1818 edition is generally recorded as a Berdichev imprint, 16 cm. [28] ff. However, a word of caution. Isaac Yudlov notes that Avraham Yaari, in his article on Hebrew printing in Berdichev, in which Yaari records Bedichev imprints, omits this edition of Alpha Beta, suggesting that Yaari, who recorded fifty-six Berdichev titles, either did not believe it was a Berdichev imprint or omitted items that were questionable.11 Nevertheless, most bibliographies do record this edition as a Berdichev imprint.

The most active printer in Berdichev at this time was Israel Bak, who published Tzevi Hirsch’s Tsemh ha-Shem la-Tsevi, also in 1818 (above), also lacking the date of publication. Tzevi Hirsch’s name is clearly given, in enlarged bold letters, on the title-page of this edition of Alpha Beta. The title-page states,

Sefer
Alpha Beta

Otiyyot Mahkimot. Illuminating as saphires, shining as lightening, standing at the top of the peak of the world, who reflects on them at all times will find in it “good reasoning” (Psalms 119:66), a healing for the soul (cf. Proverbs 16:24) and a tonic for your bones (Proverbs 3:8), arousing hearts, and bringing souls closer to their Father in heaven. That came from the mouth of the righteous, the pious, and humble, holy one of the Lord, the esteemed , the rav, the gaon, illustrious in Torah, the godly man Tzevi Hirsch the light of whose Torah shined in Nadworna and other communities.

A second paragraph states that references in the Talmud to idol worshippers and various terms used to describe them do not apply to contemporary nations who are not idol worshippers but give honor to the Torah and its followers and rule with justice and kindness. Such proforma statements are often found in contemporary Hebrew works and editions of the Talmud. The title-page is followed by the introduction of Tzevi Hirsch’s son, David Aryeh. He writes,

Behold, the above holy words that were already published by one who exited and entered in the tent of the Torah of the Rav [Tzevi Hirsch], placing it in his bag, the identity of the one who took this awesome work[12] הכר”ך הנורא הזה completely unknown (lit. obscured from sight) and there is no reason as to why in places it was abbreviated and others lengthened from the author. Now time has turned, thanks to the will of the Creator, to merit my father . . . and to bring the book to press . . .

1818, Alpha Beta, Berdichev
Courtesy of the National Library of Israel Courtesy of Steven Weiss

Ze’ev Gries and Ya’akov Shemu’el Shpiegel both note, referencing the introduction, that the reason for the omission of Tzevi Hirsch’s name in the previous printings was that, beginning with the 1790 Poland or Russia edition, Alpha Beta was frequently printed without the author’s name as the book was plagiarized or printed with changes unbeknownst to the author. The situation was corrected when Tzevi Hirsch’s son, David Aryeh, issued the Berdichev, 1818 edition.[13]

Gries, after comparing the Berdichev and the previous editions, finds that the errors are insignificant, the differences minor, the texts generally alike. He concludes that David Aryeh’s complaints are primarily based on the unauthorized use of his father’s work and the omission of the aphorisms included at the end of the Nowy Dwor edition, which may have been omitted intentionally or because the manuscript in question lacked them.[14]

Printed with this edition of Alpha Beta is Mille d’Avot, a commentary on Pirke Avot. The latter work frequently printed together with Alpha Beta. In Pirke Avot: A Thesaurus Steven Weiss records eleven editions of Alpha Beta beginning with the 1818 Berdichev edition through a 2011 Benei Brak edition.[15] In the introduction David Aryeh informs that the work of “many pearls” (Proverbs 20:15) Mille d’Avot is printed from a manuscript of his father’s, the author of that work, and also notes the publication of Tsemah ha-Shem la-Tzevi.

1848, Alpha Beta, Zolkiew
Courtesy of Otzar Hahochma

Subsequent editions of Alpha Beta clearly mention Zevi Hirsch’s name, for example the 1848 Zhitomir (Zhytomyr), edition (above). That edition was printed by Ḥanina Lipa, Aryeh Leib and Joshua Heschel Shapira, sons of Samuel Abba and Phinehas Shapira, grandsons of R. Moses Shapira. The original family press, in Slavuta, highly regarded, was forced to close after charges were brought by central authorities, but denied by the local Russian authorities, concerning the alleged murder by the Shapira family of a non-Jewish worker who had denounced the press to the authorities for printing Hebrew books without the approval of the censor. The press was reestablished by the Shapira sons in Zhitomir in 1847.

There is at least one recent edition that not only recognizes Zevi Hirsch as the author of Mille d’Avot but even emphasizes Mille d’Avot over Alpha Beta, the Lodz 1930 edition (below).

1930, Alpha Beta/ Mille d’Avot, Lodz
Courtesy of Steven Weiss

Tzevi Hirsch ben Shalom Zelig of Nadworna’s Alpha Beta has been a moderately popular work. The Thesaurus of the Hebrew Book records thirteen editions, the last being a questionable Zolkiew 1850 printing; The Bet Eked Sefarim records an equal number, the latest being a Lublin 1934 printing. While Alpha Beta is highly regarded this number of printings is not, in comparison to the ethical works noted at the beginning of this work, an impressive number of editions. Alpha Beta is a small brochure, portable and more easily learned than the other books mentioned, which are large and, in some instances, multi-volume works. One would have thought that this would have resulted in many more printings of Alpha Beta rather than the relatively small number noted. Given these considerations and the value (importance) of the ethical teachings in Alpha Beta the verse quoted at the beginning would appear to be appropriate for Alpha Beta.

By the riches of the sea they will be nourished, and by the treasures concealed in the sand. (Deuteronomy 33:19).

[1] I would like to express my appreciation to Eli Genauer for reading this article and for his suggestions, Dr. Steven Weiss and R. Yitzhak Wilhelm, Library of Agudas Chassidei Chabad Ohel Yosef Yitzhak Lubavitch, for their assistance.
[2] Steven J. Weiss, Pirke Avot: A Thesaurus: An Annotated bibliography of Printed Hebrew Commentaries, 1485- 2015 [Hebrew with English introduction]. A reason for the custom of saying Pirkei Avot between Pesah and Atzeret is that in these days each and every member of the people of Israel is obligated to purify himself during the days of Sefirah as the children of Israel purified themselves from the defilement of Egypt as is known from the holy Zohar. Seven weeks comparable to the seven days of niddah. (Ohev Yisrael for the Shabbat after Pesah 3:1).
[3] Yitzhak Alfasi, Entsiklopedyah la-Hasidut: Ishim כ-ת (Jerusalem, 2004), cols 603-07 [Hebrew]; Tzvi M. Rabinowicz, The Encyclopedia of Hasidism (Northvale, London, 1996), p. 335.
[4] Alfasi.
[5] Ze’ev G,ries, Sifrut ha-Hanhagot: Toldoteha u-Mekomah be-haye Haside R. Yisrael Ba’al Shem Tov (Jerusalem, 1989), p. 119 [Hebrew].
[6] Ch. B. Friedberg, Bet Eked Sefarim (Israel n.d.), alef 1422 [Hebrew]; Yeshayahu Vinograd, Thesaurus of the Hebrew Book. Listing of Books Printed in Hebrew Letters Since the Beginning of Printing circa 1469 through 1863. I (Jerusalem, 1993-95), p. 11 [Hebrew].
[7] Arising at chaztot lilah (middle of the night) refers to the kabbalistic custom of arising at the middle of the night to recite prayers and lamentations over the destruction of the Temple. (Aaron Wertheim (Author), Shmuel Himelstein (Translator), Law and Custom in Hasidism (Hoboken, 1992), p. 99.
[8] Torat ha-Adam has been printed independently several times, beginning with an Oleksinetz edition (c.1769) entitled Zot Torah ha-Adam. It is refeered to by that title in the Sudilikov (1819) and Munkatch (1904) printings.
[9] Cf. “Trust no friend, rely on no intimate; be guarded in speech with her who lies in your bosom” (Micah 7:5).
[10] Concerning the Nowy Dwor press see Marvin J. Heller, Printing the Talmud: Complete Editions, Tractates, and Other Works and the Associated Presses from the Mid-17th Century through the 18th Century (Leiden/Boston, 2019), pp. 211-18.
[11] Avraham Yaari, “Hebrew Printing at Berdichev,” Kiryat Sepher (1944), p. 100-24 [Hebrew]; Isaac Yudlov, The Israel Mehlman Collection in the Jewish National and University Library: An Annotated Catalogue of the Hebrew Books, Booklets and Pamphlets. Jerusalem 1984, pp. 190-91 no. 1171 [Hebrew].
[12] Concerning this phrase Gries references Ezekiel 1:22 the letters of הכר”ך reversed, the verse stateing “There was a likeness of an expanse above the heads of the Chayah החיה רקיע כעין הקרח, like the color of the awesome ice, spread out over their heads from above.” Also see TB Bava Mezia 24b and Hullin 95a where the phrase “obscured from sight” appears, albeit in a very different context.
[13] Gries, pp. 120-21; Ya’akov Shemu’el Shpiegel, Amudim be-Toldot ha-Sefer ha-Iṿri: hadar ha-meḥaber: be-Sha’ari ha-Defus (Jerusalem, 2014), pp. 25-26 [Hebrew].
[14] Gries, p. 21.
[15] In a private correspondence, dated May 27, 2020, Dr. Weiss writes that, concerning Alpha Beta, he “only listed the editions with Avot.”




Sinful Thoughts: Comments on Sin, Failure, Free Will, and Related Topics Based on David Bashevkin’s new book Sin•a•gogue: Sin and Failure in Jewish Thought

Sinful Thoughts: Comments on Sin, Failure, Free Will, and Related Topics Based on David Bashevkin’s new book Sin•a•gogue: Sin and Failure in Jewish Thought (Boston: Academic Studies Press, 2019)

By Rabbi Yitzchok Oratz

A Bashevkin-inspired Bio Blurb:[1] Rabbi Yitzchok Oratz is Rabbi of the Monmouth Torah Links community in Marlboro, NJ. His writings can be found in various rabbinic and popular journals, including Hakira, Ohr Yisroel, Nehoroy, Nitay Ne’emanim, and on Aish, Times of Israel, Torah Links, Seforim Blog, and elsewhere. His writings are rejected as often as they are accepted, and the four books he is currently working on will likely never see the light of day.

“I’d rather laugh[2] with the sinners than cry with the saints; the sinners are much more fun.”[3]

Fortunate is the man who follows not the advice of the wicked, nor stood in the path of the sinners, nor sat in the session of the scorners.

(Psalms 1:1)

One who hopes is always happy [and] without pain . . . hope keeps one alive . . . even one who has minimal good deeds . . . has hope . . . one who hopes, even if he enters Hell, he will be taken out . . . his hope is his purity, literally the Mikvah [4] of Yisroel . . . and this is the secret of repentance . . .

(Ramchal, Derush ha-Kivuy) [5]

Rabbi David Bashevkin is a man deeply steeped in sin.

The study of sin, that is.

His recent book, Sin•a•gogue: Sin and Failure in Jewish Thought, is his second foray into the murky waters of sin, the first being his Hebrew B-Rogez Rahem Tizkor, which appeared in 2015. Throughout the book he ably serves as a “choti umachti,” as he walks us along the paths of sinners and allows us to listen in to their scorn sessions, plumbs their thoughts and analyzes their intentions, all with goal of detecting the sometimes deeply concealed sweet smell and seeds of holiness that can be found even among the sinners of Israel.[6]

As sin and failure are topics with which I am all too familiar, I took the opportunity to offer a review of sorts of the Hebrew book for readers of the Seforim Blog. The ensuing years have only honed my expertise, bringing me back to offer some comments on themes discussed in the new book.[7] While the topics of the two books are fundamentally the same, the new volume does include a great deal of entirely new material; the same will be true of this review. Furthermore, the change of language, in both the book and the review, demands a new style and structure for even the repeated material, and opens up the discussion to those who do not feel entirely at home in traditional rabbinic language and literature.

An Open Discussion of Sin

Overall, I found the book to be enjoyable, informative, thought-provoking,[8] and even inspiring at times. But should this discussion of sin be taking place at all?

From a traditional Jewish perspective, the answer is far from simple. The most controversial idea in the book (chapter 4), is the radical theology of the Hasidic court of Izbica in general, and Reb Tzadok ha-Kohen of Lublin in particular,[9], that sin is sometimes inevitable and always the will of God.[10] This concept does not apply only to someone who is sick (p. 42), coerced (p. 39), or in a compromising situation (note 124), nor is it the case only for someone who is faced with the necessity of choosing the lesser of two evils (p. 41); all this is standard Talmudic discussion. Rather, Izbica theology teaches that the seemingly free-willed choice to sin, motivated solely by one’s internal desires, is also the will of God – “All is in the hands of heaven, including the fear of heaven.”[11] This, of course, seems to be in direct contradiction to the concept of free will, the “fundamental concept and pillar” that is the underpinning of the totality of the Torah (Rambam, Hilchos Teshuva 5:3).

But is this really a problem? Long before the radical statements of Izbica, Rambam (Hilchos Teshuva 5:5) noted that our free will is seemingly contradicted by the existence of an all-knowing God, and Chovos Halevavos[12] raised the problem of free will being controverted by the many verses that indicate that God is in complete control of every action that takes place.[13] Neither source offers a resolution, demanding that we live with this paradox. Why, then, can’t we deal with Izbicean though similarly, why is it considered uniquely controversial? [14]

The obvious answer is that both before and after noting the paradox between predetermination and free will, Rambam hammers home the idea that, resolution or not, free will is real:

However, this is known without any doubt: That man’s actions are in his own hands and The Holy One, blessed be He, does not lead him in a particular direction or decree that he do anything. This matter is known, not only as a tradition of faith, but also, through clear proofs from the words of wisdom (Hilchos Teshuva 5:5).

Chovos Halevavos, too, stresses that the proper path requires us to act with confidence in our freedom to make our own choices.

And because free will is real, sin, with all its consequences, is very real as well:

Accordingly, it is the sinner, himself, who causes his own loss. Therefore, it is proper for a person to cry and mourn for his sins and for what he has done to his soul . . . since free choice is in our hands and with our own decision we committed all these wrongs, it is proper for us to repent (Hilchos Teshuva 5:2). “Consequently, the prophets taught that a person is judged for his deeds, according to his deeds – whether good or bad. This is a fundamental principle on which is dependent all the words of prophecy.” (5:5) And as long as one has not repented he is “hated by God, disgusting, far removed, and abominable . . . separated from God, the Lord of Israel . . .” (7:6 – 7) .

Compare this with the Izbica/Rav Tzadok attitude toward sin as (correctly) presented in Rabbi Bashevkin’s book; the Izbica approach recognizes “the powerful religious energy present in sins and the potential to challenge such energy into greatness, ultimately result[ing] in the redemption” (p. 102, based on Divrei Halomot # 3). In the Izbica worldview, sinning doesn’t make one “hated, disgusting, and far removed” from God, because “wherever a Jew may fall, he falls into the lap of God” (p. 48, from Pri Tzadik, Naso 15). Rambam’s message to sinners is to “cry and mourn,” and hope that their misdeeds do not prevent them from ever returning (6:4), while Rav Tzadok urges sinners never to despair “in any circumstance” (p. 100, from Divrei Sofrim 16). The contrast couldn’t be starker.

Based on the above, the real challenge of Izbica is neither philosophical (determinism vs. free will), nor historical (“How did the adherents of Izbica prevent their deterministic notion of sin from developing into an antinomian concept of Judaism?” [p. 47]). Instead, the question is practical: How do we go about “incorporating the theologically and oftentimes radical aspects of Izbica Hasidut into the contemporary Jewish community” without “under[mining] the ideals that we are working towards” (p. 48)?

In truth, the real question is not how we go about incorporating aspects of Izbica, but whether we need to reassess or fine-tune the aspects that have already been absorbed into our modern theology. The relatively recent phenomenon of neo-Chassidus (of which Rabbi Bashevkin is described as an avid follower is not primarily influenced by Izbica, [15] but its understanding of sin and failure certainly have Izbician overtones.[16]

Every discussion of the neo-Chassidus movement, pro and against, raises some form of the question of whether it leads to “perver[sion] of Chassidic concepts of joy, prayer . . . to the detriment of halachic observance,” and whether the idea that one always “falls into the lap of God” is mere “sugarcoating” the reality that our connection and relationship to Him can be broken “through destructive habits and the like,” no matter how deeply spiritual one “feels.” [17]

In other words, while historically Izbica theology was not detrimental to the strict halachic observance of Izbica Chasidim, [18] the jury is still out on whether the same can be said regarding its contemporary application. [19]

Rabbi Bashevkin himself clearly understands that Izbica thought is frequently misunderstood, misinterpreted and misapplied, and has a fascinating discussion on where and why its application goes wrong (pp. 50 – 52). The proper application of Izbica theology, according to Bashevkin, has us look at religious life as having a floor and a ceiling, the floor being the way “we deal with failure and those still mired in sin,” and the ceiling being the “ideals and values we reach towards.” Izbician theology can offer a message of “comfort and optimism,” helping to cushion the floor of Jewish life for those still mired in sin, without altering the ultimate ideals – “The floor was carpeted, but the ceiling remained in place” (pp. 46 – 50 and here.

While this certainly does seem to be a proper application of Izbician thought, it leaves plenty of room for the devil in the details. How comfortable should the cushions be? If every time a Jew sins he falls onto the lush carpet of the Bashevkian Izbician floor, what incentive is there ever to get up, or not to fall again? Maybe the floor needs to be carpeted, but how much more plush than commercial grade is called for?[20]

An even more fundamental question is if Bashevkin himself does justice in applying his principle. He approvingly quotes (p. 49) the work of Dr. Jennie Rosenfeld as “a fine example of the contemporary application of Izbica-Lublin theology.” Writing on the Wexner Foundation blog, Dr. Rosenfeld[21] describes her work as “focused on singles and on the need to create a sexual ethic which can speak to Orthodox singles today even when they may violate the halakhah.” Even assuming that Rabbi Bashevkin did not see her comments on the Wexner blog[22], and without casting aspersions on Dr. Rosenfeld’s important body of work, I question if a work titled “Toward a Modern Orthodox Sexual Ethic” can claim to be a faithful contemporary rendering of Izbica thought. There never was an “Izbician sexual ethic,” only “comfort and optimism” for those who had fallen (always a large segment of the community [23]) to get up off the floor and move on.

Later in that same chapter, Rabbi Bashevkin writes: ““Our collective imperfection is not cause for collective allowance . . . Sin and failure, no matter how common, can never be communally condoned or publicly institutionalized” (p. 53). This would seem to disallow creating “a sexual ethic which can speak to Orthodox singles” that might violate halacha.  That was true in the community of Izbica, in the community of Rabbi Yitzhak of Arama (p. 53), and would seem no less so in the Modern Orthodox [24] community today.

The Audacity of Hope

The above discussion highlights the sensitive nature of any public discussion of sin.[25] But every generation has its challenges in handling delicate issues. Ours may the one where the overwhelmingly forgiving tone of Izbica (and Breslov) theology is most potentially dangerous, [26] but it also may be the one where it is most needed. [27]

Support for this idea may come from a surprising place.

In chapter thirteen of Bashevkin’s book, he discusses the fascinating personal correspondence of Rabbi Yaakov Yisrael Kanievsky (the Steipler), and correctly notes (p. 143) that the theme of “[p]roductivity, patience, and optimism return again and again” throughout his letters. But hidden in his message of optimism is another subtle, but important, point that should not be overlooked. Speaking to yeshiva students struggling with “the known sin,” the Steipler acknowledges that the message of optimism he offers was deliberately downplayed in previous generations.

“The holy books intentionally wrote with great clarity [about the devastating nature of this sin] in order to keep people from sinning,” but were “very sparse” in explaining the other side of things, how one can draw a tremendous “light of holiness upon himself and throughout worlds” each time he controls his burning desires and refrains from sin. Even if one continues to fall,  says the Steipler, each time he does successfully control himself is a source of great merit and enables him to achieve levels of  “unfathomable holiness,” which will eventually permit him to leave sin completely behind. It is “fundamentally important not to feel sad, and not to think of the past [sins] at all” until one has the maturity to deal with them properly. “[N]ever despair, God forbid, for one must always hope for God’s assistance . . . “ [28]

Take careful note of what he is saying:  In today’s world we need the audacity to speak of hope even when mired in sin, the clarity to acknowledge that the strict and unforgiving messages of the previous generations would be counterproductive today. Harsh warnings are a thing of the past; strident calls for change do not suffice. “Hope and change” are the language of our times. [29]

Crying with the Sinners, Laughing with the Sages

While our generation may require a message of optimism and hope, and it is appropriate to look for sources in the rabbinic literature that reinforce that approach, it is equally important that we do not overplay our hand and interpret every source in an unreservedly sanguine way.

In chapter eight, Bashevkin insightfully analyzes the various versions of the tragic story of the great Talmudic sage Elisha ben Avuyah, and his spiritual descent to become Aher, the Other. In Bashevkin’s rendering, Aher is the foil to Rabbi Akiva, a Bizarro Rabbi Akiva, of sorts. Aher enters the pardes (“orchard” of mystical knowledge) and goes off the Torah path; Rabbi Akiva enters and emerges complete. Aher begins as a scholar and ends as a heretic. Akiva, by contrast, begins his life antagonistic to rabbinic authority and ends his life as a scholar. Rabbi Akiva’s outlook is portrayed as optimistic – his “exegetical perspective suggests indefatigable opportunity”; even in face of destruction, Rabbi Akiva “found reason for laughter.” Aher, on the other hand, is an “unrelenting pessimist” who “saw closed doors even when there was still hope of an entrance.” (pp. 94 – 95).

At the risk of being regarded as an unrelenting pessimist myself, I will note that while fascinating and certainly not without merit, there are limits to this interpretation.

Firstly, it does not seem that Rabbi Akiva’s “exegetical perspective suggests indefatigable opportunity” in all cases.  In the Babylonian Talmud version of the story (Chagigah 15a-b), the second exegetical conversation, Rabbi Akiva’s statement that “even what is broken can be fixed” does indeed suggest a great deal of optimism. However, the first one is much more ambiguous. The concept that “the wicked take their share and the share of their friend in Gehinom” has undeniable pessimistic overtones. Furthermore, the version in the Jerusalem Talmud (cited on pp. 91 – 92), where Rabbi Akiva teaches that blessing at the end [of life] is due to good deeds at the beginning, is explicitly understood as a message of doom for Aher, as the good deeds of his beginning were not done for the sake of Heaven. [30]

More fundamentally, while Rabbi Akiva did indeed find reason for laughter as others were crying, when he would study Torah verses that indicate the severity of sin, he was brought to tears [31] (not of joy) – “When Rabbi Akiva came to this verse he would cry.” [32] Only when surrounded by his colleagues who were deeply cognizant of the severity and bleak results of sin – because of our sins we were exiled from our land – did he offer a message of hope and consolation.  But sin itself is never a laughing matter (link) [34].

The Ba’al Shem Tov and (lihavdil [34]) Christine Todd Whitman:  Guilty but not Charged?

Over twenty years ago, I received a ticket for having an expired New Jersey state inspection sticker on my car. I knew it was expired, but was hoping I wouldn’t get caught until I’d had a chance to get the car inspected. No such luck. Guilty as charged, I paid the ticket and moved on.

Later that week, I heard on the radio that Christine Todd Whitman, then Governor of the State of New Jersey, had extended the inspection deadline for all cars by thirty days. As I had already paid the ticket, I sent off a protest letter (yes, an actual letter) to the Governor, and was pleasantly surprised when I received a very apologetic reply, stating that I was one-hundred-percent correct, but it was the responsibility of the local township to return the funds. Armed with the letter, I went down to the town hall, where they also apologized profusely, refunded my fine, and expunged this nefarious crime from my permanent record. I wasn’t guilty after all. [35]

Or was I?

In his Hebrew work (p. 40), Rabbi Bashevkin cites a parable from the Ba’al Shem Tov about a man who tests his wife by pretending to be another, and seduces her to sin. When she later brokenheartedly admits her sin, he consoles her by telling her that he had been masquerading as the seducer all along, and therefore she never really sinned.

Christine Todd Whitman might agree, but for Rabbi Akiva this would be nothing more than hollow consolation. As discussed in Rabbi Bashevkin’s book (pp. 33 – 36) it was these types of scenarios that brought Rabbi Akiva to tears, and Rabbi Hiyya bar Ashi to a life of repentance and a death in misery. The very fact that one intended to sin was reason for tears and repentance; that no actual sin occurred as no source of consolation.

But the Ba’al Shem Tov was not the first to offer such consolation; Yosef offered similar solace to his brothers. Which is it? Are such scenarios causes for comfort or for crying?  Bashevkin offers a number of possible resolutions (pp. 35 – 36).

Besides those he offers, others are given; [36] I would like to offer my own.

Every sin has two components: the rebellion against God and the actual damage done. In these scenarios, the consolation is only that no damage was done (either because no sin was committed or the act turned out to be for the best). But the rebellion against God’s authority still exists, and is a cause for tears.[37] In the case of Yosef’s brothers, since they had already genuinely repented (see Genesis 42:21 with Sha’arey Aharon), no new tears were needed. Only because their sincere repentance had been accepted could their negative plans be viewed as a source of blessing. [38]

First there are tears and repentance, only afterwards is the consolation meaningful.

A Flag as White as Snow [39]

Both in the text and the notes, I have touched on some of the thought-provoking topics raised in Rabbi Bashevkin’s book, touching on some of the topics (and there are many more [40]), that are ripe for discussion, challenge, debate and clarification  k’darko shel Torah (see Chagigah 3b). Indeed, a strong point of the book is that it covers many fundamentally important topics in a way that is relatable to scholar and layman alike.

Besides being provocative, discussion of sin can also be inspiring. In chapter six, Bashevkin offers a touching rereading of Richard Pindell’s famous story, “Somebody’s Son,” that would be good material for any rabbi’s Yom Kippur derasha.[41] The chapter starts off with the theologically challenging question (based on Gemara Chullin 60b), “Does God Repent?”

But theology aside, the very idea that God is hoping – waiting, so to speak – to see if He will be allowed into our lives, is one that deeply resonates.[42]

For seven years straight I had the privilege of davening on Yom Kippur in Beth Medrash Govoha’s Bais Eliyahu Bais Medrash. All of those years, the revered Rosh Yeshiva, Rav Yeruchem Olshin, shlit”a, led the davening for Neilah and spoke beforehand, and for seven years straight he said, with great emotion, the same exact thing:[43]

Yom Kippur is a great thing; there is nothing better than it . . . if we only would take advantage . . . A parable: A king made a feast to show his love for his subjects . . . four hours went by, five hours went by and no one came . . . finally towards evening people started trickling in . . . the king ran over to them and said with great emotion “I owe you a great favor! If not for you the entire feast that I made would have to be fed to the dogs.”

Yom Kippur is not only about us returning to favor in God’s eyes.  It is also about His hope (kaviyachol) that we take the opportunity to let Him into our lives. Ultimately, this is what Rabbi Bashevkin’s book is about – finding a way to let God in, to allow His spark to uplift our very human, often sinful, lives.

If you extract the precious from the worthless, you shall be as my mouth . . .

(Jeremiah 15:19)

Es Va’heiv B’Sofa

(Kidushin 30b)

Notes:

[1] See Sin•a•gogue, pp. xv – xvi, and R’ Bashevkin’s earlier comments here.  The idea that one should have a bio that includes failure may be the reason why the Torah includes the sins of the ancient greats. See the commentary of Rabbeinu Asher on Beraishis 38:16.
[2] See Sin•a•gogue, p. 95, and our discussion below.
[3] I start with this line from Billy Joel’s “Only the Good Die Young” to highlight a striking feature of Bashevkin’s book. The chapters all begin with epigraphs that run the gamut of sources, ranging from John Milton (Paradise Lost) to Bob Dylan (“Absolutely Sweet Marie,” which Bashevkin misspells as Mary) to an HBO crime drama (True Detective). The common denominator is that there is not a Jewish source among them. Indeed, throughout the book there are seemingly more obscure pop-culture references than desultory Talmudic discussions (see p. 195). This style is common in the outreach world that he (and I) work in, and popular among certain segments of the Orthodox community. Through Bashevkin’s creative pen, these sources make the book a lighter, more enjoyable read, palatable to a wider audience, without diminishing the seriousness of the topics he discusses. Of course, for some Torah scholars, this approach would be considered misguided (if not blasphemous), and their concern should not be discounted. In his Foreword to the book (p. x), Shaul Magid writes that it is “precisely Bashevkin’s point” to level the playing field by comparing a comment by George Orwell to the Hazon Ish. I have my doubts if that really is his point. In any case, while it is certainly true that sin and failure are universal concerns, and, for example, a “preacher’s kid” may have struggles similar to those of a rabbi’s son (see note 309), this book is specifically about sin and failure in Jewish thought. By emphasizing similarities we sometimes gloss over fundamental differences.  See the comments of Rabbi Aharon Lichtenstein in Judaism’s Encounter with Other Cultures: Rejection or Integration?, ed. Jacob J. Schacter (Northvale, NJ, 1997), p.  278. See also his “The Future of Centrist Orthodoxy,” Leaves of Faith. vol. 2 [Jersey City: Ktav, 2004], p. 323, where he writes, “Does a universalist concern require that youngsters – and hence most adults as well – know a good deal about the Rolling Stones but nothing of the Avnei Nezer? “ To apply his point to one of the topics in the book under discussion – I know many more people who know about the question of determinism vs. free will from The Adjustment Bureau than those who have spent time studying the sacred sources of our tradition. See also the comments of Rabbi Zion Baoron, in his michtav beracha (point # 3) to Rabbi David Stav’s Bein HaZemanim (Yedioth Acharonoth books, Tel Aviv 2012).
[4] Mikvah has the same root as tikvah – hope.
[5] A new edition of this work, with commentary, was recently put out by R’ Mordechai Elbaz of Kollel Sha’arey Tzion. Reading the Hebrew, I found it shocking how much the theme, and even the words, are reminiscent of the teachings of Rav Nachman of Breslov. I subsequently found that others agreed (see here).
[6] See Gemara Chagigah 15b and 27a (I am not sure how this fits with Chagigah 14a), Beraishis Rabba 65:22, Rav Tzadok ha-Kohen of Lublin (Likutey Ma’amarim #8, 12, and 16, and Machshavos Charutz # 8), Rav Nachman of Breslov (Likutey Mohoran # 178), and Rav Nosson of Breslov (Likutey Tefilos 2:10).
[7] The earlier review was far easier to write, as it was during the month of Elul when sin and repentance are timely topics, and the roar of Elul from my yeshiva days was still ringing in my ears. But maybe this shouldn’t be the case. Maharsha (end of Megilah) writes that there is no specific mitzvah to expound on the laws of teshuva thirty days prior to Rosh Hashana and Yom Kippur, as teshuva is a year-round undertaking. Furthermore, some commentaries explain that we begin reciting Pirkey Avos during the spring, as this season renders us particularly susceptible to sin (see Piskey Teshuvos 292 # 9).
[8] One especially thoughtful and thought-provoking topic is Bashevkin’s extremely powerful discussion of the challenges facing rabbis’ children and the challenge of balancing love of Torah and love of family (chapter 10). This issue is not new – see Gemara Bava Metzia, 85a. Some important sources on this topic include Rav Matisyahu Solomon’s commentary on Rav Moshe Cordevaro’s Tomar Devorah (on the middah of L’She’airis Nachalaso), as well as his commentary of the last verses in Megilas Esther. Rav Matisyahu writes that in order to give meaning to God’s directive that we treat the entire Jewish people as family, we must first treat our actual family kindly (Rav Matisyahu is in favor of nepotism). Praying that God have mercy “like a father has mercy on his children,” is worse than meaningless if we don’t have mercy on our actual children.  It is not clear, however, if all the ba’aley mussar agree. See Rav Yitzchok Blazer’s comments in Kochvei Ohr (regarding Rav Yisroel Salanter) and Tenuas HaMussar (volume 4, pp. 173 and 271 – 272) about the Alter of Novardok’s disregard and seeming cruelty to his family. See also Gemara Gittin 6b, Eruvin 22a, Ta’anis 23b – 24a. I hope to discuss this topic in detail in an upcoming article (and book).

On this topic, a must-read is the powerful poem by Rabbi Samuel Adelman, and the beautiful letter by his daughter, Roz Duman, which can be found in Jewish Action (Fall 2017, p. 3). One can only hope all rabbis would be so sensitive to their children’s plight, and a daughter so understanding and appreciative of her father, as this parent and child. Speaking of rabbis’ children, see here where the Klausenberger Rebbe zt”l, is quoted as questioning a father’s qualifications based on how his son turns out as an adult. However, see there where Professor Marc B. Shapiro correctly points out that “there are many examples of pious people whose children ended up very differently.”  Considering whom some of these fathers were (see the book under discussion, p. 78), the Klausenberger Rebbe’s point is very difficult to understand.
[9] It should be noted, that the seforim of Rav Tzadok were understood to explain and moderate some of the more problematic statements of Izbica. See Sefer Yam Ha-Chochma (5779, p. 450 – 451).
[10] These are two related, but distinct, concepts. See my review of the Hebrew edition in Yitzchok Oratz, “Review of ‘Sefer Berogez Racheim Tizkor’, by Dovid Bashevkin,” the Seforim Blog (7 September 2015), available here.
[11] See the sources in the book (note 131) and in my Hebrew review in Yitzchok Oratz, “Review of ‘Sefer Berogez Racheim Tizkor’, by Dovid Bashevkin,” the Seforim Blog (7 September 2015), available here, at note 16.
[12] Sha’ar Avodas Hashem # 8.
[13] Rambam raises a similar question, but doesn’t leave this one unanswered — see Hilchos Teshuva 5:5 and 6:5.  Lechem Mishneh (6:5) assumes that the two questions are one and the same, but this is strongly challenged by Ohr Sameach (6:5) and Arba Turey Even (brought down in Sefer ha-Likkutim in the Frankel Rambam, 6:5).
[14] Indeed, maybe the answer here too is that it remains a paradox. See Tzidkas HaTzadik # 40 and my Hebrew review in Yitzchok Oratz, “Review of ‘Sefer Berogez Racheim Tizkor’, by Dovid Bashevkin,” the Seforim Blog (7 September 2015), available here, at note 18.
[15] Neo-Chassidus is influenced by many streams of classical Chasidus. Indeed, part of its charm is that it is not limited to any one school of thought or practice. That being said, I have heard its influences described with an acronym that spells out the name of the prophet Chabakuk – standing for Chabad, Breslov, (R’ Shlomo) Carlebach and (Rav) Kook. Throw in a little Komarno, Berditchev and Rav Tzadok, and I do think it is a workable description.
[16] We are not discussing Izbica ideology per se, but rather its effect on our attitude toward sin. It is likely that the neo-Chassidic attitude toward failure and sin may be more influenced by Breslov than by Izbica, but both play a role. While Breslov does not share the Izbica theology of free will (see Likutey Mohoran, Tinyana 110), they share much in common regarding the proper response to sin and religious failure (see pp. 284 – 285).  Whatever the exact influence, the questions, discussion and challenges that follow still apply.
[17] The first quote is from R’ Joey Rosenfeld (a strong supporter) in the Jewish Article article on neo- Chassidus, the second from Rabbi Noach Shafran (a harsh critic) in a Mishpacha magazine conversation in response to their earlier article on the subject.  Rabbi Shafran’s comments brought a firm, but calm, response from Rav Moshe Weinberger (rav of Congregation Aish Kodesh in Woodmere, New York, and the undisputed spiritual leader of neo-Chassidus in America) in print, but a far harsher one in two public shiurim he gave shortly after the printed response came out. (The shiurim used to be available here, but seem to have been taken down, possibly because Rabbi Weinberger felt he had been too harsh. The sources to “Hashem’s Unbreakable Love For Every Jew” are still available here. The greatest share of Rabbi Weinberger’s barely concealed ire was directed at the idea that a Jew can have his connection to Hashem broken.
[18] “[N]o one, scholar or Hasid, disputes the halakhic nature of Izbica life.” “The Izbica community and its associated communities in Radzyn and Lublin were quite halakhic.” – see here. See also and my Hebrew review in Yitzchok Oratz, “Review of ‘Sefer Berogez Racheim Tizkor’, by Dovid Bashevkin,” the Seforim Blog (7 September 2015), available here, at note 35.
[19] To clarify, and not to be accused of disparaging a large group of yeraim v’shlaimim, I am speaking about a relatively small percentage of the group. As a whole, it certainly seems to be a force for enhanced avodas Hashem. I, too, have gained much from the seforim of Rav Yitzchok Meir Morgenstern and Rav Avraham Tzvi Kluger (among others), and from the shiurim of Rav Weinberger and Rav Meilech Biderman,  and very much look forward to my annual pilgrimage to Aish Kodesh for Lag Ba’omer (see here). But as opposed to Izbica theology having no known negative effect on its original adherents (for reasons explained by Bashevkin on pp. 50 – 52), the same cannot necessarily be said about neo-Chassidus today. In Rabbi Weinberger’s written response he rhetorically asks, “Can it be that there is a holy reason why every passing year sees more and more people gravitating to places like Uman or Lizhensk?” No doubt. But as anyone who has been to Uman or Lizhensk (and now Kerestir) can testify, there can also be non-holy or unholy reasons, as well.
[20] In Rabbi Weinberger’s above-mentioned lectures, he says he was challenged to reconcile his teaching of “God’s unbreakable love for every Jew” (see also Zohar, Shemos 5b) with the words of the Rambam that speak of the sinner being “hated by God, disgusting, far removed and abominable.” Rabbi Weinberger’s response (oversimplified here) is that on the deepest level the love always remains. But the question remains — whatever the answer, Rambam did write the words “hated, etc.” Doesn’t that indicate that, on some level, the sinner is supposed to feel hated etc.? Is the sinner justified, upon seeing those words, to run straight to the teachings of Rav Nachman and Izbica for comfort? How does Rabbi Weinberger know that when Rabbi Shafran speaks of the broken relationship, he isn’t simply reiterating  the concepts expressed by Rambam? Should there be some degree of discomfort, even feeling of God’s (dare I say) hate after sinning? Or is the carpet so thick that we never even feel the fall?

It could be argued that the Rambam himself never tells the sinner that he is hated. Only once he repents does Rambam tell him how fortunate he is to have overcome his prior state. And the Breslov response is likely that any harsh message (like that of Reishis Chochma) is always intended to come with a concomitant sense of God’s love (see the sources in Rav Avraham Tzvi Kluger’s Yichud HaShabbos (volume 2, p. 32).  But I still think the matter needs much more clarification then it has received.
[21] Dr. Rosenfeld has another title – “manhiga ruchanit,” – and another she does not seem to have – “rabbi” (see here). The question of the appropriateness of both these titles may be related to Izbica as well – see here and here. See also the recent review by Dr. Rosenfeld of Sin•a•gogue at the Lehrhaus blog.
[22] It may have been too painful for Rabbi Bashevkin to go to the Wexner blog, as he was ‘rejected from the Wexner Graduate Fellowship. Twice.’ (here) (This would be the appropriate place to put a “JK” or smiley emoji, but I don’t want to be known as a pioneer in using text slang or emojis in rabbinic or academic writing. Although being that among the thousands of seforim online at HebrewBooks Dot Org, Bashevkin’s is likely the only one that includes the author’s Twitter handle (see here), maybe this review would be an appropriate place to introduce some 21st-century lingua franca. But I resist.)
[23] See Raishis Chochma, Sha’ar HaTeshuva 3:10, who writes that no one in his day was free of the sin of hotza’as zera livatala.
[24] This is the true regardless of whether the word “modern” is a qualifier or not.
[25] This is especially the case regarding sexual matters, see Chagigah 11b, and especially when presented to a popular, as opposed to scholarly, audience. See Iggeros Moshe (EH 1:64, and 3:14). This highlights a fundamental difference between Rabbi Bashevkin’s Hebrew and English books. Both are fine works, both cover similar sensitive and controversial topics, but even the most traditional reader would not find Rabbi Bashevkin’s Hebrew sefer problematic, not the case with the English one. Aside from the fact that he is far more cautious in the Hebrew work (see my Hebrew review in Yitzchok Oratz, “Review of ‘Sefer Berogez Racheim Tizkor’, by Dovid Bashevkin,” the Seforim Blog (7 September 2015), available here, at note 4), style (see note 3 above) and audience matter. To use Bashevkin’s terminology (from the introduction to Mei ha-Shlioah), Hebrew readers are more likely to be “Intimates who understand [its] true value” (p. 50).
[26] See B-Rogez Rahem Tizkor, page 42) for a fascinating explanation (from Rav Hutner) of why free will is under attack, especially in our days.
[27] See my Hebrew review in Yitzchok Oratz, “Review of ‘Sefer Berogez Racheim Tizkor’, by Dovid Bashevkin,” the Seforim Blog (7 September 2015), available here at end of note 4).
[28] See letters 11 – 15 in volume 1 of Kreina d-Igrassa (Bashevkin’s spelling. No one in history has ever pronounced it like that, including, I am willing to bet, the Steipler himself.)
[29] Despite these words of encouragement, some of the points raised above still need to be clarified. The Steipler was speaking to yeshiva students in despair, offering hope to those who already felt the pain of the fall and the extreme discomfort of the “floor.” His words of hope to them (and thousands of yeshiva students who subsequently read his words) was lifesaving. Furthermore, even to them, he does mention the fear of punishment as a tool to refrain from sin. (See, for example, letter # 14).
[30] I find it fascinating, yet tragic, that the one teaching in the Mishna recorded in the name of Elisha ben Avuya (Avos 4:20) is how a child is a clean slate. Yet, at the end of his life he claimed that from the very beginning his slate wasn’t clean.
[31] And sometimes he cried and laughed – see Gemara Avoda Zara 20a. (The laughter there does seem to indicate optimism, but the tears do seem to me somewhat pessimistic, seeing something good and already thinking that all good must come to an end.)
[32] Kiddushin 81b.
[33] It should be noted that that even contemplating the severity of sin permitted Rabbi Akiva to find a spark of hope. When Rabbi Akiva recognized the severe consequences of any involvement with sinful behavior, he realized that this must indicate an even greater reward for those who have any involvement in good deeds. See Rashi on Vayikra 5:17.
[34] The term “lihavdil” is not meant, God forbid, to disparage Whitman. See Senator Joe Lieberman’s The Gift of Rest (Howard Books, New York, 2011, p. 198).
[35] As noted in the book (p. 32), the idea that one cannot be held responsible for an attempt to commit crimes that were never actually possible to execute raises questions regarding the legality of certain sting operations. .

Bashevkin also discusses culpability for an attempt when, if successful, an actual crime would have occurred.   He concludes that a “conceptual category of attempt . . . does not seem to exist in Jewish law . . .  attempted murder . . . is not found in the Talmud” (p. 32 -33).   Bashevkin’s conclusion takes for granted that the concepts of being permitted to kill a rodef (a pursuer) and ba b’machteres (a burglar who tunnels/breaks into a home) are forms of preemptive strike to save the victim, not punishment for the attempted murderer. This is not remotely clear, as there is a large body of Talmudic debate on the topic. For some discussion, see the language used in Rambam, Sefer HaMitzvos (positive mitzvos # 239 and 247 and negative mitzvah # 293), Shiurey Rav Dovid (Povarsky, Bava Basra 7b), Shiurey Rav Shmuel (Rozovsky, Sanhedrin 72b, note 309), Noda B’Yehuda, Tinyana, CM # 60, and Aruch Laner (Sanhedrin 73a).

Even more questionable is why eidim zomimin (conspiring/falsified witnesses) are not an example of criminal attempted sins, as they are punished for thought only, but not when action takes place, See Rashi to Devarim 19:19. See also Chidushey Rabbenu Chaim HaLevi, Hilchod Edus chapter 20, and the comments of Rav Yechezkal Abramsky (Melech B’Yafyo, p. 301).  For a more kabbalistic approach, see Sefer Yam Ha-Chochma (5778, p. 152 – 153, based on Maharal, Be’er HaGolah chapter 2).
[36] See also Rabbi Yehoshua Oshinsky, Sefer Shalmey Levi (Modi’in Ilit, 5770), p. 58 – 60).
[37] This is likely the intent of the parable of the Ba’al Shem Tov (mentioned above); there, too, the consolation comes only after repentance. See Peri Tzadik, Roch Chodesh Menachem Av # 1.
[38] See my Hebrew review in Yitzchok Oratz, “Review of ‘Sefer Berogez Racheim Tizkor’, by Dovid Bashevkin,” the Seforim Blog (7 September 2015), available here, at note 2.
[39] On p. 3, Bashevkin writes that 19th-century anthropologist Frank Boas’s assertion that the Eskimos have numerous words for snow is “not entirely discredited,” but on p. 13 writes that it has “long been discredited.” I guess it took a long time two write those ten pages, but not long enough to correct the name to Franz (see note 22 above, and apply here). In any case, the earlier assertion seems correct (see here).
[40] Some additional, random comments on the book: 1) On the first page of the Foreword there is a typo on the third-to-bottom line (“or” instead of “our”). 2) Page xii – regarding sanitized storytelling – see my comments in The Torah U-Madda Journal (Volume 8, pp. 331 – 333). I was subsequently quite surprised to see that Prof. Kimmy Caplan wrote an entire article in Kimmy Caplan, “‘Absolutely Intellectually Honest’: A Case Study of American Jewish Modern Orthodox Historiography,” in Rachel Elior and Peter Schäfer, eds., Creation and Re–Creation in Jewish Thought: Festschrift in Honor of Joseph Dan on the Occasion of his Seventieth Birthday (Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, 2005), 339-361 available online here, addressing one of my points, and especially pleased with his conclusion (p. 361): “Rabbi Oratz was correct in observing that Modern Orthodox historiographers are similar in nature to Haredi historiographers.” 3) Regarding the value of “Half Repentance” (p. 127), it should be noted that not all agree. See the first “Likkut” on Hilchos Teshuva in the Sefer HaLikuttim of the Frankel Rambam. 4) Regarding outward coercion bringing out inner desire (p. 129), see  Sefer Darkey Moshe (Rabbi Shachna Mendel Scheiner, 5778, p. 329) where Rav Moshe Feinstein is quoted as positing the radical idea that based on this there can almost never be a mitzvah done shelo lishma, as any external influence just represents inner desire!
[41] I plan on using it. Please don’t tell my community.
[42] Related to this idea, see the powerful story told by Shlomo Zalman Shragai, cited in Rabbi Norman Lamm’s “The Shema” [The Jewish Publication Society, Philadelphia, 2000, p. 118 – 119.]
[43] In Yiddish, of course.  This derasha, highly based on the Yom Kippur derasha of Rav Aharon Kotler, zt”l, can be found (with sources) in Rav Olshin’s Sefer Yareach L’Moadim on Yom Kippur (Ma’amar # 83). The version in print differs slightly from the version I heard each year.